REVIEW: DVD Release: The Lighthouse

Film: The Lighthouse
Year of production: 2006
UK Release date: 11th April 2011
Studio: Second Run
Certificate: 12
Running time: 75 mins
Director: Maria Saakyan
Starring: Anna Kapaleva, Olga Yakovleva, Sos Sargsyan, Sofiko Chiaureli, Ruzana Avetisyan
Genre: Drama
Format: DVD
Country of production: Russia/Armenia
Language: Russian

Director Maria Saakyan's first feature film, The Lighthouse is a semi-autobiographical tale which unfolds against the backdrop of the Causicus Wars of the early 1990s. With its powerful themes and art house feel, it proved a huge success at the London Film Festival in 2007 and finally gets its long overdue UK release.

The Lighthouse tells the tale of a young woman named Lena (Anna Kapuleva) who returns to her hometown in order to evacuate her grandparents. However, upon her arrival, she soon finds that her grandparents are less than willing to leave the home they have long cherished. With the train she arrived on no longer in service, Lena finds herself caught up in a conflict she little understands (nor cares to understand).

Although her decision to return home seems to have been driven by more than the ongoing war; Lena grapples with memories of her childhood and longs to revisit the town she remembers so fondly. Caught amidst the absurdity of war, Lena, her family and her neighbours do all that is possible to continue living a normal life. Although, with food stocks running low and the horrors of war ever present, they find the prospect of living a normal life to be increasingly unattainable…


The Lighthouse has ‘art house cinema’ written all over it. With dialogue in very limited supply, the film relies solely on visuals to convey its story. The film tells a story which is equally horrifying as it is nostalgic; nostalgic for a past that seems almost like a dream, amidst the horrors of war. Clearly, its story is one which can only be told with the utmost subtlety and, hence, is perfectly suited to styles of art house cinema.

Some may merely discard the film's style as pretentious drivel, with its countless shots of misty hills and poetic overtones. In some cases, such style is employed to cover up a shallow script or two dimensional characters (after all, one character staring into space, looking rather intense, does not make for a good film), but in the case of The Lighthouse, this style offers a subtle approach to some relatively unexplored themes.

Given the film's focus of visuals, one's connection with its characters is rather surprising. The film conveys the effects of war upon an isolated community without the need for a complex plot of any kind. Instead, the camera remains focused upon the faces of people who want no part in the war which threatens to engulf their isolated town. With such subtlety, many of the film's scenes are open to interpretation and encourage a range of emotional responses. Even those scenes with dialogue throw up more questions than they answer. For example, in one scene Lena talks in a way that suggests she may be pregnant. Although, this is only briefly alluded to and no more comes of this brief discussion.

With so much emphasis on characters and the effects of war upon members of the community, convincing performances are of vital importance. Thankfully, impressive performances are in abundance. Not least from the film's main character, Lena. As a city girl and an outsider, Lena feels particularly out of place in this war torn environment. Her emotional performance clearly illustrates this. In one particular scene, bombs explode nearby as Lena lies in bed. She desperately scrambles for a shotgun, clutching it to her chest as flames illuminate the night sky. As Lena trembles, tears rolling down her cheeks and clutching a shotgun for protection, the film's message could not be clearer: those caught up in such conflicts are often innocent bystanders who merely wish to live their life in peace. The collateral and emotional damage of war is most felt by those who have no interest in it.

However, whilst the film's subtle style works to its credit, its lack of decisiveness is somewhat of an irritation. Beyond depicting the effects of war on ordinary citizens, which it deserves much credit for, it never seems to make a decisive point. In fact, every scene is shrouded in uncertainty. But, that said, the film's short runtime of 78 minutes almost justifies this indecisiveness. At such a length, it stands as a piece of cinematic poetry which seeks to depict the emotional toll war takes on a community, rather than make any sort of statement.


At heart, The Lighthouse is an anti-war film which seeks to stress the importance of community. With its poetic style, the film leaves an indelible mark on its viewer and is an impressive piece of art house cinema. Some may find its indecisiveness irritable and its visual style pretentious, but it will surely be warmly welcomed by those who appreciate unconventional, artistic films. The Lighthouse is a striking reminder of what a beautiful art film can be. ME

REVIEW: DVD Release: Larks On A String

Film: Larks On A String
Release date: 14th March 2011
Certificate: 15
Running time: 90 mins
Director: Jirí Menzel
Starring: Rudolf Hrusínský, Vlastimil Brodský, Václav Neckár, Jitka Zelenohorská, Jaroslav Satoranský
Genre: Comedy/Drama/Romance
Studio: Second Run
Format: DVD
Country: Czechoslovakia

Jiří Menzel, one of the all time greats of Czech cinema, first came to international attention in 1967 with his first feature, Closely Watched Trains, which won the Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film. Menzel’s Larks On A String was shot in 1968 but was suppressed by the Czech government for twenty-one years, until the fall of the Communist regime in 1990. Upon release, this long-lost black political comedy garnered wide acclaim, winning the Golden Bear at the 1990 Berlin Film Festival. The film is now receiving a UK DVD release through Second Run, with digitally remastered sound and picture.

Again collaborating with novelist Bohumil Hrabal, as he did with ...Trains, Menzel sets his picture in an oppressive industrial heartland, all creaking masses of metal junk, cold weather and sinister surveillance. This junkyard’s function is to smelt down scrap metal to create tractors and washing machines for the Communist party, yet its workers are a motley crew of ‘bourgeois elements’ sentenced for re-education through labour, including a philosophy professor, a lawyer, a saxophonist, a milkman, and a believer in God.

