JESUS CHRIST KINSKI by Benjamin Myers

I know the name. I know the face. I most certainly know the reputation. However, credibility be damned, I can’t say I’m overly familiar with Klaus Kinski’s oeuvre. Benjamin Myers, on the other hand, is someone whose work I have loved for quite some time. His wild unpredictability, inventiveness and willingness to take risks is pretty much without equal in the world of popular-adjacent contemporary English lit. That his response to the pandemic novel is a moment-in-time character study of an obscure theatrical madman is as on-brand as it is surprising. And delightful.

In Kinski, Myers finds a kindred spirit: someone willing to risk career suicide at the flip of a dime with little promise of payoff. Focusing on the actor’s infamous Jesus Christ Erlöser performance from 1971, Myers inhabits the man in what becomes a blow by blow unraveling of genius into absolute madness. It’s uncomfortable, ugly and utterly enthralling. Then Myers enters the frame, in a dazzling act of relatable self-immolation. The two - at least conceptually - become one. Honestly, I have no effin’ idea what to make of this book. Suffice to say, Myers swings so hard that even his misses pack a whallop.

Jesus Christ Kinski by Benjamin Myers
Bloomsbury, 2025
198 pages