Kinski was about five years old when he first felt this thing. In the cabin, surrounded by vegetation through which there is no path save that made by the passage of his own body, and in his forest, he is safe. The animals in the forest do not threaten him as do people and their societies, nor do the storms, the wind, the trees. He cuts his own hair he grows his own vegetables so that he will not have to drive into town. When he has finished reading a book, he uses it to start a fire in the hearth that is his sole source of heat. He watches no television.I climbed up to the roof and smashed down the antenna, he explained. Kinski often goes for weeks without speaking to another human being. "I love him," says Kinski, "more than anything in the whole universe. Only his nine-year-old son, Nanhoi, comes for the weekend, twice a month. I think that's why, between films, he lives alone, in a cabin in the middle of his 40 acres of forest in Northern California. I think of him now as exposed consciousness, as fragile as a human organ taken from the protective case of the body. But after I'd spent some time with him, I sometimes felt there was no surface at all. He's So close to the surface, I had thought during one of our first long telephone conversation. If you watch his face while he speaks, you will see it become a mask of ire, his glance menacing as he spits out words of contempt and outrage Then, suddenly, there'll be a smile so gentle that something will constrict in your chest. You can witness Klaus Kinski having a mood Swing within a minute, within a sentence, as his mind conveys him from an infuriating image to a soothing one to a humorous one. "Don't be sorry," he said impatiently but not unkindly. "I need air! I need space!" It sounded almost like a plea. "I am like a wild animal who is behind bars," he said.
KINSKI I AM JESUS CHRIST PROFESSIONAL
Later, when I knew him better, I would come to realize how little fun there was to be had in the fulfillment of his professional obligations.
"Fun?" repeated Kinski in a suddenly weary voice, faintly, as though he'd turned away from the phone. "Freedom! That's what every shitty ruler promises you before he takes over!" "Well, that's true," I said, but I hastened to point out that this case would be different, that our talks would not have to be structured like routine interviews, that he would have freedom - "Freedom!" he interrupted, as he almost always does. It is consumer SHIT to fill up their pages." They consume everything - art, executions, hamburgers, Jesus Christ. "Why me? Because I am what they call an actor? It is me or someone else, a murderer or a conductor, or anybody, anybody, anything, that can be consumed. "Why should I do any interviews? It is all shit," Kinski would crescendo. And in the several long telephone conversations we'd had before I went to see him in Northern California, I'd been frightened by it. Tricks of the print medium cannot - capital letters cannot - convey the intensity of Kinski's voice when it rises, as it often does. By then, I'd become accustomed to his yelling. Is this man of strange and explosive power really the world's greatest actor?"īut he was being good-natured in his own way.
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