Posts Tagged ‘east european cinema’

MOTHER JOAN OF THE ANGELS (Jerzy Kawalerowicz, 1960)

June 23, 2012

Think of the gorgeous, austere Matka Joanna od aniolów as the sequel to Ken Russell’s The Devils (1971), with the seventeenth-century historical material transplanted from Loudon, France, to rural, dry, frozen Poland. Father Urbain Grandier has already been burned alive for allowing his manliness to incite the repressed sexuality of nuns at the parish convent; now, Father Jozef Suryn is the fifth priest to visit to perform the necessary exorcism to relieve the mother superior of the eight demons in possession of her and thus also “free” the other nuns who (with a single exception) mimic her hysterical, blasphemous antics. Suryn will fail; seduced by Mother Superior Joanna’s bemused smiles and her plea for sanctity, he will fall in love.

The opening image of this black-and-white masterpiece, like much else in the film, initially perplexes. In folds of darkness, what is that globular whatever we see at a distance?—an anachronistic light bulb perhaps? It turns out to be the shaved dome of Father Jozef’s head as he enlists God’s help, in prayer, for his mission. Visually, communicating with God thereby dehumanizes the priest; upside-down images of their faces will similarly dehumanize residents of the convent.

In approaching this film, it is well to keep two facts in mind: Jerzy Kawalerowicz, who co-wrote it (with Tadeusz Konwicki) and directed, was of Jewish ancestry and was, himself, an avowed atheist. (Kawalerowicz died in 2007.) His gaze on these priest and nuns is, therefore, exceptionally clear-eyed and, at times, grimly funny. In the room where the sisters’ clean white habits drape over parallel clothes lines, forming a kind of maze, Joanna self-flagellates in the prescribed manner, lightly and symbolically, while Jozef whips himself ferociously, his bloody, onanistic frenzy contributing to the breeze that causes the hanging habits to sway provocatively. At the last, believing he has dispossessed the woman he has come to love, Jozef is convinced by a distorted image of himself—God or Satan: take your pick—to take a lethal ax to two stable grooms, thereby maintaining himself in the grip of the demons, keeping them busy, so they do not take re-possession of Joanna: a warped, and wonderful, parody of Christian sacrifice. Ultimately, Kawalerowicz is whacking with an ax the whole notion that Jesus took our sins upon himself. Even more intriguingly, we are haunted by something that Joanna earlier said to Jozef: “When Satan leaves me, what if he takes possession of you?” In this context, demonic possession looms as a dreadful parody of grace.

This black-and-white film leans on diffuse grays, perhaps suggesting the dust we are always poised to return to. (There is plenty of dust in the film as well.) However, the white of the habits, along with the priesr’s dark garment, stands in sharp contrast; and in one unforgettable shot, the only thing that appears black—bereft of all light, that is to say—is the crucifix in Jozef’s outstretched hand! The stunning cinematography is by Jerzy Wójcik.

There is a curious meeting between the priest and the local rabbi, with the former hoping to learn from the latter the nature of sin. (“What am I doing here?” Jozef asks before entering the rabbi’s hut.) Perhaps “demonic possession,” or sinfulness, is merely human nature, the rabbi almost playfully suggests; but all the play is gone when he stridently confronts Jozef with their shared identity, their shared humanity, their shared nature despite Christian persecution of Jews: “You are me,” he tells an uncomprehending Jozef, whose Christianity has convinced him that he, himself, is superior to some Jew. Kawalerowicz has had a little fun here by casting the same actor, Mieczyslaw Voit, as both the rabbi and the priest.

Stark and powerful, and absolutely essential, Matka Joanna od aniolów is irredeemably brilliant. It closes on a muted closeup of a gigantic tolling bell: a symbolical silencing of the Church. The film won for Kawalerowicz the Jury Special Prize at Cannes.

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THE SUN IN A NET (Štefan Uher, 1962)

May 27, 2012

Voted by critics in the 1990s as one of the ten best films from the former Czechoslovakia, Slnko v sieti—alternately translated as The Sun in a Net or Sunshine Caught in a Net—derives from three short stories by Alfonz Bednár, which he himself adapted. Brilliantly directed by Štefan Uher (like Bednár, a Slovak), the film may be considered, depending on one’s point of view, as either an immediate antecedent of the Czech New Wave or, itself, the launch of the movement. Reflecting a loosening of the Communist grip on the country’s cultural and artistic expression, it departs from officially mandated “socialist realism,” both in its fluid, radical, associative style and its scathingly honest, unblinking social amd political content. Call it cinema’s first hurled hunk of spit of the gathering Czech New Wave.

