Treadwell's death might have remained a punch line for late-night talk show hosts had it not been for the fact that he exhaustively documented his adventures. His videos served as a combination teaching tool and diary, alternating between dramatic nature footage and moments of intimate confession. After his death, the tapes found their way into the hands of German filmmaker Werner Herzog, whose thoughtful treatment of the material functions either as a grim elegy or an uproarious portrait of a tragically delusional soul, depending on the audience.

Herzog himself is one of the great lunatic directors of our century, a mad genius who repeatedly attempts to challenge nature and the gods in his own films (his most notorious movie, Fitzcarraldo, chronicles a crazy plan to move a three-story steamship over a hill in the Amazonian rain forest). As such, Herzog proves the perfect vessel for Treadwell's story. He's an eloquent philosopher on the subjects of art and nature. Leaving straightforward psychoanalysis to his audience, he instead approaches Treadwell's footage as a fellow filmmaker, captivated by scenes of transcendental beauty documented by this relative amateur.

And yet, it's the psychoanalysis that remains most fascinating about the movie. Who was Timothy Treadwell exactly? A failed actor (according to his father, Treadwell was the runner-up for Woody Harrelson's part on Cheers) and recovered alcoholic, he found his higher calling acting as an evangelist on behalf of the bears. At times he actually seems to be doing the animals something of a disservice, conditioning them to a benign human presence in areas where they are hunted for game.

The bears brought out an innocent, almost childlike side of Treadwell, and he dreamed of becoming one himself. His naive compassion and constant baby talk make Treadwell appear gay, although he denies the idea on camera and even maintained relationships with several women. He's a strangely asexual character, more in touch with nature than any of us could ever hope to be, and yet strangely disconnected from his own identity.

Through it all, Treadwell remains constantly aware of himself as ''the star of his own movie.'' The fact that we are witnessing a performance adds an intriguing subtext to his footage (he offers colorful commentary throughout and even shoots multiple takes on occasion). Unlike The March of the Penguins, Grizzly Man is far more than just a glorified nature film designed to turn wild animals into cuddly human-like companions. That's likely the approach Treadwell would've chosen had he made the movie himself, but Herzog is a realist. He's prone to waxing romantic about art perhaps, but never about nature, and he has made a rich, well-crafted documentary that offers a rare glimpse at someone who respected Mother Nature but refused to live by her rules.

[as featured in The Miami Herald]