The other half of the junkyard is worked by a group of beautiful, kind-hearted women, ‘enemies of the state’ imprisoned by the regime for attempting to defect. The film’s plot follows both groups as they attempt to interact, forging emotional connections at odds with the strict, dehumanising regime calling the shots. A romance blossoms between a worker and a prisoner, dissenters are taken away by sinister men in suits, and a prison guard’s new marriage is portrayed as hilariously dysfunctional, the product of a society who’s demands on its people come at the expense of honesty, communication and emotional connection...


Larks On A String may strike some at first glance as a quaint and amusing farce. Its humour, at times, may seem silly, gentle or dated, but look a little closer and the film’s angry political convictions become clear. Menzel and Hrabal’s piece is a biting satirical attack on the dehumanising effects of communism on the individual.

Propagandist signs adorn the scrapyard, wryly juxtaposing slogans like ‘Rejoice! We are Working for Ourselves’ and ‘To Surpass and Overtake’, with images of our luckless bourgeois heroes sleeping or playing cards amongst the rubble. In fact, these men are part of the rubble, being ruthlessly crushed - forced to make way for the new world order. As the snooty party official says at one point, “We’ll melt them down into a new kind of people.” The chaos, danger and uncertainty of the piles of junk mirror the internal conflicts of the yard’s labourers.

There is a very tangible sinister undertone at play throughout the film, as those who speak out are taken away in cars and party officials wash local children with disturbing pleasure. Targets are increased without consultation, freedom of speech is denied, and, in one heartbreaking sequence, an old lady is worked so hard she cannot enjoy her own birthday meal, prepared with great love and care by her son. The ideals of the workers’ revolution, Menzel suggests, are an absurd sham. It is the workers, both blue and white collar, who still suffer.

The film’s main method of conveying this message is, however, through humour, ridiculing the hypocrisies of the party – a state official removes his tie and briefcase before addressing the men – and the uptight humorlessness of its bureaucrats. The film is dense with absurd little jokes: a worker is issued a written warning which he immediately uses as a serviette. “This man,” states the official, “will not die of natural causes.” The prison guard’s new wife refuses to share a bed with him, and they end up sleeping on top of a wardrobe.

As for the other side of the yard, the female prisoners are less well-explored. They are unanimously beautiful, a symbol of their innate goodness which is, perhaps, slightly over-simplistic. Their situation, however, still gets across the absurd harshness of the regime effectively. These so-called enemies of the revolution are simply nice young women whose only crime was to attempt to leave the country. The line which symbolically divides the two groups is gradually transgressed throughout the film, suggesting that the human spirit is, for Menzel, stronger than any party manifesto.


Whilst appearing a little gentle, at times, the history of this film’s censorship gives some indication of its political conviction. Underneath its silliness lie profound themes of alienation and a visceral anger at Czechoslovakia’s communist overlords. Without slipping into dogmatic lecturing, the film cleverly warns of the negative effects on the individual of bureaucratic heartlessness. The film’s tone of absurdist humour proves to be, in the end, its greatest weapon in exposing the absurdities of its target. KI

NEWS: DVD Release: The Lighthouse

Maria Saakyan’s elegiac, semi-autobiographical, humanist drama The Lighthouse unfolds against the backdrop of the Caucasus wars that plagued Georgia, Armenia, and Azerbaijan during the early 1990s.

Told with a dream-like emphasis on vision and sound, this is the story of a young woman, Lena (Anna Kapaleva), who returns to her home in a remote, war-ravaged Armenian village to try and persuade her grandparents to leave with her for safety in Moscow.

With a striking emphasis on the cinematic image and set to an hypnotic soundtrack by Finnish composer Kimmo Pohjonen, Lena’s return to her homeland combines documentary with the great visual tradition of the cinema of Tarkovsky and Paradjanov to become a poetic journey of discovery.

An outstanding directorial debut, and an immensely moving experience, this release features a new and improved English subtitle translation, an all-new digital transfer with restored picture and sound, and is packaged with an extended booklet featuring a new interview with director Maria Saakyan, and new essays by author and poet Sophie Mayer and film and art historian Vigen Galstyan.

Film: The Lighthouse
Release date: 11th April 2011
Certificate: 12
Running time: 75 mins
Director: Maria Saakyan
Starring: Anna Kapaleva, Olga Yakovleva, Sos Sargsyan, Sofiko Chiaureli, Ruzana Avetisyan
Genre: Drama
Studio: Second Run
Format: DVD
Country: Russia/Armenia

DVD Special Features:
• Maria Saakyan’s debut short film Farewell (Proshchanie)

NEWS: DVD Release: Larks On A String

Winner of the Golden Bear at the Berlin Film Festival, 1990.

Filmed in 1968, whilst Czechoslovakia enjoyed a brief moment of political liberalization, Larks On A String is a searing political comedy from director Jiří Menzel and writer Bohumil Hrabal. Like their earlier Oscar-winning triumph Closely Observed Trains, it audaciously combines black humour with grim reality.

Set in a scrap metal yard where political dissidents are interned to be re-educated, the film is both a powerful critique of totalitarianism and a celebration of the resilience of the human spirit.

By the time Larks On A String was completed, the Soviet invasion had restored a repressive Communist regime. The film was promptly banned and remained unseen until 1990, when it was finally released to great acclaim winning the grand prize at the Berlin Film Festival.

This release features an all-new digital transfer, with restored picture and sound, and new English subtitle translation. The film is packaged with a booklet featuring an introduction by DoP Jaromír Šofr and a new essay by author and film programmer Peter Hames.

