Werner Herzog’s Cave of Forgotten Dreams is a spellbinding descent into one of the most extraordinary and mysterious places in human history—the Chauvet Cave in southern France, home to the oldest known cave paintings, some of which are over 32,000 years old. The film is a rare opportunity to explore these prehistoric artworks, captured with reverence and wonder by Herzog, whose fascination with the human experience and the ineffable mysteries of existence has always shaped his films.

The pace of Cave of Forgotten Dreams is deliberate, almost meditative, taking its time as it guides us through the cave’s winding corridors and reveals these early expressions of creativity. Herzog does not rush, and in his deliberate pacing, he allows us to absorb the gravity of the ancient images: horses, rhinos, and lions in motion, captured with an elegance and skill that make them feel strikingly modern. Herzog’s careful pacing is key to the film’s resonance, as it forces us to slow down, to contemplate not just what we are seeing, but what it means for us today.

Herzog, as both filmmaker and narrator, lends a poetic and philosophical tone to the film. His distinctive voice—deep, contemplative, tinged with awe—guides us not just through the physical cave but through a series of thoughts and questions about art, human evolution, and the deep connection between modern man and his distant ancestors. It is in this reflective quality that Cave of Forgotten Dreams truly shines. Herzog makes the cave and its contents feel less like relics of a long-forgotten past and more like a mirror that reflects something profoundly human across the ages.

This film is, at its heart, about connection—between past and present, between art and life, between what it means to be human now and what it meant then. These images, created by people long before modern civilization, speak to a commonality of experience, a desire to represent and communicate. When we see a delicate rendering of a horse or a lion, drawn with such care and precision, it is impossible not to feel a kinship with the artist. These were not primitive scribblings—they were sophisticated, deliberate, and expressive. Herzog allows us to dwell on this idea, suggesting that, in many ways, these ancient humans were not so different from us. They, too, dreamed, created, and sought to make sense of their world through art.

One of the film’s most compelling aspects is how it positions our ancestors as modern in ways we had perhaps never considered. The artists who painted the walls of Chauvet Cave were using techniques that resonate even today. Their understanding of movement, perspective, and even narrative—some of the images show multiple phases of an animal’s movement—feels incredibly advanced. Herzog invites us to think about how these early humans, so often thought of as distant and alien, were grappling with the same existential questions we do now. What is the role of art in the human experience? What does it mean to leave a mark, to communicate something of ourselves to the future?

At the same time, Cave of Forgotten Dreams also leaves us pondering the future. What will future generations think of us, and the art we leave behind? Just as we look back with awe and curiosity at these ancient artists, Herzog subtly asks us to consider what our legacy will be. In a world dominated by technology and rapid change, will our creations stand the test of time? Will the art we make today communicate something essential about the human experience to those who come after us? These questions linger long after the film ends, and in true Herzog fashion, they are posed without easy answers, leaving the audience to contemplate their own place in the continuum of human history.

Herzog is at his most reflective in the film’s closing moments, where he contemplates the future of the cave and its paintings. Due to the fragility of the site, the Chauvet Cave is closed to the public, and Herzog’s film is one of the few ways the general public will ever see its contents. In a characteristically Herzogian twist, he uses this to meditate on the impermanence of art and the human desire to preserve it. What is the purpose of creating art, he seems to ask, if its longevity is not guaranteed? The cave, locked away from the world to protect it, becomes a metaphor for art’s fragility and the ephemerality of human endeavors.

Cave of Forgotten Dreams is not a fast-paced film, nor is it a conventional documentary in its structure. Herzog’s approach is meandering, contemplative, even ruminative, but that is precisely what makes it so effective. It demands patience from the viewer, but in return, it offers profound insights into what it means to be human. This is not a film that rushes to conclusions or overwhelms with facts; instead, it lingers in the quiet spaces between the images, allowing us to consider what we are seeing and what it tells us about ourselves.

In its slow, deliberate pacing, Cave of Forgotten Dreams becomes a meditation on time, history, and the enduring power of art. It reveals our ancestors as more modern than we might ever have imagined, and it forces us to ponder what future generations will see when they look back at us. Cave of Forgotten Dreams is a film that stays with you, not because it shouts, but because it whispers, inviting you into a conversation that spans millennia.

Score: 8/10