The black-and-white film, consisting mostly of monotonous light grays, opens outdoors in a drab urban setting with abrasive sounds, including those of a screeching bird and demolishing equipment; cut from the same aural cloth, “Bullshit” is the first word we hear—spoken, aloud to himself, by student Oldrich “Fajolo” Fajták in response to what he hears said on the radio. Fajolo thus expresses his attitude towards the conformist, restrictive state in which he finds himself in the prime of his youth.

His utterance “Bullshit” also opposes state hypocrisy, which under penalty of official reprisals he must bend to, thereby becoming a hypocrite himself. Fajolo thus leaves his girlfriend Bela Blažejová to work in a summer “volunteer” farm camp; the tension achieved between the sheer, abundant beauty of the country and, essentially, the disdained forced labor accounts for striking passages. (One also takes in how poorly functioning the collectivized farm is—a strike at the heart of Soviet- and Soviet-satellite mythology.) During their separation, both Bela and Fajolo, moreover, couple with new partners.

This is a film ripe with surprising, inventive camera angles and dazzling imagery. Perhaps the centrifugal image—I confess: I wept—positions the camera to give the appearance that the sun itself has been caught in a fisherman’s wide net. The shattering effect, a commentary on the unnaturalness of repressive states, is cumulative; throughout the film there have been glimpses of people shot through “the net” and net-like structures. The entrapment of the sun is, of course, a metaphor for the entrapment of people; but more: it represents the light, enlightenment and freedom, obstructed by the state, from which human beings are being cut off.

Another theme pertains to the contagious nature of the lies of the state. Both a beclouded solar eclipse and a dropped water level, leaving behind only dry land, lead Bela and younger brother Milo to lie to their blind mother about these, presumably for the sake of the woman’s own delight and happiness.

Regrettably, the sure, tough poetry of this remarkable film is eventually defeated by an exposure of the material’s literary mechanics; but, until that relatively late point, how the film soars.

 

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KRAKATIT (Otakar Vávra, 1948)

May 4, 2012

 “The action takes place in the fancy of a feverish dream.” Thus begin the mental wanderings at night of Prokop, a young man at hospital deliriously roaming abandoned streets, making an effort to spare the world destruction brought on by atomic holocaust. Krakatit, the science-fiction novel by Karel Čapek on which Otakar Vávra’s Czech film is based, first appeared in the early 1920s, shortly after one world war, while the film appeared in the late ’40s, shortly after another world war—and one actually concluded by decisive atomic bombings. The threat of titanic explosions hangs over the film, sharpening the plea for peace that a convoluted and deliberately discontinuous plot might at any moment lose, in addition to losing the rest of the world. It is Prokop, a scientist, who has presumably developed the alarming prescription for Armageddon that foreign powers now covet.

 Gorgeously photographed by Václav Hanus in black and white, Krakatit  is largely a film of dark, blowy nights. Prokop’s resemblance to Orson Welles—the actor, Karel Höger, also resembles Richard Attenborough and Van Heflin—certifies the Kafkaesque nature of his (mis)adventures, where he sometimes collides with alternate versions of himself. (In effect, his mission is to stop himself from destroying the world.) Alas, there is none of the wit here of Čapek’s fabulous, late War with the Newts; but is the cause of the aridity the fact that the source is an early work, or that hopes for the salvation of the world banish humor and wit? Regardless, the shafts of wind-swept, mysterious poetry make this film a must-see—as does the transmutation of the songs of wild birds into various instances of mechanical noise: ironically, symbolically, the reduction of humanity that has rendered its slippage into atomic oblivion a fresh, persistent possibility.