Film: Larks On A String
Release date: 14th March 2011
Certificate: 15
Running time: 90 mins
Director: Jirí Menzel
Starring: Rudolf Hrusínský, Vlastimil Brodský, Václav Neckár, Jitka Zelenohorská, Jaroslav Satoranský
Genre: Comedy/Drama/Romance
Studio: Second Run
Format: DVD
Country: Czechoslovakia

DVD Special Features:
• Jiří Menzel: 7 Questions – an idiosyncratic reflection on the film and its history, newly shot by the director specially for this DVD release

REVIEW: DVD Release: A Blonde In Love

Film: A Blonde In Love
Release date: 24th January 2011
Certificate: 15
Running time: 85 mins
Director: Miloš Forman
Starring: Hana Brejchová, Vladimír Pucholt, Vladimír Mensík, Ivan Kheil, Jirí Hrubý
Genre: Comedy/Romance/Drama
Studio: Second Run
Format: DVD
Country: Czechoslovakia

In 1975 came One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, a groundbreaking film which swept the board at the Academy Awards, taking five Oscars. To this day, it remains the most celebrated moment of Miloš Forman’s career. However, a decade before the film which made Jack Nicholson’s career came a more subtle, yet intriguing work from one of Czechoslovakia’s best-loved exports - a film with such strokes of comedic genius it was itself Oscar-nominated for Best Foreign Language Film.

A Blonde In Love is set in the industrial town of Zruč, which lies to the southwest of Prague. The local shoe industry has prospered to such levels that the female population of the town outnumbers the male by sixteen to one, causing the factory manager to request that an army regiment be stationed there.

Although the news is at first greeted with excitement by the female contingent, this quickly dissipates when the men arrive – ageing, balding, some even married. This makes for some entertaining shenanigans, as the welcome dance early on in the film provides some highly amusing slapstick moments of comedy, the pretty young ladies attempting to avoid the advances of the lecherous soldiers.

Lead character Andula finds herself more interested in Milda, the piano player at the dance, which opens the door to possibility of a new life in Prague. That is, until she meets the parents…


At first, Forman places paramount importance on audience identification with his central characters, creating set pieces in which we empathise and understand the emotions and actions portrayed. Watching the girls trying to escape the attentions of the soldiers, who aren’t completely sure how to co-ordinate their approach, makes for an excruciatingly awkward, yet extraordinarily entertaining opening.

Once the audience has begun to warm to the main protagonists, our focus shifts to one or two more pressing issues, as Forman provides insight into the limitations of the era, both politically and socially. Although many of the film’s messages are presented in the form of satirical comedy, reading between the lines remains relatively straightforward, thanks largely to a script which juggles masterfully with the levels of wit and sarcasm whilst still conveying a more serious theme.

Perhaps the most effective element of the film is the fact that Andula is the only character who is entitled to displays of complex human emotion. Aside from the moments in which she and Milda are getting to know each other, the remainder of the cast are restricted to roles as caricatures – they have one specific role within Forman’s story, and he utilises their unique characteristics to bounce off one another.

The film’s finest moments come when Andula ventures to Prague with suitcase in hand, knocking on the door of Milda’s parents’ house while Milda is out. What follows is comedy gold – Andula is subjected to random quizzing from his mother, who fulfils her role dutifully as the nosy, intrusive housewife. Every once in a while, Milda’s father pipes up and they bicker about Andula, as if she is not there, happily mocking her for her naivety.

The cynicism and utter disdain with which Milda’s mother addresses Andula strips away any previous innocence and tenderness, shifting our focus onto the impossibility and impracticality of love in communist Czechoslovakia. As the film descends into mild farce, certain realities become clear, and there is little choice but to laugh at the hopelessness of Andula’s situation as Milda’s parents poke fun at her.

The only minor criticism would be in its slightly short running time, and although all strands of narrative are concluded in a satisfactory manor, there comes a certain disappointment when the film ends. Perhaps the central messages would have become yet more prominent. Or perhaps the film reaches such levels of humour, we are simply left wanting more.


A Blonde In Love’s charm is in its approach, exploring themes such as the naivety of young love and the political confusion of the era, whilst maintaining a light-hearted frame of mind. A witty script holds together the strands, making for a highly absorbing comedy with plenty of laugh-out-loud moments. MC

NEWS: DVD Release: A Blonde In Love

This Oscar-nominated film from 1965 offers a subtle and beautifully observed social satire, which maintains a remarkable balance between despair and hope. A Blonde In Love is widely regarded as one of the great films of the ‘60s.

This bittersweet romance from Miloš Forman, the multiple Oscar-winning director of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest and Amadeus, unfolds as a sweetly seductive film but also provides a wry critique of life under totalitarianism. Forman is able to distil universal truths from the simplest of situations and present them with a sharp yet compassionate eye.

Aided by Miroslav Ondríček’s wonderful camerawork, and with Ivan Passer (director of Intimate Lighting) as assistant and co-scriptwriter, the pleasures to be gained here are immense.

This new release is digitally re-mastered with newly restored picture and sound and a new and improved English subtitle translation. The DVD is packaged with a 20-page booklet with a new appreciation by writer and film historian Michael Brooke.

Film: A Blonde In Love
Release date: 24th January 2011
Certificate: 15
Running time: 85 mins
Director: Miloš Forman
Starring: Hana Brejchová, Vladimír Pucholt, Vladimír Mensík, Ivan Kheil, Jirí Hrubý
Genre: Comedy/Romance/Drama
Studio: Second Run
Format: DVD
Country: Czechoslovakia

REVIEW: DVD Release: Gaea Girls/Shinjuku Boys

Film: Gaea Girls / Shinjuku Boys
Release date: 25th January 2010
Certificate: E
Running time: 159 mins
Director: Kim Longinotto/Jano Williams
Starring: Gaish, Tatsu, Kazuki, Chigusa Nagayo, Meiko Satomura
Genre: Documentary
Studio: Second Run
Format: DVD
Country: UK

This double-bill of documentaries directed by the respected team of Kim Longinotto and Jano Williams offers an intriguing glimpse into the lives of Japanese women who defy conventions of female identity. While Gaea Girls (2000) takes us inside the world of professional female wrestlers, Shinjuku Boys (1995) introduces us to three women who live and work as men.

