Fire of Love (2022 | USA | 91 minutes | Sara Dosa)
A narrator makes all the difference in the world. One can easily imagine the story of French volcanologists Katia and Maurice Krafft, who died together while observing the eruption of Mount Unzen, told with withering nihilistic disbelief by Werner Herzog. Or their matching red knit caps as the centerpiece of the production design for a twee fictionalized version of molten melancholy by Wes Anderson, perhaps the Life Volcanic. Instead, in her compilation of the couple’s own photos and films, Sara Dosa has enlisted the talents of Miranda July, who conveys the story of their lives together with boundless wonder and aching romance. While I’d love to see either of those takes, this one was utterly captivating.
It’s a perfect fit, and seemingly well in line with the pair’s own sense of building their own myth. Having met in university at Strasbourg and bonded over their shared childhood loves of European volcanos (for her, Etna; for him, Stromboli) just as the theory of plate tectonics was being realized, they were uncommonly suited to each other and the scientific moment. Yet, even as their work getting as close as possible to active volcanos (“the closer you get, the more you can see”) reaped dividends in discoveries, they realized early-on that presenting their work in engaging fashion was the key to getting more funding to spend time doing what they loved most.
As such, they left behind a rich archive of photographs and visually stunning film footage. The trove conveyed not only the importance of their research but also the wonder of the natural world. For every spectacular river of molten lava, the sky on fire, glowing red “bombs” projecting parabolically from the earth, or airborne shoot of lava condensing to strands of glass, they never forget to cast these geologic events in human scale. Along with their scientific filmmaking, they also captured their own escapades driving around Iceland in a beat-up rental; frying eggs on the molten lava, valiantly riding on horseback to approach the next explosion. The unifying theme: themselves always forging into danger to get a better look. It’s here, in their funny reflective spacesuits with oversized shiny helmets, plodding away from the camera and toward the fires that you get a sense of their passion for direct observation. Voiceovers from contemporaneous interviews, convey their interdependence and dedication to each other, personally and professionally.
Although it’s a National Geographic documentary, with the requisite amount of scientific and educational content — we learn about the differences between “red” and “gray” volcanoes, the perils of ignoring warnings of impending eruptions — the film’s heart is more interested in the metaphysical. We revisit their journeys to Zaire and the destruction they witness, follow along as they trudge knee deep in Mount St. Helens’s ash, and feel their furious regret at casualties that could have been prevented had Colombian authorities heeded the pointed alerts of scientists. But the enduring images, and the most convincing, are the backlit silhouettes cast against the abstract beauty of otherworldly eruptions forging ever dangerous onward, together, as an “infant volcano begins to throw a fit” while July’s narration ponders the unknowability of the world’s heartbeat.
We reviewed Fire of Love when it played in the Narrative Spotlight section at SXSW Film 2022; it opens this weekend at SIFF Cinemas.