SHADOWS OF A HOT SUMMER

 

Out of all the films the Melbourne Cinematheque played during their recent František Vláčil season, “Shadows of a Hot Summer” was totally new to me, in that I had neither seen it, nor even heard of it, before the announcement of the programme. Released in 1978, “Shadows of a Hot Summer” bares similarities with Vláčil's 1969 film, “Adelheid”, as both films take place soon after the end of World War II. Here, the events take place in 1947, in a small country village in Czechoslovakia. The imdb gives a very basic plot description of the film, which is as follows: “Ondrej lives on a farm outside a small town with his family. One day a group of men arrive at the families house and the harmonious life they've led so far changes drastically for the worse.” Like a lot of Vláčil's films, the exact details of what is going on in the film are not immediately apparent, and the audience is either left to work out what is going on themselves, or wait an amount of time before Vláčil enlightens us further.

An example of this is the fact that we are never explicitly told who the men are that take over Ondrej's farmhouse, as Vláčil trusts the audience to have some knowledge about the events of this time period in Czechoslovakia, however for those (like myself) who do not have an extensive historical knowledge of the time and place, it can be a little frustrating that these details are not filled in. Since my screening, and after some research, I have found out that the men are actually members of the Ukrainian Insurgent Army, who are attempting to flee from the Red Army, and decide to stop at Ondrej's farmhouse to rest whilst one of their members recovers from a gunshot wound he has sustained. While this information is important, all you really need to understand is that Ondrej's farmhouse is under occupation, as “Shadows of a Hot Summer” is really an allegory about a country under occupation, and what it is like living a daily life whilst under occupation. A further example of Vláčil's drip-feeding of information is immediately after Ondrej and his family are taken hostage, as the very next scene we see him out in the open, travelling into town once more. This is initially very confusing, because you have no idea what is going on, nor how Ondrej has freed himself from these heavily armed men. It turns out that they have accompanied him into the town, in an attempt to kidnap the local doctor who is to help the wounded guerilla.

Whilst “Shadows of a Hot Summer” is about the occupation of a family house, it is also about resistance, and in this regard, I thought the film had a lot in common with Jean-Pierre Melville's debut film, “ Le Silence de la Mer”, which came out in 1949. Throughout the film, we see Ondrej and the doctor doing everything that is asked of them of by the guerillas, however they never accept anything “from” them. When the doctor removes the bullet from the injured man, and his friend reaches out his hand to shake it in thanks, the doctor refuses to shake the hand. Similarly, when one of them is trying to light his cigarette, and one of the Ukrainian's offers the flame from his lighter, they turn his back on him, and light it via the stove. These are small but powerful acts of resistance, which appear like nothing but say so much to those involved. That said, Ondrej's young son does not understand all this, and thinks his father is a coward for not going up against these guerillas and essentially becoming their slave, rather than fight. Ondrej knows however that he is out-manned and out-gunned, and their only hope of surviving this occupation is to do what is asked of them, although we soon learn that Ondrej is bidding his time, waiting for a moment to turn the tables on his occupiers. We also learn early, that Ondrej is no coward, and he is willing to confront the Ukrainian soldiers when he witnesses them being disrespectful towards his wife.

František Vláčil tells the story of “Shadows of a Hot Summer” in a slow, deliberate manner, so we feel the passing of time, and so we can relate to what Ondrej and his family must be going through, as they are forced to go about their daily farming chores, all under the watchful eyes of a group of men who are looking for any little detail that may show that Ondrej is trying to alert the authorities to their presence. As such, we get long scenes of the family members, cutting the grass (with a scythe), milking the sheep (!), fixing the roof, etc, all under the glaring eyes of the Ukrainians. It creates a real palpable suspense, even though there is a quiet atmosphere present onscreen most of the time, as you know that any moment violence could erupt. Once again, the craft of film making is of such a high level in “Shadows of a Hot Summer” which František Vláčil's images again being the highlight. To be honest, it is a much more pared back visual style this time around, but no less impressive, and this is largely thanks to the big farmhouse where all of the action of the film takes place. Due to it's long length and positioning with the forest surrounding it (the main reason why the guerilla's chose the place to hide-out in the first place, as you can witness what is coming from any angle making it almost impossible to sneak up on), this gives Vláčil many chances to come up with interesting angles and shots to tell his story. Being set in summer, the film has a colour palette of yellows, browns, oranges and tan, with the characters often seen perspiring regularly.

