In Stroszek, German director Werner Herzog gives us one of the grimmest takes on the “American dream” I’ve seen. There’s this constant feeling that no matter what the characters do, they’re doomed to fail. Our main protagonists are Bruno, a mentally ill and recently released ex-con; Eva, a sex worker trying to escape abuse; and Scheitz, their eccentric elderly neighbor. The film plays out in two rough halves—first in Germany, where their lives are shaped by poverty and mistreatment, and then in a small American town, where the reality of their new life turns out to be just as bleak. It all feels real, thanks to Herzog’s documentary-like approach and the use of non-professional actors—it’s not too far off from the rough realism you’d get in something like Borat, just without the comedy. But that realism also comes with a very slow, distanced tone that made it harder for me to fully connect.
The early Berlin scenes especially felt aimless and repetitive. I get that it’s by design—Herzog leans into improvisation and raw moments—but it doesn’t always translate into something compelling or insightful. We get the point early on, and then we keep circling it. Things become more focused once they reach the U.S., though there are still plenty of drawn-out moments. Instead of really showing how the characters struggle to make ends meet despite having jobs, Herzog drifts into monologues and diversions. Some of these work and help sell the “real life” feel, but since most of them come in the second half, they can also wear thin. Still, Herzog is quietly tracking the way their hopes unravel.
There are moments of great visual storytelling. When their trailer first shows up in a triumphant arrival, it feels like this big, unending space full of promise. Later, as it’s being taken away, Herzog shoots it from a distance—suddenly it feels small, hollow, and meaningless. There are other memorable shots too, like a premature baby holding onto fingers, or the characters walking across a frozen lake. I also really liked the scenes with the bank representative, especially the second one, where he seems almost pleased that Bruno doesn’t understand what he’s saying, and continues guiding him toward failure anyway.
The final stretch is extremely haunting and strange—Bruno’s collapse plays out alongside dancing chickens and a truck spinning in circles. There’s a lot to unpack there, but not necessarily a lot to feel. And I think that’s where the film lost me a bit. Herzog builds this sense of hopelessness so thoroughly that it becomes emotionally numbing. We get glimpses of Bruno’s inner world—especially when he plays music—but I wish there had been more. That emotional distance might be the point, but it also kept me from really caring.