Frantisek Vlacil at FSLC: Sentiment

Franstišek Vláčil outlived the Communist regime that had so bedeviled his filmmaking career, but he did not quite make it into the Twenty-First Century. However, his presence was felt on Czech screens in 2003 thanks to documentary filmmaker Tomáš Hejtmánek, who recreated his many conversations with Vláčil in Sentiment, which screens tomorrow as part of the Film Society of Lincoln Center’s Fantastic World of Franstišek Vláčil retrospective.

Like many Czechs, Vláčil apparently enjoyed an occasional adult beverage, but rum for his drink of choice instead of Becherovka. Not that it is Vláčil whom we see reflecting on cinema and his life in general. It is actor Jirí Kodet re-enacting interviews Hejtmánek conducted with the celebrated director. Though it was hardly the manner Hejtmánek originally envisioned a collaboration with the filmmaker he so admired, Vláčil’s death necessitated the unconventional approach.

Indeed, Kodet creates a real sense of Vláčil’s personality, crusty and acerbic certainly, but not bitter. Despite his well reported troubles under the Communist regime, Sentiment largely avoids the political, aside from a few unflattering references to the “Commies.”

Periodically featuring quietly evocative nature scenes excerpted from or inspired by Vláčil’s films, Sentiment is best viewed by audiences already somewhat familiar with the Czech New Wave auteur’s work. It should be one of the later films FSLC patrons see in the series rather than the first. Though structured relatively simply as a faux-but-real talking head documentary, the intimate, sepia-washed cinematography of Jaromir Kacer and Divis Marek gives Sentiment a classy look that is quite consistent with that of Vláčil’s own films.

Modest but heartfelt, Sentiment helps flesh out Vláčil, a filmmaker who ought to be more widely appreciated outside the Czech Republic. A fitting way to cap off the FSLC’s Vláčil retrospective currently underway, it screens tomorrow (2/5) and Thursday (2/10) at the Walter Reade Theater.

Frantisek Vlacil at FSLC: Shadows of a Hot Summer

The mere fact that an accomplished but largely nonpolitical artist like filmmaker Franstišek Vláčil would require “rehabilitation” is fundamentally troubling. However, Vláčil was able to work his way back into the then Czechoslovakian state film industry, starting with his well received documentaries and children’s’ films (like the excellent Sirius). Given the realities of so-called “Normalization” under the Husák regime, the overtly Catholic, anti-Communist Ukrainian nationalist guerillas made convenient villains, at least on the surface level of Vláčil’s 1977 feature Shadows of a Hot Summer, which screens as part of the Film Society of Lincoln Center’s Fantastic World of Franstišek Vláčil retrospective now underway.

It is the summer of 1947, roughly six to eight months before the Communist coup. Though undeniably from peasant stock, Baram approaches kulak status. His isolated farm has always provided for his family well enough, but it unfortunately makes a perfect hiding place for the Ukrainian Bender Gang. With his wife and children held hostage, Baram must kidnap the village doctor to tend to their wounded leader. Definitely the strong taciturn type, Baram reluctantly acquiesces to their many demands to protect his family, but his young son’s unspoken rebukes are unmistakable.

Written by Jiri Krizan, a dissident who would eventually become a leading advisor to Vaclav Havel, Summer is largely thought to be anti-anti-Communist in name only, with the marauding Ukrainians serving as proxies for the Soviet Army of 1968. Yet, despite the resonance of their invasion of home and hearth, the film is strangely emotionally distant. In a way, the eerie soundtrack by longtime Vláčil collaborator Zdeněk Liška works too well, creating an unsettling vibe that emphasizes the film’s cold, brutal exterior, while keeping its quiet protagonist at arm’s length.

Though it might be difficult to draw a bead on Juraj Kukkura’s Baram, at least he has an appropriately manly presence. Frankly, Gustáv Valach is most successful at creating a fully dimensional flesh and blood character as the fundamentally decent but tired provincial doctor. As for the Benders, they are not extravagant enough to be caricatures, nor fleshed out enough to be real.

Summer is fascinating film for what it represents, both for Vláčil’s career and Czech cinema during the post-Prague Spring era. However, it needs to be appreciated within that larger context. Currently not available on DVD in America, it screens tomorrow (2/4) and next Wednesday (2/9) as the FSLC’s Vláčil retrospective continues at the Walter Reade Theater.

