Enter the New World. The conquistadors believed it was God-given, filled with cites of gold and fountains of youth, where every man was free and rich and a king of his own. But in Aguirre, the Wrath of God, this land is not God-given at all.
The bulk of Popol Vuh’s score comes from a choir organ (likely a custom Mellotron), which uses layers of dark, droning choirs to create an angelic, ethereal wall – the theme of the New World. The angelic choir may mean that the land is heavenly, but it is far from a gift. No, the New World is imposing, aweing, overwhelming – a place of the Gods, not of men.
In the opening moments, conquistadors and their native slaves traverse down a vast mountainside, stumbling as their supplies and weapons careen off the cliff face into the jungle below. During this five-minute sequence, the only music playing is the choir. There are no hints of danger, of chaos, of carnage, just the looping celestial sounds to show that these men are in a forbidden land. As Pizarro says shortly thereafter: “from here it’s downhill.” The maladies worsen – the order of law breaks down, the men devolve into beasts, madness, murder – and the choir sings on, indifferent.