Opening just before a wrestling bout between head Gaea Girl Chigusa Nagayo and Lioness Asuka, it’s immediately apparent that Gaea Girls is no Memoirs Of A Geisha. There may be a common link in the form of entertainment, but the female wrestlers in Gaea Girls are anything but demure and dainty. A voice proclaims: “We are violent, we are freak out,” and the wrestlers enter the arena to the sound of Republica’s ‘Ready To Go’.

After Nagayo wins the contest, thanks in no small part to her spitting fire into the face of her opponent, things quieten down a little as we are introduced to trainee Gaea Girls at a nondescript training centre. The quiet doesn’t last for long, however, and Nagayo is soon bullying and humiliating her trainees with an ever-increasing intensity that reduces some to tears and causes others to run away. One of the trainees, Takeuchi, eventually makes the grade and is given her first professional bout, but not before a fair bit of blood is spilled.

The atmosphere in Shinjuku Boys could not be more different, but the subject of gender is equally, if not more important in this earlier documentary. Gaish, Kazuki and Tatsu are three female-to-male transsexuals who work as ‘onnabes’ at the swish New Marilyn club in Tokyo, where they meet and entertain female clients.

Individually and together as a group, Gaish, Kazuki and Tatsu speak frankly about their personal histories, and what led them to take on the identity of men who aim to be the perfect companions to the women who seek them out. The issue of sex is discussed with a disarming honesty that is both touching and humorous, and the complications of being an onnabe and maintaining relationships with family members and loved ones are addressed in an equally forthright and engaging manner…


Both documentaries adopt a similarly straightforward approach, but of the two, Shinjuku Boys relies more heavily on interviews with its subjects. We do see the onnabes at work and interacting with their clients in Shinjuku Boys, but, for the most part, it explores why they do what they do, not what they do. In Gaea Girls, on the other hand, brief snatches of interviews are interspersed among extended scenes of training sessions and actual bouts. The fixed nature of the wrestling contests themselves is not directly addressed, but the sometimes brutal footage of the training sequences highlights the fact that being a Gaea Girl is a remarkably tough life that requires incredible determination and resilience.

It could be argued that Gaea Girls could have been benefited from more in-depth interviews with trainees such as Takeuchi or Sato, a young, more conventionally feminine trainee who very quickly realises that she is not cut out for the hardships of being a Gaea Girl, instead of giving most of the interview time to the dominant Nagayo.

In the case of Shinjuku Boys, it would have been interesting to hear more from the women who utilise the services of the onnabes, particularly the women who seem to have fallen in love with them, or would that have been better explored in a separate documentary? It’s difficult to say, and it may actually be a strength of both documentaries that they leave you wanting to know more.

Jano Williams appears to have fallen of the radar after Gaea Girls, but Longinotto has continued to explore the lives of women on the margins of society in acclaimed documentaries such as Pink Saris (2010) and Rough Aunties (2008). She is clearly a dedicated documentary maker who allows her subjects to speak for themselves, and doesn’t feel the need to impose her own personality on her work, unlike so many younger directors who do very much the opposite.


The notion of objectivity in documentaries is undeniably problematic, but Longinotto and Williams’s determination to maintain a distance between themselves and their subjects arguably allows viewers more scope to contemplate their own responses to what is seen on screen. If only for this reason, Gaea Girls / Shinjuku Boys deserves a fresh audience. JG

REVIEW: DVD Release: Morgiana

Film: Morgiana
Release date: 11th October 2010
Certificate: 15
Running time: 97 mins
Director: Juraj Herz
Starring: Iva Janzurová, Josef Abrhám , Nina Divísková, Petr Cepek, Josef Somr
Genre: Drama
Studio: Second Run
Format: DVD
Country: Czechoslovakia

Morgiana is a tale of two orphaned sisters who, in true fairytale tradition, embody the extreme light and dark sides of human nature. Viktorie is the ill-favoured sister, severely clad in black, while Klára is the kinder and prettier one, the favourite of their father.

The film opens with the funeral of the father. Klára receives the lion’s share of the extensive family estate, while Viktorie is only bequeathed his forest hunting lodge. Jealous, Viktorie consults a tarot reader, who reveals that Klára, characterised as the queen of hearts, stands between the black queen Viktorie and the money and jewels which she desires. Viktorie concocts a plan to kill Klára, using a poison that acts so gradually that it will give Viktorie the opportunity to retreat to her hunting lodge and present an appearance of innocence by the time of her sister’s eventual demise.

As in any fairytale, evil plans backfire upon their perpetrator. Viktorie accidentally administers poison to her beloved cat, and the supplier of the poison sees an opportunity to blackmail Viktorie with threats of exposing her wicked intentions towards her sister. In the end, Viktorie’s poisonous plan becomes her own undoing…


The film uses the established fairytale motif of orphans, with the classic good/evil dichotomy of their characters, the roses and sunshine which surround the one and the dark shadowy world inhabited by the other. The symbolic visual language of fairytale is amalgamated with other, disparate elements for even more exaggerated effect. The bouffant curves of Viktorie’s black wig, her lips thinly outlined in the colour of dried blood, and the outsized bows at the waist of her dresses suggest a particularly menacing geisha. The blackmailing poisoner’s flower-embellished clothes in art nouveau colours of violet and green suggest the absinthe-soaked dissipation of fin de siècle Paris. Klára, by contrast, is perennially dressed in white. But her amiability seems tinged with a touch of imbecility. In a scene at breakfast, her inordinate laughter at the thought that the egg she is eating could have become a chicken makes you feel some sympathy for Viktorie.