Frantisek Vlacil at FSLC: Sirius

The story of a boy and his dog is a classic motif of children’s films. However, Franstišek Vláčil transformed the well established convention into something sadly poetic, perfectly befitting the tenor of his time. As was the case with many artists, the post-Soviet Invasion years were not kind to Vláčil’s career, but by the mid 1970’s, he was eventually allowed to take the reins of a smattering of short documentaries and films for young audiences. Though ostensibly one such children’s film, the adult world tragically intrudes in Sirius, Vláčil’s elegiac WWII-era coming of age film, which screens this Saturday afternoon as part of the Film Society of Lincoln Center’s Fantastic World of Franstišek Vláčil retrospective now underway at the Walter Reade Theater.

Sirius (or "Sir" as he is affectionately called) is not quite Lassie, but his ability to communicate and follow the instructions of his master is impressive none-the-less. Fascinated by the night sky, the director’s young namesake named the loyal canine after the Dog Star, the brightest star visible from Earth with the naked eye. Franstišek’s days appear to be filled with child-like wonder, as he and Sir commune with the nature. It seems their only cause for concern is the Bo Radley-esque forest-keeper who makes no secret of his ill will for the title animal. All that changes when a Nazi troop train blows up right before his eyes. Suddenly, the Germans are keenly aware of Franstišek’s station agent father as well as his spirited dog.

Though comparatively brief at a mere fifty minutes, Vláčil still takes his time establishing the rapport between boy and dog. Indeed, most of the film has a pastoral feel, though a sense of foreboding looms over the film. Clearly, there was a very competent dog trainer working behind the scenes, but Michal Vavrusa is also surprisingly understated and engaging as Franstišek.

Sirius could be considered an Old Yeller from behind the Iron Curtain. Yet, Vláčil slyly employs astronomical motifs to add a metaphysical-allegorical dimension unlike anything in Disney films. Though it burns brightly, we are told Sirius the star is due to temporarily disappear from the horizon. Likewise, the National Socialist occupiers may appear all powerful, but they too shall pass (as their Communist successors did as well).

Beautiful in its simplicity and directness, Sirus is a rewarding film for both smart kids and relatively smart adults. Not available on DVD here in America, it is highly recommended for all ages when it screens this Saturday (2/5) as part of the Vláčil series at the Walter Reade Theater.

Frantisek Vlacil at FSLC: The White Dove

Like many contemporary Iranian filmmakers, Franstišek Vláčil often focused on ostensibly apolitical subjects, like children and animals. Yet, as a filmmaker in the vanguard of the Czech New Wave, his work was still considered suspect by the Communist power structure. Though his career would be put on hold for six years following the 1968 Soviet invasion, the international acclaim greeting his 1960 feature film debut The White Dove promised great things at the time for the filmmaker, making it the perfect selection to launch Film Society of Lincoln Center’s Fantastic World of Franstišek Vláčil retrospective tomorrow.

A group of doves is released in Belgium. On a small Baltic island, their handlers eagerly anticipate their return. However, young Susan’s bird has a late start due to a twinge of the wing. While detouring through Prague, the wheelchair-bound Miša’s pellet gun nearly proves fatal. Shamed by Martin, the artist in the next door apartment, he nurses the bird back to health, while Susan faithfully keeps watching the skies.

Dove is a deceptively simple story, involving several themes Vláčil would return to in later films, such as the bond between children and animals. Reportedly reluctant to overwhelm his youthful cast with extensive lines to memorize, Vláčil makes his points visually rather than verbally. Stark but sensitive, nearly every artful black-and-white frame lensed by cinematographer Jan Čuřík is suitable for framing. Indeed, it is arresting film to behold, effectively contrasting the claustrophobic, urbanized Prague with the idyllic sun and sea of Susan’s Baltic isle. Adding further texture, composer Zdenek Liska’s spritely jazz interludes and more suggestive chamber music nicely underscore and reinforce the power of the film’s speechless moments.

Vláčil elicits some natural yet restrained performances from Karel Smyczek and Katerina Irmanovová, as the dove’s two youthful caretakers. He also captures the artistic impulse better in Dove than nearly any other film, raptly observing as Martin creates a series of works inspired by Miša and the injured dove (which are credited to Czech artists Theodor Pištěk and Jan Kablasa). At times, Dove seems to suggest deeper allegorical significance, but Vláčil judiciously keeps it all rather obscure—though perhaps not obscure enough, in retrospect. (Whenever you have a cat named Satan hunting a peaceful white dove, it could be rather awkward explaining to the occupying commissar what each represents.)

Many have likened Vláčil’s films to poetry. Indeed, like a good poem (at least by Poe’s standards) Dove is relatively short at seventy-five minutes. Though it memorably evokes a child’s perspective, it is unquestionably high art cinema, better suited to the discerning connoisseur. A major work from a filmmaker under-exposed on the American film scene during his own lifetime, Dove kicks-off the FSLC’s welcome reappraisal of Vláčil’s films this Wednesday (2/2) at the Walter Reade Theater.