Jaromír
Vejvoda’s “Roll Out the Barrel” (a.k.a. “Beer Barrel Polka”) is probably the
bestselling polka tune of all time. Will Glahé hit #1 on the U.S. charts with
his traditional recording before it was reworked into the Andrews Sisters’
wag-waver “Here Comes the Navy.” It is also the only record to survive the
apocalypse in Jan Schmidt’s The End of
August at the Hotel Ozone, which screens during the Film Society of Lincoln
Center current series, Strange Lands: International Sci-Fi.
Frankly,
a beer might help those settling in to watch Ozone, because Schmidt presents a distinctly bleak and vaguely
absurdist vision of the future. Years after some sort of nuclear Armageddon
(the details are hazy), an old woman with implied military training leads a
band of unruly women born post-apocalypse through the Doupov Mountains. It
seems the end of the world hit men the hardest, due to their higher
vulnerability to the subsequent diseases. The old woman honestly doubts there
are any left, but she keeps looking anyway, in the vain hope one of her rag-tag
troupe will become the Eve to his Adam.
Unfortunately,
the younger women do not inspire much confidence in humanity’s future. During
most of the rather aimless opening half, the teen to twentysomethings mostly
quarrel with each other in between random acts of animal cruelty (Peta would
have a conniption fit if anyone ever tried to reshoot some of Schmidt’s sequences).
However, their wanderings eventually take them to the “Hotel Ozon,” which is
still maintained by its old caretaker. Yes, he is a man, about the same age as
their leader. Initially, he is overjoyed by their company, especially that of
his fellow doomsday survivor. However, ignorance will inevitably lead to
tragedy.
Ozone is a dashed hard
film to get one’s head and arms around. Presumably, it was green-lit by the Party
authorities with the expectation it could serve as a pseudo-peacenik propaganda
piece, attacking the capitalist warmongers. Instead, it is a politically
neutral indictment of human nature and a sharp rebuke to utopianism in any
form.
Considering
the grave circumstances, it is difficult to understand how the younger women
could be so reckless and wasteful with scarce resources. Perhaps we are
supposed to ask whether they are any different than those who caused the end of
the world. Still, the film brings to mind a famous Reagan story. Reportedly,
while still governor, his official motorcade was briefly blocked by protestors,
one of whom tapped on his window holding a sign saying “we are the future.” Without
skipping a beat, he jotted the response: “then I’m selling my bonds.”
Indeed,
there is little by way of character development for any of the post-Armageddon
women. In contrast, Beta Ponicanová’s performance as the old woman is unusually
mature and subtlety shaded. Likewise, Ondrej Jariabek is achingly tragic as the
old man. Their scenes together carry real weight and power. Nevertheless, the
film leaves us feeling sort of confused and stranded.