Cinematographer Jaroslav Kučera used experimental methods to evoke the evil, madness and hallucinations which plague the characters. In several scenes, the camera is shot from the point of view of Viktorie’s Siamese cat, Morgiana, who is a dispassionate witness to Klára’s poisoning and her mistress’ frenzied plotting. A fish eye lens is used for a number of scenes set by cliffs towering over the sea, giving a dizzying sense of vertigo, either in the literal sense or to convey the febrile turmoil of an unhinged mind. When Klára succumbs to the hallucinogenic effects of the poison, the use of kaleidoscopic, whirling, multi-coloured visuals gives a sensation of nauseating disorientation.

The film’s location and era have an oddly unidentifiable character, which can be traced to its source material. Morgiana was based upon a book by a Russian writer, Aleksandr Grin, whose romantic tales of dashing heroes, sea captains, aristocrats and innocent heroines were mostly set in a fictional world of his own devising, popularly referred to by his fans as “Grinlandia”. Director Juraj Herz was not, however, allowed to create a faithful adaptation of Grin’s story. In the book, it transpires that the two sisters are merely different aspects of a single person, and the darker aspect of the woman is destroyed while the virtuous aspect survives. The communist censors were unable to condone a film which took a split personality as its subject matter. Although the same actress portrays Viktorie and Klára, Herz was compelled to film only part of Grin’s story, so that the revelation of the book’s story never takes place. Morgiana was created in the years following the Russian invasion of Czechoslovakia, in the wake of the liberalisation of the political climate during the Prague Spring of 1968. During the period of Normalisation which followed the Russian invasion, censors cracked down hard upon filmmakers. Morgiana was not favourably received – it was felt that the film’s romanticism was overshadowed by its frightening and eerie qualities – and the film was banished to the vaults for two years following its completion. Ironically, the fact that Morgiana was based upon a Russian writer’s work later gained the film political support in the Soviet Union, and Herz was able to regain some favour.

Herz has said that the curtailing influence of the censors resulted in him approaching Morgiana almost as an exercise in filmmaking rather than a project in which he could take pride, using the film to explore technical challenges, such as the scenes where actress Iva Janzurová plays opposite herself as both Viktorie and Klára. It’s true that retaining the original plot of Grin’s story would have been dramatically far more satisfying, and would have given a beautifully dark twist to the animosity at the heart of the story, but, for all that, it’s still immensely enjoyable.


Morgiana’s overblown, Gothic melodrama with its hints of Ken Russell-style decadence and trippily distorted visual sequences is tremendous fun to watch. Egged on by Luboš Fišer’s bombastic score, you can’t help but root for Janzurová’s magnificently witchy villainess. KR 

REVIEW: DVD Release: The Unpolished

Film: The Unpolished
Release date: 12th July 2010
Certificate: 18
Running time: 94 mins
Director: Pia Marais
Starring: Ceci Schmitz-Chuh, Birol Ünel, Pascale Schiller
Genre: Drama
Studio: Second Run
Format: DVD
Country: Germany

Despite what you might have learned from the ‘60s, the bohemian lifestyle isn’t for everyone. In a confident debut feature from director Pia Marais, The Unpolished takes an altogether different look at a broken home and teenager in crisis, when a parents’ hippie dream turns out to be a nightmare.

Ceci Chuh plays Stevie, a young teenage girl trying to find her way in life amongst the chaos and instability at home. Having spent time in Spain and Portugal, she has moved to a small German town with her bohemian mother. Here she is reintroduced to her father, who she has not seen since he went to prison for dealing drugs. Now Stevie hopes she can settle with her parents and lead a conventional lifestyle.

But her father Axel soon slips into his old ways, drug dealing and getting into trouble with the police.

Surrounded by drugs, sex and her parents’ vagrant friends, Stevie is frustrated and embarrassed - she lies to the people she meets about her family, claiming to be the daughter of a diplomat from Brazil. Instead of the freedom of the hippie lifestyle, she craves the structure and solidarity that other teenagers have. But being cunning and determined, Stevie refuses to be beaten - she gets herself enrolled at a local school, and begins to take control of her life…


Ceci Chuh really carries the film, with a fantastic performance as the central character. She brilliantly portrays the girl who, in many respects, has age and wisdom beyond her years, taking responsibility for both herself and others. She assumes the adult role in the family and makes sensible suggestions – such as for her father to get a job - which get laughed down. Yet what makes the characterisation so brilliant is that, whilst she comes across as mature and switched on, there are moments when you see her childish vulnerability, which remind you just how young she is. The scenes where she meets the other children in her area are brilliant examples of the awkwardness of youth, and the difficulties of forging friendships and trying to fit in.

Loosely inspired by the director’s own upbringing, the film brilliantly shows what it is like to grow up in a chaotic lifestyle. Whilst the cinematography presents the beauty of the landscape, and some of the appeal of the bohemian lifestyle, the film also shows how a way of life based on freedom can ironically be very constrictive. In some ways, Stevie’s behaviour represents the typical dissent of a teenager, but she shows how feeling unsettled and being forced to live a lifestyle which isn’t for everyone can make a person really unhappy. Her dad says: “Who cares where we live?” to which she replies: “Maybe you don’t.” As she sees her mother smoking drugs and her dad having sex with a stranger, Stevie instead tries to construct her own elaborate stories about her family, and to cut and piece together photographs which present an altogether different picture of her life.