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THE MILL & THE CROSS (Lech Majewski, 2011

April 21, 2012

The Spanish Inquisition: In 1564, Flanders is overrun by Spanish soldiers, atop their horses and wearing savagely “red tunics,” running down, brutalizing, “crucifying” Protestants for being “heretics” as a member of the community, painter Pieter Bruegel, plans and orchestrates outdoors one of his masterpieces, Procession on the Way to Calvary, in which the whipped Jesus is momentarily stilled by loss of blood and the weight of the cross he is carrying—not that many in the painting, which is marked by an intricate burst of Bosch-like activity, seems to notice. Bruegel (played by Rutger Hauer) conflates realms and times: Jesus’s; his own. (Through Bruegel, of course, the filmmaker is also tossing our own time into the mix.) His is a secular treatment of a sacred subject, which is all but lost to the eye amidst quotidian bustle, and in which an actual miller, producing the grain from which bread is made, replaces God or any symbol thereof in the highest inhabited position, in the tower of a windmill, which is perched atop a lofty rock formation. Throughout, Bruegel explains what he is sketching or arranging to his patron, Nicolaas Jongelinck (Michael York, inept). For the most part, though, the film is silent; dialogue is exceedingly spare, although we hear farm animals and the whistle of the wind.
     From Poland and Sweden, but spoken in English, The Mill and the Cross is a gorgeous film, beautifully color-photograped and digitally enhanced to provide a vivid sense of the painting’s creation; but I simply cannot draw a convincing line between the cruelty that the filmmaker, Lech Majewski, conjures for the sake of historical truth and the cruelty he inflicts upon us because that’s what he is driven to do—as far as I can tell, what he is always driven to do. Still, it would be churlish of me to deny this sick puppy his due; I am therefore naming him and collaborator Adam Sikora 2011’s best cinematographers.
     I cannot recommend the film, however. Its insights into the creative process are too clichéd and limited to offset the nastiness and unpleasantness of Majewski’s temperament and agenda.
     Least convincing of all is Majewski’s attempt to ascribe children’s rambunctiousness, which spills over into cruelty, to the Inquisition, invasion and occupation. I have a simpler explanation: Boys will be boys.

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WHEN THE CAT COMES (Vojtěch Jasný, 1963)

February 10, 2012

“Once upon a time, it should have happened.”

An anti-Nazi resistance fighter and disillusioned Communist, Vojtěch Jasný was, according to Milos Forman, the spiritual father of the Czech New Wave; indeed, his Až přijde kocour is a harbinger of that movement, one of whose greatest works is Jasný’s Všichni dobří rodáci (1968). Až přijde kocour—in English called The Cassandra Cat or When the Cat Comes—is a dazzlingly brilliant comical fantasy about Mokol, a cat in a traveling circus, who sees the true nature of townsfolk whenever his miniature sunglasses are removed from his cat-eyes. The film, written by Jasný, Jiří Brdečka and Jan Werich, took the Special Jury Prize at Cannes.
     Cinematographed by Jaroslav Kučera in gorgeous color, the film allows us to see what dear, cool Mokol sees: for instance, the unfaithful appear yellow; those in love, red. Inserted closeups of Mokol’s seeing-all eyes are sober, daunting and funny.
     The brave narrative, slippery to evade totalitarian reprisals, finds the visit of the circus reflecting an account of his own past by Oliva, one of the townsfolk and the film’s narrator; the same actor plays this character and the circus magician/master of ceremonies. A tremendous passage is the circus performance against a black backdrop, where, Hamlet-like, strands of what appears on stage reflects the lives of audience members, thereby invading their privacy. Espying and eavesdropping are activities shown throughout the film.
     The central conflict is between two men at the elementary school: Robert, a third-grade teacher attempting to inspire his pupils’ imagination and creativity; his superior, the authoritarian school director, who sharpshoots a stork down from the sky and, an amateur taxidermist, prepares and mounts the carcass for his trophy case: a reflection of his education philosophy. This soulless man now hopes to bag Mokol! The children, though, intervene; the orderly advancing crowd that they become offers hope for the future.
     Hilarious, the film is also poignant—politically and romantically. Few essential films are as delightfully entertaining as this one is.

B(U)Y THE BOOK

MY BOOK, A Short Chronology of World Cinema, IS CURRENTLY AVAILABLE FROM THE SANDS FILMS CINEMA CLUB IN LONDON. USING EITHER OF THE LINKS BELOW, ACCESS THE ADVERTISEMENT FOR THIS BOOK, FROM WHICH YOU CAN ORDER ONE OR MORE COPIES OF IT. THANKS.

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