THE TWILIGHT WORLD

Stunning tale of obsession unto madness by a master of that narrow but fruitful genre.

Recall director Herzog’s film Aguirre, The Wrath of God (1972), and you’ll have a key to this story, whose details he calls “factually correct”—mostly. In Tokyo to stage a production of Chushingura in 1997, Herzog declines an opportunity to speak with the emperor and instead asks to see Hiroo Onoda, a Japanese commando who hid on a Philippine island from 1944 until 1974. Herzog tells Onoda’s tale from the beginning, when the psychologically remote sentinel had a few companions. One was captured early on and two were killed, all well after the war had ended. Onoda, though, was convinced that the war was ongoing since year after year vast armadas of American ships and airplanes came by—though bound for Korea and then, a decade later, Vietnam. “Our tasks are to remain invisible, to deceive the enemy, to be ready to do seemingly dishonorable things while keeping safe in our hearts the warrior’s honor,” Onoda exhorts, sure that the leaflets and broadcasts directing him and his troops to surrender are all “just a trick to lure them out of their jungle fastness.” Three decades after the war ended, a young Japanese student named Suzuki—whose goal after having ferreted out Onoda is to find a yeti and then a giant panda—strikes a deal: If he returns with the commander who had ordered Onoda to remain on Lubang, then Onoda will surrender. What happens next has the bittersweet dimension that is another Herzog trademark, marked by graceful prose: Onoda becomes a rancher in Brazil, and among the cows and away from people, “he knows he is where he is.”

Herzog fans will hope for a film to come. Meanwhile, this evocation of loyalty to a lost cause serves beautifully.