HOLLYWOOD – Timothée Chalamet rumored to play young Nick Cave in Australian rocker’s biopic.

Call Me By Your Name and Ladybird star Timothée Chalamet is to hit our screens once more as Nick Cave in a new film tracing the origins of the Australian musician. Becoming Nick will show the antipodean punk in his formative years in his native Australia and will climax with him leaving for London where he’ll form The Birthday Party and go on to have an internationally successful career. Writer and director Andrew Dominic had this to say:

I’ve known Nick it seems all my life and I knew him way before he was the famous singer song writer we see today. And yet he nick cavewas always a massive personality and that’s what Timothée brings to the role. He’s a force of nature, the little bugger. I saw Call Me By Your Name and I just went ‘Strewth! this geezer’s a player!’

Chalamet said he was enthused by the project.

I’m a huge Nick Cave fan. I even read his awful novel.

This will be the third time that Nick Cave’s life has been the subject of a movie. William Hurt starred in The Weeping Song in 1998 directed by Werner Herzog. And in 2003 Gary Oldman played Cave in Russell Crowe’s The Water Diviner.

Young Nick comes out in 2020.



LAS VEGAS – Famed Bavarian film director Werner Herzog popped in to the Studio Exec bungalow to give his take on the Donald Trump Hillary Clinton Presidential Debates.

Never in my life have I been witness to a scene of such obsidian darkness, primal savagery and moral corruption as that which I witnessed in Las Vegas on Wednseday evening, and remember, I worked closely with Klaus Kinski for many years, including the ones where he thought he was Jesus and wanted to wear my face skin as a cycling hat.

With the usual science fiction scenery, the flags of Star Fleet and two podiums like an interstellar quiz show, the scene was set. It is this way that US politics are decided, I understand. A lumbering seething manimal with orange hair had beeen poured into one of those rectangular metal suits, designed to disguise obesity and with slit-like eyes that did nothing to hide the alligator brain at work within, strobing over the audience, the moderator and his rival. The woman, who will most likely become the first female president of the United States, reminded me of Miss Marple from the Agatha Christie books, in the sense that wherever she goes murder is sure to follow. The man charged with keeping the bloodshed to a minimum and spittle off the screen was Chris Wallace, a ‘journalist’ from Fox News. The fact that anyone from this venal station in which door slamming is translated into English should be hired as a ‘moderator’ tells us exactly where we are in this genocidal country.

Language was torn from its roots and flung about with scant regard for sense or logic. The meaning of the words themselves ran in shame, out into the desert air of Nevada. There was talk of babies being ripped limb from limb and nuclear weapons being used on a whim, of countries being destroyed and made great again and people being shot in the streets for simply wanting to go to shops at the bottom of those streets. And yet none of the politicians suggested moving the shops to the top of the streets to reduce the risk! There was a ‘Nasty Woman’ and a ‘Puppet President’ and in the end everyone looked appalled at themselves and yet remarkably happy at the same time. I looked down at my hand and found I had accidentally driven a three inch nail into my palm so that the agony would distract me from the spectactle I was unfortunate enough to witness.

For more Werner Herzog, CLICK HERE.


UTAH – Robert Redford’s Sundance Film Festival – the forum for American Independent Cinema – has tragically been buried under a massive avalanche.

The avalanche began at two o’clock this afternoon in Park city after a showing of the new Jesse Plemons film Other People. The applause was not necessarily a factor, a spokesperson for the police said, ‘but it can’t have helped.’

What you have to understand that up here in the mountains, in January, there is an awful lot of snow and what with people enthusing about the latest Barack Obama – Michele Obama film, or that new film by the guy who did Broken Circle Breakdown, the queuing and the general chatter, something is going to give at some point. It isn’t like it is necessarily someone’s fault but it usually is.

Over 15 thousand people are thought to be buried in the snow and many film critics and film makers who for some reason were unable to go to Sundance have said things like ‘Oh well’ and ‘I hope they’re all okay’, while barely disguising delighted smiles.

Late news came in that a large group of directors, execs and critics have survived the avalanche in some strange air bubble/ice cathedral. Led by Werner Herzog, they have immediately sprung into action and started filming a whimsical documentary about their imminent deaths.

Sundance will continue until next week.