While I just said that František Vláčil's images were the highlight of “Shadows of a Hot Summer”, I may have to contradict myself almost immediately, as Zdenek Liska's score for the film is truly sensational, whilst also being utterly bizarre and almost avant-garde in nature. It is primarily percussion based, but it uses either the strangest instruments possible to make these sounds, or he is using other objects entirely to create music out of them. Either way, it is so impressive and adds so much to the film. There is also some more traditional music that Liska has composed for brief moments in the film, but the majority of it is through the use of this strange percussion. Interestingly though, during the very tense finale of “Shadows of a Hot Summer”, Vláčil has made the brave choice to forego music entirely, and I think it works brilliantly because of this, as you can almost hear every tense breath being taken during this suspense filled scene.

Finally, I cannot finish this review without making mention of Juraj Kukura, who plays the lead role of Ondrej, and is magnificent in the role. Kukura is an actor that I was not familiar with before seeing “Shadows of a Hot Summer”, and it took me a little time to warm up to him, but by the end of the film, I thought he gave an incredible, multi-layered performance. What is interesting is that it is a quiet performance, but throughout it all you can see that this man is thinking the whole time, and about so many things. How will they survive this? What's the best thing to do to keep my family safe from harm? What happens if I go against what they want? Coming straight out of the war, you can tell that Ondrej understands the situation exactly, something his young son cannot, so what may initially appear as cowardice, is something else altogether. I'm actually trying to think if Kukura is in every scene in the film, but if he is not, he is certainly in most of them, as the story is seen through his eyes, and Kukura never puts a step wrong. There is a strength in his performance, and in his portrayal of this man, even when he is being dominated by a group of men brandishing weapons, and this is shown in his moments of resistance.

Overall, like all the other František Vláčil's films I saw in this recent season of his films at the Melbourne Cinematheque, I thoroughly enjoyed “Shadows of a Hot Summer”; it is another dark and poetic tale from this super talented Czech director, that is highlighted with both his trademark visual skills and a stunning score from Zdenek Liska. The film is a parable about the occupation of a country and what it takes to survive and live a daily life, which confronted by it. It is a powerful film that is easy to recommend.

3.5 Stars.

 

ADELHEID

 

František Vláčil's 1969 movie, “Adelheid”, is something completely different from this very talented Czech director, taking place in the immediate aftermath of World War II. This gives Vláčil a new canvas to work on, and explore different topics and themes after his historical trilogy of films, while also mining familiar tropes such as human connection, trust and conflict. “Adelheid” is also František Vláčil's first film shot in colour.

The imdb describes the film like so: “In the aftermath of World War II, a former Czech soldier takes charge of a manor formerly owned by a German family. He falls in love with the daughter, who is now a maid, and is forced to confront the stress between his love and his conscience when he discovers her sheltering her German-soldier brother.” I found “Adelheid” to be a thoroughly absorbing and eye opening experience as it dealt with a moment in Czechoslovakian history that I was totally unaware about. The film takes place directly after the Allies success of World War II, and sees a time where the Czech locals went about removing ethnic Germans from the country, due to their distrust of them and believing that a peace would not last unless they were removed from the country. Interestingly, the sheer number of Germans that lived in Czechoslovakia at this time accounted for around one quarter of the total population, who were then forcibly displaced or used almost like slaves for the most menial tasks to help the “natural” Czech people. The treatment of these German people during this time was an embarrassment and shameful, but at that time, due to the very recent horrors they suffered at the hands of the Nazi's, the Czech people just saw it as a “tit-for-tat” kind of situation, and thought nothing of the demeaning way they were treating these people who had little to do with the horrific elements of the war just past. Such was the controversial nature of this German displacement out of Czechoslovakia, it comes as no surprise that very few films were made about the topic, which is one of the reasons why “Adelheid” is so special.

