The history of world cinema contains some remarkable artistic disasters. Some of the most notable, such as Michael Cimino’s “Heaven’s Gate” (1980) or Kevin Reynold’s “Waterworld” (1995) combined extravagant expense, over-runs (time and budget) and a final product of questionable merit. Francis Coppola’s “Apocalypse Now” retains a reputation as a film classic; however, the economic and psychological liabilities produced by its creation were excessive with some of the cast hospitalized or in therapy following the film’s completion. There were also lingering debts and estranged friendships.

At some point, the directors and the critics — as well as the audiences who finally see these “troubled epics” are left with a singular provocative question: was it worth it? At what point does the making of a film cease to be a creative endeavor and become a misguided obsession?

If lives are being endangered, international relations between countries strained and the mental stability of cast members threatened, is it time to pull the plug? A case in point is Werner Herzog’s “Fitzcarraldo.”

Here is a synopsis of the plot. Brian Sweeney Fitzgerald (nicknamed Fitzcarraldo by his Peruvian friends because they cannot say his name) has an obsession. He dreams of building a magnificent opera house in the middle of the Amazonian jungle and bringing Enrico Caruso there to perform. Fitzcarraldo is an irrational dreamer and has a history of hatching improbable “get-rich-quick” schemes (he is peddling an ice-making machine when the film begins), but his soul is committed to the opera.

When his hopes of acquiring financial backing from rubber tree barons prove hopeless, Fitzcarraldo decides to become a rubber-tree baron himself. This venture is funded by his paramour, Molly, (Claudia Cardinale) the improbably beautiful owner of a brothel in Iquitos). With Molly’s money, Fitz buys a derelict steamboat, refurbishes it, hires a bizarre crew and proceeds up a tributary of the Amazon where he encounters missionaries and head-hunting Javaros. When the head-hunters pursue the vessel, Fitz plays Caruso records on a baroque phonograph mounted on the ship’s deck. The Javaros are impressed (or puzzled) and follow obediently in the ship’s wake. Eventually, however, the crew learns that Fitz has been less than honest with them about their destination. The rubber tree forest which he intends to claim and then harvest is not accessible by the river, but lies over a mountain. Fitz intends to drag his steamboat across the mountain and float it once again in a river that flows through the unclaimed rubber tree forest. He has no idea how he is going to do this, but simply trusts that “a solution will be found.”

Well, strangely enough, he does find a way. The head-hunting Javaros agree to assist Fitz in dragging the steamboat across the mountain.

Both Fitz and his crew are mystified by this offer, but they immediately set about developing an ingenious system of pulleys, primitive wenches, chains and counter-weights that enables them to slowly inch the steamboat over the mountain. The project looks impossible, yet despite constant setbacks, conflicts, broken machinery and a few fatalities, the journey is made. On the day that this incredible feat is accomplished, Fitz, his crew and the Javaros have a drunken celebration. During the night, the Javaros set the ship adrift and Fitz and his crew awake to find themselves rushing toward a series of wild waterfalls. The Javaros have released the steamboat as “an offering” to the river gods.

Fitz and the crew survive, the ship is heavily damaged but afloat, and the mission to acquire a rubber tree forest is aborted. Defeated, Fitz and the crew return down river to their starting place. A wealthy rubber tree baron purchases the damaged boat, rents an orchestra and a touring opera company and allows Fritz to return to Iquitos on his damaged vessel to the strains of a Verdi opera. Molly and a cheering crowd wave to him from the bank. His dream is compromised, but he enjoys a kind of muted triumph.

After watching the film twice, I decided to read Herzog’s original script. (Many of his scripts are available in paperback and can be read like quirky novels with a “first-person narrator.” It immediately became apparent that Herzog’s initial concept underwent considerable change. Originally, the script has Fitzcarraldo accompanied by his retarded brother throughout this awesome trek. Instead, Molly serves as occasional companion and financial sponsor. There are other script revisions as Herzog deals with the realities of the Amazonian jungle.

The actual filming of “Fitzcarraldo” took the better part of four years. During this time, border disputes, conflicts with warring native tribes, dysentery, broken machinery and major morale problems plagued the production. However, the majority of the hardships were created by Herzog’s determination to do the film without special effects.

In short, that meant that he proposed to drag a real steamship across a real mountain utilizing only the primitive equipment depicted in the film.

In addition, Harzog had originally cast Jason Robards Jr. and Mick Jagger as his two principal characters. With 40 percent of the film completed, both Jagger and Robards abandoned the film. Robards was seriously ill and Jagger, who never thought the film would takes years to complete, found himself in trouble with recording commitments in America. Herzog was forced to replace the departing actors with Klaus Kinski and Claudia Cardinale. He revised the script and started over. Progress was slow and Kinski, notoriously unstable to begin with, became increasingly irrational as weeks turned into months and then years. After three years of bad food, boredom and stress, Kinski frequently gave way to uncontrollable rages, attacking fellow actors and giving vent to awesome obscene rants. Allegedly, he attempted to kill Herzog several times. Herzog later admitted that he considered killing Kinski, (“But only once,” he said.) Work crews deserted. Financial backers advised cancellation of the production.

The ensuing debacle was painstakingly recorded by another film-maker, Les Blank. The result is an extraordinary documentary entitled “The Burden of the Dream” which many critics consider superior to Herzog’s film! Some of the most painful footage contains interviews with Herzog, who appears under extreme stress as he struggles to maintain control of the film. Several of Kinski’s screaming tirades are on film as well as the guarded comments of numerous crew members who are struggling to keep up appearances. Most striking is the painful inching progress of the steamboat up he mountain amid an atmosphere that alternates between anger and apathy. Sullen native prostitutes bicker, Herzog makes oblique observations on the cruelty and antagonism of nature (“The birds sing here because they are in pain!”).

Finally, with near-rebellion on his hands, Herzog relents and allows a bulldozer to pull the balking vessel over the mountain crest. In the final analysis, “Fitzcarraldo” is a strange fable about a man obsessed with extravagant gestures and flamboyant accomplishments — a man who dreams of hearing Enrico Caruso sing Verdi in an Amazonian jungle. The fable was created by a director who shares all of the characteristics of his hero — In fact, he has confessed in recent interviews that he had always hoped to play the part of Fitzcarraldo himself! One of his most frequent comments about his work is, “I am my films,” and so he is Fitzcarraldo — flawed, gifted and obsessed.

(Gary Carden is a writer, storyteller and lecturer whose book, Mason Jars in the Flood, was recently named Book of the Year by the Appalachian Writers Association. He can be reached at gcarden498@aol.com.)