![]() There may be a tragedy waiting in the wings, yet the last thing she wants is to flirt with true-crime sensationalism. It’s the opposite of an exploitative move, howevwr, and Dosa gives you this fact upfront not as a way of ginning up tabloid dynamism but as a way of defusing dread. They were also play a part in the couple’s demise.įire of Love lets you know very early on that the ending of this story is not exactly a happy one. These are the ones that arouse Katia and Maurice’s interest the most. The latter are explosive, ash-belching and much more dangerous. Helens.) He will acknowledge, however, that you can divide volcanoes into two basic types: “red” ones, which are the result of tectonic plates moving part and are what you usually picture when someone says the word “volcano” and “gray” ones, which happen when those plates come together and build pressure underneath the surface. (The movie even takes that notion one step further, giving “co-starring” credits to Mauna Loa, Nyiragongo, Una Una, Krafla, and Mt. During a vintage TV interview, Maurice is quick to poo-poo “lazy categorizations” regarding the different volcanoes they’d visited, and claimed that each had their own distinct personality. In the Kraffts’ minds, these were partners in crime. But it’s also the greatest lava-fueled love story ever told, and the fact that those two elements remain as inseparable as the spouses at the center of it all is a testament to how sublime this stranger-than-fiction masterpiece really is.ĭosa has referred to her painstakingly assembled recounting of the Kraffts’ lives as a tale of a “love triangle.” And indeed, the volcanoes act as a floating third party in their amour fou, with each new scaled peak and rockpile beguiling them separately and collectively. The doc is a capsule history lesson on an eons-old natural phenomenon. ![]() found in the couple’s archive that it’s also getting a theatrical run co-sponsored by a distributor named, appropriately enough, Neon is simply kismet.) There’s also a palpable sense of high-temp intensity that you feel just watching these two whenever they’re traipsing alongside a glowing chasm in the earth’s crust, as if they’d somehow sublimated a sexual passion for a shared one. (The fact that National Geographic picked the film up out of Sundance isn’t the least bit surprising, given the absolutely astonishing footage that Dosa and co. Not just the kind radiating out of spewing solar-orange geysers and flowing, pulsing molten streams, all of which are captured in 16mm footage shot by either colleagues of the volcanologists or the Kraffts themselves. It’s a miniature irony that Fire of Love, Bay Area documentarian Sara Dosa’s portrait of a romance, opens in what appears to be a raging blizzard - if there was ever a movie characterized by extreme heat, it’s this one.
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