HOLLYWOOD – You know him as the star of such movies as The Big Short, The Knight of Cups and Exodus: Gods and Kings, but Christian Bale has also spent the last five years building up a secret mouse army, it was revealed today.

Christian Bale, star of Rescue Dawn, The Dark Knight and American Psycho, popped in to the Studio Exec bungalow to explain revelations that broke about his 15,000 strong mouse army mustered in a secret location somewhere in Colorado.

I’ve always been fascinated by rodents in general and the possible military application an organised horde of cheese nibblers could have. Imagine if you will the desert in Syria. The terrorists are just breaking for lunch and in the distance they hear this thundering. The ground begins to tremble. But it isn’t in the distance, it’s actually really close and over the dunes arrive 15,000 mice, led by me in a chariot. I would be in my famous Berserker mode, probably quite thin for this one. And we’d just cut them to pieces.

But surely…

I thought of that. I tie tiny little razor blades to the ankles of the mice and so when they just run straight through the ISIS people it’s just blood spurt and arterial spray everywhere. The squeaking of the mice will be deafening along with the screams of dying Jihadists.

Where did you even come up with such a scheme?

Werner Herzog.

Oh that makes sense.

We are already in talks with the US military about our deployment and I would remind them that they said no boots on the ground. They didn’t say anything about tiny mice feet.

The Big Short is on general release. Image courtesy of @ThePixelFactor.


HOLLYWOOD – Resident Bavarian film director Werner Herzog shares his thoughts and ideas in his own inimitable accent.

Every month, the first Wednesday of every month, I go to the Italian hairdresser on Melrose Giovanni’s and I have my hair cut. I never tell him how I would like it. When he asks ‘How would you like it Werner?’ I simply close my eyes and say ‘Imagine the heat death of the Universe’ and then I don’t open my eyes until he has finished. He moves my head gently this way and that, and does that thing with the comb, where he combs for a bit and then holds the hair twixt his fingers and then he snips and snips and snips. Sometimes – although I am morally opposed to it – he uses an electric razor to do the fluffy bits at the back.

When it is over, and only when it is over, he will say ‘Done’, at which point I open my eyes and gaze into my own eyes gazing back at my eyes gazing into my own eyes. And although I am happy – I enjoy the physical sensation of having my hair cut enormously – I cannot help to detect unhappiness in my eyes. From where does such deep inconsolable melancholy come, from what abyss in my soul.

Then Giovanni appears at my back with yet another mirror – a metaphor? – and asks me ‘if that’s okay?’ And of course it isn’t. Giovanni is by far the worst hairdresser I have ever met and he has once more screwed up both my fringe, my side burns and the back. But nevertheless he is a good man with an honest soul and so I smile and say ‘Perfect. Thank you Giovanni.’

For more wisdom from Werner Herzog, Click Here.


WARSAW – The new Werner Herzog documentary charting a year in the life of pop diva Beyoncé – and entitled Bouncy Beyoncé – will not be shown in the central European country of Poland, because authorities have declared it ‘non-existent’. 

Werner Herzog said that he was disappointed but not at all surprised.

The Poles have always had a certain degree of intolerance when it comes to esoteric Austrian filmmakers such as me charting the lives of pop royalty. It is not the first time I’ve run into trouble with the powers that be and I’m sure it won’t be the last. My documentary on Sheena Easton was stopped at the border in 1984 and the negatives burnt. Unfortunately they were the only copy of the film we had which means that today the film has become one of those legendary lost films.

However, Bogdan Ztrojewski – the Minister for Culture and Arts – angrily denied Herzog’s version of events. 

We have never heard of this Bounce Beyoncé ; we have never seen this Bounce Beyoncé. Personally I would be delighted to see a year in the life of Beyoncé Knowles by the talented if eccentric director of Fitzcarraldo and Rescue Dawn. However, this is not the first time that Mr. Herzog has claimed that we have suppressed a hagiographic film  about a glamorous female vocalist. In 1984 he claimed that we had burnt a film about Sheena Easton! As if we would do such a thing! I mean, For Your Eyes Only was the best song to come out of the Bond franchise bar none. Frankly, I’m baffled by this behavior.

Fortunately, Bouncy Beyoncé will be released throughout the rest of Europe and North America in 2016.