A lot of the time you are not sure which characters can be trusted and where the story is going, which adds to the sense of disorientation that is present throughout the movie. One of Stevie’s fantasies includes claiming that she has had a relationship with a friend of her parents, Ingmar. Whilst a relationship does not develop, Ingmar brings a caring, human quality which is missing from her life. At first Ingmar comes across as a complete creep, but as the film goes on you see a genuine, open person that she is able to turn to.

Whilst the appearance of the characters might reflect the film’s title, the look of the film itself is far from unpolished. The soft, almost dreamlike shots give an ethereal quality, with lens flare adding a sense of drama and realism. As the camera moves from one shot to the next, there is a feeling of drifting, which emphasises the feeling of uncertainty. The atmospheric music also creates a sense of unrest. When Stevie and her friend take photos of the chaotic scenes around them you get a feeling that they are removing themselves from the situation, and in many ways as a viewer you are left with the same feeling. Whilst a commendable piece of work, The Unpolished leaves you feeling strangely detached.


Much of the look and themes of the film are very art house, and it could be seen as ideal festival fodder- which is probably why it was received so well at Rotterdam in 2007. Whether it reaches an audience beyond that is in doubt, but the Unpolished is a well crafted drama which, whilst leaving you feeling strangely distant, is a good depiction of a teenage life in crisis. KB

REVIEW: DVD Release: Adelheid

Film: Adelheid
Release date: 23rd August 2010
Certificate: 15
Running time: 98 mins
Director: Frantisek Vlácil
Starring: Petr Cepek, Emma Cerná, Jan Vostrcil, Jana Krupicková, Pavel Landovský
Genre: Drama/Romance
Studio: Second Run
Format: DVD
Country: Czechoslovakia

In his first attempt at a colour film, director Frantisek Vlácil transports us by means of a train journey to Czechoslovakia where we are met with the repercussions of World War Two. A love tale with peril written all over it; Komer exemplifies the misfortunes which war carries to the table and how in its attempt to reconstruct minor faults of the world, war can end up hindering and reproducing them further. But will the two unlikely protagonists beat the odds in an unhopeful world with a happy ever after?

The story is led by one of two central characters Lieutenant Victor Chotovicky, a Czech soldier on his return journey from duty with the British RAF who we learn is somewhat of a rebel when he refuses to obey the orders of head officers on the railway, and, as a consequence, becomes involved in a brawl. It becomes clear that Chotovicky is not your average man as he takes no nonsense from anyone and battles for his privileges.

The nostalgic opening sequence is shot beautifully with idyllic views of the Czechoslovakian countryside accompanied by sombre yet hopeful music akin to those of religious melodies. From commencement onwards the film takes a poignant yet buoyant approach.

Chotovicky finds a slightly run down mansion, prior residence of the powerful and dangerous Hansgeorg Heidenmann, where he decides to make a habitat for himself. One morning he is awakened by the sound of scrubbing, and, in an attempt to reclaim what he now considers his, he approaches the ‘intruder’ armed, demanding to know how she got in and her motives. The woman, whom we learn is Adelheid Heidenmannová, knows the building well as she is the daughter of Heidenmann, and is now reduced to servitude as a consequence of her father’s terrible war time actions...


‘Adelheid’ comes from the old German name ‘Adalheidis’, which means nobility. Adelheid herself, along with Vlácil’s plot, reflects individual nobility and the attempts to regain human dignity in a time where all notions of such givens had vanished.

Patently, the mystifyingly demure German woman captivates Chotovicky from the moment they meet, and a yearning obsession quickly develops. Chotovicky acts rapidly in requesting to Sergeant Henja that Adelheid stay with him when she is supposed to return to the camp, where she can act as a servant to his every need. The film’s scenes from here are mainly filmed within the former dwelling of the Heidenmann’s, where the Lieutenant’s feelings for Adelheid increase, although it is not clear whether Adelheid reciprocates these emotions wholly or complies with the idealistic encounters required in order to fullfill her duties.

There are brief moments of joy and anticipation in Vladimir Komer’s novel turned film but nothing extravagantly amorous is said or acted upon to prove the two are in sync and especially in dual love with each other, although this coyness may be a result of the language barrier. Adelheid remains rather numb to the affair, although not against it - evident when she obeys Victor’s practiced German order: “Go to my room and wait for me in my bed,” whereas Chotovicky seems to be in love with her, or at least in lust, when he utters the tender words after they make love: “Now I am home.”

Romantics rejoice - this film is a sure fire way to get your passionate juices a-flowing; you will laugh and perhaps cry, but during the entire screening hope for a blissful ending for both Victor and Adelheid (optimistically, together). The emotional tale shows love at its strongest and at its weakest - how love can trap people and how it can set people free. We see the two leading roles become intertwined with one another, although on different levels, and for varying reasons, exemplifying a truly doomed and perhaps even forbidden love story.

Although the film deserves great credit for its plot, actors’ skills and devotion to characters, the only negative aspect is the poor cinematography in one of the first few scenes where Chotovicky takes a blow to the head and stumbles rather pathetically and unconvincingly to the ground. This laughable ‘fighting’ scene comes across as mediocre in comparison to the rest of the film where no major errors seem to occur apart from a few dubbing faults.

There is a recurring theme of loneliness concerning all characters involved. Lieutenant Chotovicky’s solitude is evident as he has no family, partner or home, and very few personal belongings. Adelheid’s aloneness is stemmed from her lack of family also, and how her life has changed significantly from riches to rags. Even minor characters like the Sergeant and his second in command show signs of being forlorn. Scenes concerning the Sergeant epitomise his dreary life with drink and dreams; he drinks alongside his officers and they talk somewhat bitterly about what others have and what they would desire in their monotonous lives.
This is further highlighted in one early scene where a German girl talks to Victor about her shortcomings. The story is a good historic account of the effects on an individual’s personal, physical and mental health as a result of living throughout a war of any kind. It is as though the bitterness of war stands in the way of love, or any feeling for Adelheid - perhaps the trauma of her father’s case is too much for her, and she resents the politics that remain.