The film begins with a sequence that is quite different from the rest of the movie to come, as we are on a crowded train on it's journey through tunnels and the Sudetenland forest. When it reaches it's destination, we meet a former lieutenant, Viktor, who is looking very sick and sorry for himself, sitting on the floor of the train. The distrusting atmosphere in the air means that Viktor is soon attacked, being mistaken for one of the enemy attempting to hide amongst the locals. This is quickly resolved, as his true identity is revealed, and Viktor soon learns that he has been gifted the manor of the highest ranking Nazi that lived in the area. It is now his, whilst he cleans it up, and gets rid of all of the Nazi's possessions, giving him a chance to relax after the horrors of the war. He is then told that he will have a maid, the titular Adelheid, who he later finds out is actually the daughter of the Nazi who lived in this house, and is awaiting to be hanged for his war crimes. The rest of the film takes place in the confines of this manor, with Adelheid and Viktor unable to properly communicate due to their differing languages, however a bond is soon created between the two of them. Unlike the rest of the soldiers that visit the manor, Viktor actually treats Adelheid with respect, and not as an object to be abused and ridiculed. He understands how hard it must be for Adelheid, who once lived free in this giant abode, to now being on her hands and knees scrubbing it's floors on a daily basis. It isn't long before Viktor falls for Adelheid, and it appears the feeling may be mutual, but can Viktor trust his instincts or is Adelheid using him and pretending to love him as a means to cope through her unthinkable torture?

What I really loved about “Adelheid” is the tense atmosphere that František Vláčil has been able to create in the film. You are always unbalanced, never really sure where each character stands, while both are suffering through the traumas they have suffered during the war. Even during scenes of intimacy or perceived respect of one another, there is also a feeling of uneasiness and distrust. I also really liked the voyeuristic nature of the film, especially early on, when Viktor is watching and studying Adelheid from afar, through cracks in the walls, or bullet holes in the windows. You can feel him falling in love with the young woman, but you also get the feeling that this will be a love doomed from the very beginning due to the effects of the war just past, as no one can fully trust someone else, particularly someone they do not know. Adelheid herself, is a strong character and is not afraid to look anyone else directly in the eye, even when they are belittling her or looking down at her. She understands her self worth, and will not take being disrespected quietly, even if this means more trouble for herself down the track.

As I mentioned above, this was František Vláčil's first colour film, and yet he doesn't fill the screen with an explosion of colour, rather “Adelheid” is a rather muted affair, focusing on dark greens, greys and browns. It is almost like a “black and white” colour film, as bright loud colours have no place in the story Vláčil is telling. It is a bleak tale, and the visual style matches perfectly. Being set in a giant manor, Vláčil gloriously leans in to the Gothic and it works so well. As usual, visually the film is outstanding and I particularly loved the scenes set in the snow in the graveyard, but my favourite moment is when Viktor and Adelheid go to bed together for the first time, and they turn the lights off so the two characters are silhouetted against the darkness which is just a stunning moment (and also a pivotal turning point in the film, although you do not realise this until much later). The film has a very classic feel to it, and an almost Hitchcock-like visual sense, but this may be just due to the fact that so much of it takes place indoors in a giant house, which gives Vláčil the chance to exploit the types of camera moves that Hitchcock was so famous for.