HOLLYWOOD – Following the massive success of his HBO documentary The Jinx: The Life and Deaths of Robert Durst, director Andrew Jarecki’s beard has come under sustained attack for being ‘weird.’

It was the documentary hit of the season with HBO’s The Jinx becoming one of the cultural events of the year and potentially bringing a murderer to justice as well. But director Andrew Jarecki has found himself under persistent attack for sporting what the New York Times called ‘an irresponsible goatee.’ The Washington Post wrote an op-ed following the arrest of Robert Durst, which praised Jarecki’s film but questioned ‘the moral choices involved in growing a hair strip, from upper lip to chin, but then kind of hollowing out the sides. The pubic appendage seriously undermines Mr. Jarecki’s credibility.’

Fellow documentarian Errol Morris leaped to Jarecki’s defence:

When I made The Thin Blue Line everyone was on at me because it was the ‘in’ thing to grow a mustache. I spoke to Werner Herzog about it and he told me that I should remain clean shaven. He said that I had the complexion of a twelve year old girl and a mustache would just look wrong. I listened to him and I’ve never looked back. But Jarecki is his own man and he is the one that at the end of the day has to look in the mirror and say to himself, ‘I like my beard’. If he can do that, who am I to nay-say him?

Werner Herzog also defended Jarecki’s chin warmer, claiming

Jarecki is more than a chronicler of our times. His face must confront the banality of evil and he has decided that the face will be equipped with a kind of guard which if you look at it carefully looks a little like a police badge.

The Jinx 2: The Life and Deaths of Amanda Knox will be released in 2016.


HOLLYWOOD – The latest in a series in which guest columnist and Austrian film director Werner Herzog writes about arbitrary moments in his life.

I have always been by far the most fantastic cook that you would ever hope to have prepare food for you. When we were making Fitzcarraldo my omelettes were legendary. Klaus Kinski once broke a man’s spine because the fool had accidentally got in-between Kinski and some bouillon I had prepared for him. The poor man died horribly, but Kinski was not to be crossed and far once I did not feel his rage excessive.

While making Rescue Dawn, Christian Bale and Steve Zahn were both placed on starvation diets so that they would begin to seem closer to the state their characters’ prisoners of war predicament. This was particularly trying for them as I insisted on preparing the most mouthwateringly delicious barbecues every night for the rest of the crew. When filming was over I had promised that I would cook for them as well, and indeed I did so during a fantastic wrap party, but as a joke I prepared only the meager prison rations of worms that they had been eating. Christian and Steve couldn’t stop crying they were so amused.

Legend has spread of my culinary prowess and so I thought I would share one of my favorite recipes with you, my dear Studio Exec friends: Wild mushroom risotto.

The first thing you must do is go to the woods and collect the mushrooms. Now most people would warn you to be cautious about which mushrooms to pick but such caution is simply a pale version of mind death. These are WILD mushrooms remember. Not tame mushrooms. So pick the mushrooms and if you have picked poison ones you will die. But you will have lived.

Once you have your wild mushrooms, go home and make your risotto.

For more wisdom from Werner Herzog, Click Here.


HOLLYWOOD – The latest in a series in which guest columnist and Austrian film director Werner Herzog writes about arbitrary moments in his life.

My brother-in-law is an animal obsessed with the immediate fulfillment of his appetites. To watch him eat Chinese takeaway is to witness the the decay of the biomass of the universe in super accelerated time lapse photography on an IMAX. And in 3D. So when Norman said to me, ‘Werner, we must play golf some day’ I was naturally aghast and fled my sister’s home, accidentally punching my niece in the throat in my haste to reach the door. Although I felt my exit an unambivalent response to his request for some reason – if I had to guess I would call it stupidity – the next day Norman turned up at my house with a set of clubs he had borrowed and a grin that was entirely his own.

The golf course was a series of hemoglobin shaped gardens with a small cellular nucleus of tightly trimmed lawn and a flag in the middle guarding the hole. The bunkers were gritty cancers, in this anatomical analogy which Norman and his friends Hunter and Troy did not seem to appreciate. They were – like all Americans – superficially friendly. ‘Oh films,’ said Troy. ‘Did you have anything to do with Here Comes the Boom? Because that was classic!’

