Grizzly Man is a fascinating nonfiction look at a character so brazen and bizarre, he must be fictional. Werner Herzog plays a more obtrusive role in this film than most documentarists would -- narrating and setting certain events in motion -- but he did not in fact create Timothy Treadwell, the ironically named crackpot who lived among bears in the Alaskan wilderness, eventually losing his life to them. There may have been no other way to do it, but Herzog reveals at the start that Treadwell died, which leaves his video footage as one of those priceless artifacts that charts the twists and turns on a path toward a known, inevitable outcome. Those in search of a snuff film will be disappointed, however; actual audio of Treadwell's mauling does exist, but Herzog refrains from playing it for the audience. He instead focuses on Treadwell's numerous episodes narrating to his camera, over years alongside the bears. These showcase all the ticks, irrationalities, bitter prejudices, manic highs, and depressive lows of this overwrought narcissist and self-proclaimed outcast, who resembles a longer-haired Aaron Eckhart. Less valuable are the interviews with Treadwell's eccentric former friends and acquaintances, whose contributions can border on the unintentionally comic. One particularly misguided scene involves Herzog presenting Treadwell's digital watch to an estranged (and strange) ex-girlfriend, and her getting lost in the profundity of an unsentimental object he didn't even own yet when she knew him. On average, though, Herzog has assembled a really telling portrait, giving the story a necessary spine, and smartly straddling the line between sympathy and criticism. Grizzly Man is one of the most vital documentaries of 2005, a film that reminds viewers that strange truth can be more engrossing than a writer's quirky fiction.