Similar to “The Devil's Trap”, “Adelheid” is anchored by two wonderful lead performances, both of them very internal, since the characters can not speak to communicate. The always dependable Petr Cepek is excellent as Viktor, who plays the ex-lieutenant with a level of understanding and respect towards Adelheid, while also suffering through post traumatic stress over the atrocities he witnessed during the war. He is trying to find some sort of beauty in all this madness, but by letting his guard down so easily, may find himself duped and taken advantage of. I think it is fair to say that Cepek doesn't instil his character with a lot of strength; he appears exhausted with the world after the war, and has little left in his tank to fight, if it came to that. Meanwhile, Emma Cerna is almost the opposite, as she exudes a quiet strength, almost stoic in her appearance. There is an anger behind her eyes, that also signals that she may be more dangerous than she first appears to be. That said, there are times when her anger softens and she appears to genuinely have a care for Viktor, particularly during one moment when he is having a PTSD attack, and she cradles him as it passes. When it comes to the supporting characters, I suppose if I was to have any negatives towards “Adelheid”, it is that they are particularly one-note and border on caricature and stereotype. However, this is not their story, as the main focus is on Viktor and Adelheid's love story, which we can bet right from the beginning will end in doom for them both.

Overall, I thought “Adelheid” was a very good, and immensely interesting film, delving into a subject that I knew nothing about prior. As usual for a film directed by František Vláčil, the film making craftsmanship on display is sensational, with the director really leaning into the Gothic vibes of his story, to wonderful effect, and he has been ably assisted by his stars Petr Cepek and Emma Cerna, who give fantastic, subtle performances. This is a tense film about a doomed love affair, but a richly rewarding viewing experience for fans of Czech cinema.

3.5 Stars.

 

THE DEVIL'S TRAP

 

The Melbourne Cinematheque's season of František Vláčil's films continued with his 1962 feature, “The Devil's Trap”, which was the director's second feature length film, and the first of a loose trilogy of historical films that he made (with the other two being, “Marketa Lazarová” and 1968's “The Valley of the Bees”). Coming after the screening of “Marketa Lazarová”, the first thing that is immediately noticeable about “The Devil's Trap” is how much smaller and modest a film it is compared to the juggernaut that is his 1967 epic. While the story is much more intimate and less complex, the level of cinematic craftsmanship remains high, even if it is true that it is more pared back compared to “Marketa Lazarová”.

“The Devil's Trap” tells such a simple story which the imdb elegantly (and correctly) describes like so: “A priest travels to investigate a miller suspected to be working with the devil.” While this is true in regards to the plot of the film, as you may suspect, there is a whole lot more going on in the film than just that, as it is actually about the age old battle between science and religion. The reason why the miller in question is thought to be working with the old horned one, himself, is because in a land ravaged by drought, the miller always seems to never be short of water for his mill, so the local community, who is tethered strongly to the church and it's beliefs and rituals, come to the only conclusion that makes sense to them. The truth though is that the miller, Jan, listens to the earth, looking for clues on where water may be, or to find land he deems to be unsafe to build on. This is actually how “The Devil's Trap” begins, as we are introduced to Jan, who is making his way to the Regent's home to try to persuade him not to build on the plot of land that has been earmarked for the new granary, as he knows that the piece of land will not hold the weight of the new construction. Whilst his advice falls on deaf ears, Jan's conscious is clear as he has voiced his warning about the potential consequences that could befall the land.

Once Probus, the new priest shows up, the film really kicks into gear, as he goes about meeting the local community, listening to their stories and superstitions, paying particular attention to those tales spoken about Jan. It is immediately apparent that Probus is an intelligent man, to the point that during conversations with Jan himself, you can tell that he understands the science behind the miller's methods. However, agreeing with this science would minimise the power of the church and God, Himself, so Probus looks at ways to manipulate the situations to put the church into a better light, claiming it to be behind certain “miracles” as opposed to the simple science of Jan's methods. Things really come to a head, when at the height of the drought, Jan finds an underground spring which can supply the town with water once more. Vláčil positions this moment during a religious procession, to give himself the perfect visual means to show the community straying from the church towards science, as people begin to break away from the procession when they realise Jan has found water. Probus immediately seizes on the danger this could cause the church, and decides to claim that instead of this being the work of science, that Jan was actually an instrument of God, who led him to the water. From here, Probus begins to set a plan into action to discredit Jan and to give him just means to persecute the miller in the name of the church.