Another huge element which is very hard to neglect is the running theme of sexual longing and frustration. Most characters make reference to sex; whether about themselves personally or about someone else on screen, and small, easily missed glances or quick passing phrases would indicate a cast wishing for some passion and/or companionship in life. However, the sexual chemistry is depicted mostly between Adelheid and Victor Chotovicky.


In Adelheid, the well selected cast and Vlácil’s fine directing skills have the ability to make the audience experience the same emotions they do - we feel the loneliness, the bouts of happiness and the relevant sensations at the end. A fine piece of cinema, especially for its time, and one which truly represents casualties of war. VMF

REVIEW: DVD Release: The Hungarian Masters Box Set

Film: The Hungarian Masters Box Set
Release date: 21st June 2010
Certificate: 12
Running time: 285 mins
Director: Miklós Jancsó, Károly Makk, Márta Mészáros
Starring: Lili Darvas, Mari Töröcsik, Zsuzsa Czinkóczi
Genre: Drama/War
Studio: Second Run
Format: DVD
Country: Hungary

From Second Run DVD, this box set features three Hungarian films: My Way Home (1965), Love (1971) and Diary For My Children (1984). The box set endeavours to showcase some of the best Hungarian cinema has to offer. Although each of the three films contains a political element to a greater or lesser extent, these works manage to encompass the wider textures of life during the past decade in Hungary, dealing with themes such as friendship, loss and independence.

My Way Home (1965)
A Hungarian crosses the hills and greenery of Russia during the final stages of World War II. He is captured by Soviet troops and soon becomes a POW for a young Russian soldier named Kolja. The Hungarian attempts to escape, but as this possibility becomes increasingly less likely he is forced to adjust to a new way of living, even though he can see freedom hiding in the distance…


What begins with a burst of activity soon dissolves as the pace of My Way Home reduces to a steady stroll, a tempo that remains fixed for most of the film. If viewers are watching in the hope of seeing a tense, exciting plot centred around a prisoner of war and his attempts to escape, they may feel a little under whelmed. Not to say that this film is bereft of moments that satisfy this need, because it is not. It is just that these moments are brief and very sporadic. Ambling along in its own way, the film though does provide a source of deeper meaning and intellectual curiousity that is sure to absorb most viewers for the entirety of its running length.

What gradually emerges from this film is a stark yet languid portrait of an isolated existence, divorced from the rest of the world, and most intriguingly, the war itself.
Ultimately the relationship between the central characters creeps under the nose of the viewer to form the core of the film. Without even being overly aware of it the viewer becomes emotionally involved in the bond that slowly builds between the two main characters.

The director’s use of wise- shots, powerful compositions and wondrously fluid camera movement is one of the joys of My Way Home, and in regards to the central relationship, his style reinforces the understated, sensitive nature of their story in addition to its delicate evolution against an open, expansive landscape. Traces of homosexuality are recognisable, as are the themes of nationhood and individuality that pepper the narrative throughout.


Love (1971)
Luca (Mari Töröcsik) plays the daughter-in-law to a bed-ridden old woman (Lili Darvas). Her husband is a political prisoner.

To give her mother-in-law a sense of hope, Luca invents stories about her husband making films in America which she relates to the woman via letters she has written.

The woman’s health is uncertain as Luca is hopeful of her husband returning to see them both…


Love is not necessarily a film that could be described as easy to watch. It quickly locks the viewer inside the narrow confines of the old woman’s bedroom. The interior used for the scenes featuring this character shown in a way that feels compact and constricting. As a result, the audience cannot avoid the stale, moribund atmosphere emanating from the scenes with the frail old woman. This approach also helps us to understand the empty nature of her daily routine and the despondency and desperation this leads to. It makes for sobering viewing, the pathos of which is heightened by exchanges between the woman and her loving daughter-in-law.

However, the constricting atmosphere produced in the early scenes is interrupted by frequent glimpses of flashbacks from the woman’s point-of-view. While these images are arresting, they help to explore the character, too. When she relates these images to portions of the letters supposedly from her son, they also evoke our sympathies, as we can see how deluded the lady is. Either that or she is in constant longing for another time and place. Or perhaps it is both.

In these early scenes, the director additionally demonstrates flexibility as a filmmaker, especially due to the fact that the camera is moved around in an unpredictable fashion, whilst still maintaining the solemn tone.

Elsewhere in the film, we learn less about the daughter-in-law character, but we are convinced of her commitment to her imprisoned husband. The husband’s involvement in the narrative shifts the focus of the film. Some may perceive his presence and the emphasis upon the letters as evidence of a politically allegorical subtext within the film. What is unequivocal, though, is that the final act of Love underlines the significance of the relationship between the couple, particularly given the undesirable circumstances.

There is perhaps an element of ambiguity in the film. Hopefully this will not be problematic for audiences, and will instead compliment the enjoyment of a brilliantly acted film, made with grace, care and thought that will send ripples of emotion right through the audience at home.


Diary For My Children (1984)
Juli (Zsuzsa Czinkoczi) is moved to Hungary in 1947 to begin a new, affluent life with her foster mother Magda (Anna Polony). It is Magda’s wish to be accepted by Juli, but Juli rejects the life she is offered.