Norman managed to grab my wrist as I swung the club at Troy’s skull.

‘Woah there Werner,’ he said. ‘We need to tee your ball up first.’

Despite my doubts and once I had mastered the art of hitting the ball I surprisingly began to enjoy myself. I hit my first shot into the rough. ‘You’re not too far off the green,’ Hunter told me, encouragingly. But with my second shot I drove the ball further into the rough where some trees had survived the vicious gardening. ‘No, Werner, you’re supposed to aim for the flag.’


‘Because that’s where the hole is. You have to get the ball into the hole in the least strokes possible.’

My next stroke took me ‘out of bounds’. I was beside myself with exhilaration. I had only just begun this increasingly fascinating game and I was already a maverick, breaking all boundaries and experiencing the wilderness beyond the petty confines of this frailly civilized world. I listened to my fellow golfers’ remonstrances and pretended to heed their advice and pointers. On the next hole, I hit the ball directly out of bounds on my first shot. And on the third hole there was a ‘water trap and though a beginner I hit it first time. On the fourth hole, I turned around and hit the little white fellow back to the second. On the fourth I clonked a man riding a ridiculous golf buggy.

I tore off my shirt and wielding my ‘putter’  dived into a sand bunker as the others attempted unsuccessfully to restrain me. I stay here until nightfall, barking like a rabid dog and any one who seeks to approach.

I can say in all honesty ‘I am a golfer’.

For more wisdom from Werner Herzog, Click Here.


HOLLYWOOD – You want to watch a movie with Jack in the title but do you choose Jack Reacher or Jack Ryan: Shadow Recruit. Here’s our handy FREE cut out and keep 5 FACT guide.

1. In the CIA or out of the CIA? Jack Ryan is in the CIA, I think and Jack Reacher is out of the CIA, an ex-Military Policeman or something. Ryan is played by Tom Cruise, the Scientologist, whereas Reacher is played by Captain Kirk, or the other way round.

2. Motorcycle or car? Jack Reacher drives a car fast as a way of not being boring. Jack Ryan drives a motorcycle fast, proving also that he’s not boring either. Jack Ryan however has more to prove as he is also an information analyst, someone who can download information to a USB stick quickly and is attracted to Keira Knightley. During the making of neither film did the director shout ‘Action!’ Oh, incidentally, Jack Ryan is so boring that Kevin Costner’s appearance actually ADDS excitement!

3. Herzog or Branagh? Dodgy accents ahoy! But only one of them is also an actual accent. Jack Reacher’s Werner Herzog is zee villain of choice. In Jack Ryan, or Reacher, Kenneth Branagh looks bored, as if he is regretting not doing Thor 2.

4. And the villains want to destroy the world? More dodgy real estate (Jack Reacher) or market fiddling (Jack Ryan). Of course both of these ends require snipers (Jack Reacher) or terrorist attacks (Jack Ryan) but none of it makes much sense and it’s probably best you don’t actually think about it too much, because the thinking thing with the ideas stuff gets in the way of the technical stuff.

5. Based on books? Jack Reacher is a character from a series of books by Lee Child, a British author (real name Jim Grant) who supports Aston Villa football club. Anyone who knows Aston Villa football club will understand the excitement of Jack Reacher. Jack Ryan is the creation of the late Tom Clancy, who is to literature what wet paint is to dry paint.

 For more FACTS click HERE.


HOLLYWOOD – Our intrepid Austrian correspondent, Rescue Dawn director Werner Herzog, visited Disneyland. This is his report.

First of all there is one matter that I fear must be resolved, or at the very least clarified.

Disneyland is not a land as such. Not the way Iceland, or Greenland, or – Lord helps us all – even England are lands. That is large country sized extents of terrain.

No. Disneyland is more like a large park situated near the town of Anaheim in California.

So we begin our journey with lies.

And unlike the aforementioned lands, you have to buy a ticket to enter this ‘land’ and the ticket is very, very expensive. But buy a ticket I did, for I was determined to use my utmost strength to understand a phenomena that had up until now eluded the transom of my being. I started with Space Mountain.

It was spectacular. A roller-coaster inside a building. Exhilarating and claustrophobic, precisely the emotional state I was in directing Christian Bale.