“The Devil's Trap” is bolstered by two magnificent, but completely different, lead performances. Miroslav Machácek is absolutely outstanding as Probus, giving this man an air of superiority and prestige. He is very still in his movements, to the point of being stiff, but exudes a power and a presence to all. As I mentioned earlier, you can tell how intelligent this man actually is, but he uses this intelligence as a means to control people on the way to totalitarianism. Meanwhile, Vítezslav Vejrazka performance as Jan is almost the complete opposite, in that he is loose in his movements, often bent over or near the ground, speaking quietly although with a knowing air. He does and says things not to gain anything out of others, but to help them, but because his techniques are so foreign to the rest of his community, they do not trust what he has to say, which is ironic as he only has their best interests at heart. There is a softness in Vejrazka performance, which gives Jan a lovable quality which would be obvious to see if the locals could get past their prejudices. I think both of these performances are truly stellar, and what makes “The Devil's Trap” so successful and powerful an experience to sit through. The scenes where both Vejrazka and Machácek share the screen together are the highlights of the film because whilst there is no doubt a respect between these two men, there is also an increased sense of suspense each time they both meet. The tone of these scenes are not outwardly menacing either, but you can feel the tension between them, to the point that you know that by the end of the film, these men will end up coming head to head with a more serious outcome.

As I mentioned above, whilst the visual styling of “The Devil's Trap” are not as grand as “Marketa Lazarová”, they are no less impressive. Gone are the widescreen compositions, instead Vláčil and his cinematographer Rudolf Milic have shot “The Devil's Trap” in 1:37 “square” ratio, although Vláčil uses a number of interesting visual techniques to tell his story. There is a very impressive, and repeated shot, of the camera gliding towards the front door of the mill which is used whenever someone is entering the mill in a violent manner. Vláčil also uses a split-diopter in a number of scenes to great effect. When I watched “Marketa Lazarová” last week, I thought I saw some split-diopter shots in that film too, but then decided that it was probably the large depth of focus on that film that caused two different planes in the shot to be in focus at the same time, but there was no doubt to the technique being used here in “The Devil's Trap”, which makes me think my initial impression on “Marketa Lazarová” was actually correct. The high contrast images of the later film are also missing, with this film focusing more on the grey scale of it's images this time around, with Vláčil also relying on a lot on close-ups, to the point that some of his compositions reminded of an Ingmar Bergman film. Like “Marketa Lazarová” though, Vláčil does an amazing job of creating a fully lived-in world. Once again, through the use of realistic props and costume design, there is a reality present within “The Devil's Trap” that makes you believe that what you are seeing onscreen actually occurred, rather than a group of actors playing dress-ups.

Briefly, I should mention that once again Zdenek Liska's very unusual score for the film is both brilliant and very memorable, and really sets the mood and tension of “The Devil's Trap”. He incorporates the foley of birdsong, horses hooves and even the sound of the workers working the wheat fields, into his music to create a soundscape that is beautiful and unnerving in equal measure. Liska's collaborations with František Vláčil are always something special, and it is a shame that they aren't spoken about together like the way we speak about Hitchcock and Herrmann, or Leone and Morricone.

Overall, I think “The Devil's Trap” is an excellent film that holds up over repeated viewings. While on a much smaller scale to “Marketa Lazarová”, you cannot help but think that that film could not have been made without Vláčil having made “The Devil's Trap” first. It is a simple tale told exceedingly well, beautifully shot without feeling the need to be overly flashy, and the film is bolstered by two brilliant lead performances from Vítezslav Vejrazka and Miroslav Machácek who play the two key roles of the miller and the priest, respectively. I love this film, and wholeheartedly recommend it to fans of Czech cinema, and think it is a great film for newcomers to the cinema of František Vláčil to start their journey on.

4 Stars.