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.

 

MARKETA LAZAROVA

 

Back in 1998, in a poll conducted between 55 Slovak and Czech film critics and publicists, František Vláčil's 1967 medieval epic “Marketa Lazarová” was awarded the prestigious title of being voted the greatest Czechoslovakian film of all time. It is also a film that has been at the heart of much frustration for myself, as during my first viewing of “Marketa Lazarová”, I found it so dense and narratively complex, that I could not make heads or tails of the film, despite being impressed by the supreme film making craft on display. Not being able to connect to such a prestigious and much loved film really bothered me, particularly due to the fact that everything else I had seen from Vláčil, I absolutely loved (especially his debut film, “The White Dove”, from 1960), and I was determined to have a more positive experience of “Marketa Lazarová”, whenever my next viewing of the film turned out to be. Almost a decade later, and the Melbourne Cinematheque are currently doing a three week retrospective of František Vláčil's cinema, screening five of his features, with “Marketa Lazarová” being the first film shown. I was very excited to finally see the film on the big screen, but wanted to go in with as much context as possible in regards to the film, so I wouldn't be left with the feeling of similar disappointment like after my first viewing. As such, I went through all of the special features on my Criterion blu ray of “Marketa Lazarová”, as a type of research which I felt I needed before seeing the film again. Did any of this help or was I left confounded and confused by the film once again?

I was originally going to try and write my own plot synopsis, but I found that the one on imdb sums up the film quite nicely, which is as follows: “Mikolás and his brother Adam rob travellers for their tyrannical father Kozlík. During one of their "jobs" they end up with a young German hostage whose father escapes to return news of the kidnapping and robbery to the King. Kozlik prepares for the wrath of the King, and sends Mikolás to pressure his neighbour Lazar to join him in war. Persuasion fails, and in vengeance Mikolás abducts Lazar's daughter Marketa, just as she was about to join a convent. The King, meantime, dispatches an army and the religious Lazar will be called upon to join hands against Kozlik. Stripped-down, surreal, and relentlessly grimy account of the shift from Paganism to Christianity.”

I am very happy to report that my second experience with “Marketa Lazarová” was a much more positive one, and that I ended up loving the film this time around. What surprised me the most though was just how simple the actual story is once you have a hold on the way František Vláčil goes about telling his tale. I will not sit here though and say that I understood everything and that it was a breeze to sit through, because that would not be true; this is a film where you really need to focus and participate as an audience member because Vláčil isn't going to explicitly explain every detail of his story, which means you need to fill in some of the gaps yourself. If you are not paying attention, you will get lost, and this is a film that is close to three hours long, so it demands a lot of it's audience, but it is well worth the effort. I will admit that it is an exhausting watch, and that my attention did briefly start to wane about two thirds through as I started to get tired, but overall I thoroughly enjoyed “Marketa Lazarová” this time around. I truly believe my research before the film helped in unlocking the film for me, but the thing that helped the most was focusing heavily on the text that is written during the beginning of each “chapter” of the film, as these words actually do a great job of describing what we are about to witness in the following scenes. By processing and understanding what is coming, it then gives you a chance to sit back and watch and marvel at Vláčil's visual artistry that is on display constantly throughout the film.

“Marketa Lazarová” is famous for being a film that feels so real and lived in, as František Vláčil constructs the medieval world of the 13^th century in the utmost detail, with period costumes, locations and weapons, all made from scratch and constructed in the way that they would have been made back then. Everything made feels like it has a purpose, particularly the costumes, which have been designed to protect, warm and clothe the wearer, although comfort doesn't always seem to be the first priority. To help in creating an honesty and realism in their characters, Vláčil got his actors to essentially “live-in” their characters for the duration of the shoot, wearing their costumes as much as they could. This was also done so the costumes would deteriorate over time, like they would in reality, as if the clothing got damaged during shooting, it was not fixed but left to become more tattered as the film goes along. In a way, the film almost has a documentary feel to it, in that it doesn't feel like actors pretending to live in the past, making a movie, instead it feels like the past of many centuries ago has been miraculously captured on film. It depicts a brutal and harsh world where violence often begets more violence, and those that suffer the consequences the most, are often those who are the most innocent, like poor Marketa herself.

One needs to understand just how special “Marketa Lazarová” actually is, in terms of the amount of money and time that were spent in making the film. Throughout the entirety of Vlacil's career, he would never again make another film with the enormity of scope that “Marketa Lazarová” has. It appears that he had a blank check in regards to the budget of the film, and the 548 shooting days he had to shoot his film is almost mind boggling to think of. That said, you get the feeling that Vlacil knew that this would be a one-off and he does not waste the opportunity at all. The visual style of “Marketa Lazarová” is simply to die for, and even if you can not find a way into the narrative of the film itself, I guarantee that you will still marvel at it's images. Vlacil and his cinematographer Bedrich Batka have shot the film in high contrast black and white widescreen, alternating between objective and subjective perspectives (sometimes in the same shot), while also highlighting the abrasive textures of this medieval world. Mud, blood, sticks, snow, ice, fur, grass; this is a harsh landscape, but through Batka's lens and Vlacil's design, it is also achingly beautiful. Vlacil never studied film making, rather he was a student of the fine arts, and his expertise in this field shines through in spades in this film. His images are so intricately composed and choreographed, at times coming across like paintings, but they also strangely feel very real and immediate. Apparently Vlacil story boarded the entire film in intricate detail, and wouldn't move on from a scene until what he filmed matched those storyboards as close as possible. Seriously, “Marketa Lazarová” is one of the most beautiful films I have ever seen, (particularly the scenes set in winter and in the snow), which considering the brutality that is on display within the film, says a lot.

The aural landscape of the film is the other aspect that makes “Marketa Lazarová” so special, as the sounds we hear over certain images do not necessarily marry with what we see, rather they are used to create a feeling or mood to enhance these images, or to jog the audiences memory of elements or moments that have happened in the film prior. Sounds are also often used to help describe the psychological well-being of a certain character at any given time. I would also be remiss not to mention Zdenek Liska's wonderful score that uses medieval instruments of the time to create a musical landscape that is both haunting and beautiful in equal measure. This is one time I really wish I knew more about music than I do, because Liska's score is so powerful and unique, and adds so much to the film, but my limited knowledge on the subject can not do it justice.

Overall, there is so much more that could be said and written about “Marketa Lazarová”, but I honestly do not think I am a good enough writer to even scratch the surface about what makes this film so good. I am just happy that my second experience with the film turned out to be a positive one, and I can now claim to be a fan of “Marketa Lazarová”. Again, after the disappointment of my first viewing where I was unable to understand anything in the film, what surprised me the most this time around was just how simple the story being told actually is. It is a story of small mistakes and missed opportunities, that ends up having huge consequences to the people involved, as well as on those who are indirectly involved like Marketa herself. It is a harsh world they live in, where violence begets violence, but even throughout all this misery, characters find a way to love, although love can only last so long in a world as dark and brutal as this. “Marketa Lazarová” is a challenging film, but an amazing one. Superbly acted, stunningly designed, shot and directed; it is a once-in-a-lifetime movie, that I am rapt to finally be able to say that I understood and thus loved it.

4 Stars.