From there I went for a breather in a place I have always enjoyed sleeping. The cinema. But what’s this? Michael Jackson in some ill-advised acting role? Captain EO? I ululated in the way Arab women do when in the deepest grief and fled.  ‘Executive producer George Lucas and director Francis Ford Coppola changed the world when they released Captain EO in 1986,’ boasted the promotional material and I well believe it. A darkness entered the universe that has yet to be identified or eradicated.

Some comfort was to be attained by climbing the Matterhorn I hoped, but this proved to be a grave disappointment. Rather than encountering the dizzying adventures of  my youthful mountaineering adventures in Bavaria, the Matterhorn turned out to be simply another roller-coaster and the Pirates of the Caribbean was revealed to be a complete rip off the wonderfully original Johnny Depp/Keira Knightley movies. How can they sully that wonderful franchise with such dire commercial spin offs? Ditto the Haunted House.

Finally I took refuge in ‘It’s a Small World’. There was something stunning in the slow water cruise through a miasma of barely comprehensible sentimentality. I was Marlow heading up the river to confront Mr. Kurtz, the Hollow Man of exploitation and modern malaise. The children sang the Sherman brothers’ song at first as an anthem and then as a method of torture. It was water boarding for the ears and I was soon screaming along with all my fellow passengers.

I exited the ride a changed man. A sadder, frailer, more defeated version of the Werner Herzog of before. I was also, I am ashamed to say, very much under arrest.

For more wisdom from Werner Herzog, Click Here.


In which our Austrian contributor Werner Herzog sees out the old year and rings in the new.

The waxy corpse of 2014 is already a clammy cold thing, its stillness the most ghastly attribute. The deceased was many things – confusing, aggravating and bloody with murder – but it was also thrillingly active and to see her lying there now, all laid out, surrounded by yesterday’s bottles of booze and little bowls full of Bombay mix and stale humus is more than I can bare. So I turn my gaze steadfastly to the future and regard with a steely Bavarian glare the prospect of 2015 and what delights and horrors might await, a promise that sounds like a threat.

But how am I to approach this year? How can I avoid repeating my mistakes, or if I am to repeat them, is there anyway Nicolas Cage might be persuaded once more to appear in it?

My first resolution is to watch less films. Aside from my own films, which I perforce must watch in order to edit and to make decisions on the soundtrack etc, I watch a total of three films a year. In 2015 this will be cut to one. I am very much looking forward to Star Wars: The Force Awakens and so I imagine that will be the film I see in 2015.

My second resolution is to try in someway, anyway I can, to destroy Ridley Scott. Although I’ve never seen his films, I can tell from the posters that he is more than a suitable nemesis for me, representing the polar opposite to my ethos and methodology. Exodus: Gods and Kings will probably be his undoing and it was I who advised him to do it. I told him at a restaurant in the South of France, ‘Do a Bible film, Ridley. It’s what the kids are “into”.’ He rejected my script for Leviticus, deciding in his infinite wisdom to say that the foundation of three world religions, the Old Testament book Exodus can only be rewritten by the man who brought us Tom Cruise as a Samurai.

My third and final resolution is to enter the cooking competition Masterchef. I do not wish to win, nor progress. I do want to be judged and judged harshly. Preferably by Gordon Ramsey. I will squirm beneath his tongue lashing.

All that remains is to wish you all the best of luck in this New Year. As Prince so presciently wrote, ‘we are going to party like it’s 1999!’

For more wisdom from Werner Herzog, Click Here.


In which our guest contributor Austrian film director Werner Herzog describes his uniquely idiosyncratic Christmas experience.

As Christmas approaches, I feel increasingly like I am trapped in one of Prince’s later more superfluous albums just before he felt it necessary to change his name to some strange hieroglyph that I still have difficulty pronouncing. I refuse to believe in a God who would have the bad taste to be born in the middle of Winter but at the same time I am overwhelmed by the opportunity to exchange unpleasant gifts with people I have spent my life pretending to like. This year however I have been perturbed by an occurrence.

