Cerna’s mother was a party-person who could never really face reality, once she became a parent. Frankly, trouble dealing with reality runs in her family. She comes to share her older delinquent brother Mirek’s delusion their long-absent father waits for them in America (building the United States into an unrealiistic paradise in Cerna's mind). Since her mother frequently disappears on long benders, Cerna must act as a mother to her toddler brother. Eventually, the neighbors finally call social services, who separate the two siblings. Sadly, her little brother vanishes into the socialist system, never to be seen again, at least by her.
However, Cerna briefly reunites with her older brother when the authorities transfer him to her orphanage. Unfortunately, his rebelliousness and the schoolmarm-ism head mistress’s prejudices soon result in his expulsion. Nevertheless, Cerna develops sisterly feelings towards many of her fellow orphans. Somehow, the orphanage successfully places her with decent foster parents (although her step-sister is admittedly a pill), but she prefers the fantasy of her American father over a flesh-and-blood home. Inevitably, her self-destructive behavior lands her back in another state facility, of the correctional variety, where again she finds comradery with young women very much like her.
That all sounds pretty grim, which it often is. Yet, Taus’s visual approach is so wildly surreal, it sometimes makes the film rather confusing to follow. Frankly, between the bleak tone and the stylistic excesses, Girl America might be the most exhausting film of the decade.
Regardless, it is clear everyone invested their hearts and souls in this film. Klara Kitto, Julie Soucova, and Pavla Beretova are all equally and relentlessly devastating as Cerna, from childhood through adulthood. However, Tomas Sean Psenicka really stands out as a potential breakout international star for his intense, but also edgily charismatic performance as big brother Mirek.
Nevertheless, he rarely gives the audience space to breathe. There are no light moments or anything resembling humor to break up the heavy tragedy and oppressive atmosphere. It is an easy film to respect, for its tremendous artistry, but it would be awfully hard to watch it twice. Mostly recommended for the remarkably assured work of the young ensemble (many of whom also appear in Snowflakes), Girl America screens tomorrow (1/7), Wednesday (1/8), and Friday (1/10) at Bohemian National Hall.