My next door neighbor Mr. Hunter White has put up a nativity scene on his garden and has a model of Santa climbing a rope ladder into his bedroom window. There are also lights of many different colors that flash according to their own whimsical sequence. The effect on the whole is exquisitely ghastly and makes the whole of my frame shiver with nervous exhaustion. I have spent every night since he put the display up standing on my lawn and gazing at it and trying to make sense of the slapdash composition. Mr. White asked me last night if I would stop and I told him ‘I am afraid that would be utterly impossible.’

From this my neighbor who, despite the kitsch of his garden and house display, is not without some sensitivity, asked me if I disapproved of his Holiday Decorations. I respected his question and told him candidly I did not dislike them, but for me they uttered a truth to my soul that was too terrifying to fully comprehend and it was for this reason that I stood night after night in my own silent vigil trying in some way to unravel the mystery.

‘It’s just supposed to be pretty,’ he said.

But I could tell he wished me to expand and so I pointed to the Santa climbing the rope. ‘Look at the old man, Santa Claus, itself a derivative of Saint Nicholas, in some countries known as Old Nick, and as old Nick in his scarlet red garb, a figure who represent none other than the Devil himself. Climbing into your window. A smart devil. He will kill you and your wife first and then will be able to murder your three children at his leisure, before than partaking of the repast you have no doubt left out for him.’

‘Oh,’ said Mr. White, his complexion now perfectly suiting his snowy surname. ‘I might take that down then. But the nativity, that’s a nice scene?’

‘No, my God! That’s the worst of all,’ I cried.

‘How do you mean?’

‘The baby Jesus is born in a manger and the Maghi and Shepherds look on. But those Maghi have informed Herod of the prophecy and Herod in an attempt to forestall a threat to his own power will murder every male baby in Galilee. That baby has – by his birth – killed thousands of babies.’

‘But it isn’t his fault, he’s a baby.’

‘He is a GOD! How can it not be his fault?’

The next day the Nativity scene had been dismantled, Santa packed away and the sound of the children weeping and Mr. and Mrs. White arguing could clearly be heard above the sound of Lovesexy, Prince’s tenth studio album. Merry Christmas everybody. Merry Christmas.

For more wisdom from Werner Herzog, Click Here.



In which our new guest contributor, esteemed film director Werner Herzog, goes to the dentist.

I have always been a solitary man by nature, but one who is plagued by the persistent anxiety that I am living in the middle of a Prince song, not his more recent stuff, but something from the Eighties or early Nineties. To ease my soul from this unwarranted burden I seek solace in company and it was so that I found myself in London in a cupcake café with a woman I will call for the purposes of this record Elga, though her name was actually Sharon. Elga had ordered a cake, with icing on top. I had ordered nothing. I was famished but was also in the midst of a three week experiment to eat my own hunger. It was a terrible thing.

I told Elga that the cake was a terrible thing. “But it looks delicious Werner,” she said.

No, I told her. It is a terrible thing. It might taste sweet, and it might nourish some part of you, but in the end it will poison you. You must not eat the cake, Elga. It is your childhood, the father you never knew …

“But I knew my father,” she made bold to assert.

Not this one you didn’t. He’s your secret father, I admonish her. You must not eat the cake overwise you will be eating you secret father. And before she could object I ate the cake. It was scrummy.

A week later I realised I had made a terrible mistake. The cake had created a cavity at the core of my being and also in one of my molars. I cried out that the Universe was ruled by a pitiless God called Indifference and went to the dentist.

“What seems to be the problem?” he asked, but after forty minutes, his patience obviously exhausted by my complaints of ennui and quotations from Prince’s back catalogue, and ever the dentist, he asked me about my teeth. He had fingers the size and smell of cigars and his probing caused exquisite discomfort.

It would have to come out, he decided with what seemed like a minimum of reflection as to the subsequent integrity of my being. I told him that if he did not succeed in removing the tooth without causing me pain, then his whole life, his childhood, his family, his education, all the experiences he had hitherto enjoyed would all have been a complete waste of time and he would be declared, at the very core of his being, a failure. I am not sure if it was due to the pressure he subsequently felt, or if it was because I cried out “Turn your fat ass round so I can work on that zipper baby!” or if it was because of some unholy twist in the irredeemable rottenness of the universe, but he neglected to administer any anaesthetic before the extraction.

I cried like a child and howled like a wolf. A falsetto Austrian wolf who sounded a little like Prince.

For more wisdom from Werner Herzog, Click Here.