Conflict soon arises between the two. However, it is not just tension that derives from the private sphere that affects the young girl’s life, but her growing despondency with the ideals of Communism as well…


The longest and most narrative orientated of the three films in the set, Diary For My Children is an undeniably impressive work. It manages to combine a personal story of Juli (Zsuzsa Czinkoczi) with a tale of the pressures of conformity and ideology in Soviet Hungary in the late 1940s.

Mészáros’ film is arguably the stateliest of the three films on this box set in terms of its visual style, but even here the director employs flashbacks imbued with a dream-like quality. Aesthetically, the director aims for realism and is successful. Despite this, the director is very conscious of highlighting the more intimate details in the life and interactions of the central character.

Although Juli may be a difficult character to sympathise with, at times, it is very easy to empathise with her impatience for the oppressive society around her, as the insistence on loyalty to the state through propaganda and other means is shown to be inescapable. Her story is one that is torn between her own desires and the desires of those who want her to conform. As this story unfolds, the audience learns more about her own family’s past, drawing the viewer deeper into the film. The characters of Magda (Anna Polony) and Janos (Jan Nowicki) provide further light and shade in the story, brought to life by the respective actors’ impressive performances.

This is a compelling and vivid depiction of a life lived in Communist Hungary, filled with excellent performances.


On the evidence it presents, Hungarian Masters is an impeccable title for this box set; it really does display film making of the highest order. The result is a collection of DVDs that are more than likely to satisfy viewers who take this art form seriously. For the uninitiated, this is a superb introduction to Hungarian cinema - for enthusiasts, this set is indispensable. BN

REVIEW: DVD Release: Diamonds Of The Night

Film: Diamonds Of The Night
Release date: 26th April 2010
Certificate: 15
Running time: 68 mins
Director: Jan Němec
Starring: Ladislav Jánsky, Antonín Kumbera, Irma Bischofov
Genre: Drama/Thriller/War
Studio: Second Run
Format: DVD
Country: Czechoslovakia

Winner of the Grand Prize at the 1964 Mannheim-Heidelberg International Film Festival, many critics have hailed Jan Nemec’s Diamonds Of The Night (Demanty Noci) as a startling debut feature – integral to the then burgeoning Czech New Wave. A suggestion the film is deserved of this newly restored UK DVD release.

Two teenage boys escape from a train bound for a Nazi concentration camp during World War II.

With absolutely nothing, they have to contend with injury, hunger, thirst, the elements and the unkind woodland environment, as they run for their lives ahead of their pursuing captors, who will seemingly stop at nothing…


From the offset, director Nemec puts you in the mindset of the boys, capturing their emotional and physical anguish as he films through a shaky, jerky camera, which follows the boys up-close as they scramble through the unsympathetic terrain, their breathlessness clearly audible, with prominent unyielding shouts of “halt” and gunfire shots sending shudders – the impact heightened with the lack of a musical soundtrack, aggressive sounds used as an unexpected yet vital tool later on as dialogue is kept to a bare minimum, and always non-essential to the story’s telling.

We are not told why these boys are on the run, or from whom/where (although the sound of a steam train gives our first clue), left to ascertain for ourselves until the film’s near conclusion, as the director looks to increase our confusion with indiscriminate flashbacks and fantasy sequences that cut in abruptly, and on many occasions repeat. These eventually piece together events that brought these two boys to be on the run, but more importantly illustrate the psychological impact of their peril as thoughts become darker, and potentially murderous – when one of the boys enters a woman’s home to steal food, we are given a number of scenarios as to what happens next, privy to his now corrupt thoughts.

The stark black-and-white imagery augments the original storytelling: the boys muddy faces, grubby hands, and well-worn rags give a more obvious visual representation of their plight - the stolen boots that eventually cause injury to one of the boys, thus making the task that much more gruelling (especially for his companion who has to resort to dragging him).

There are some beautifully conceived, and lingering shots throughout, no more powerful than as we view these frail and battered youngsters looking out from their cover within the overgrowth to a farmer whose wife has brought him food - and the lips of one moves tentatively, clearly imagining how good it must taste. When they eventually do acquire bread, their mouths are so dry it becomes yet another heartbreaking difficulty that garners empathy as much as the freezing, wet nights where the anxious boys try to gain some rest. The director is also keen to cut in (the editing as brutal as the story) with harsh, bright light to dramatically offset the otherwise dull tone, and continue the viewer’s disillusion.

The enemy is always unrelenting. No matter how hard the boys run, and we follow them for significant periods, these darkly dressed old men, at times seemingly confused, slowly and methodically continue closely behind, firing their guns - other than threatening hollers, their speech mumbled and inaudible. They epitomise evil, especially when we are afforded greater time in their company; in contrast to the boys’ starvation, they have plenty, and are shown as gluttonous – their celebratory dancing and menacing laughter perhaps the most unsettling moments in a film that troubles throughout.

With limited dialogue, without the need for either to show any emotional shifts, and such unrelenting focus on channelling the viewers’ sympathies to the boys’ circumstance, the performances are somewhat secondary here, but the leads are suitably vague and solemn, and clearly praiseworthy given what both must have put themselves through to deliver on the director’s premise.


Undoubtedly an arduous watch, even at such a short running time, but a chillingly realistic account whose originality, heart and power demands you face this comparatively pale battle of nutrition. DH

REVIEW: DVD Release: Marketa Lazarova

Film: Marketa Lazarova

Release date: 3rd December 2007

Certificate: 15

Running time: 173 mins

Director: Frantisek Vlacil

Starring: Josef Kemr, Frantisek Velecky, Magda Vasaryova, Vladimir Mensik, Zdenek Kryzanek

Genre: Drama

Studio: Second Run

Format: DVD
Country: Czechoslovakia

Voted the best Czech film of all time by a survey of critics in 1998, Frantisek Vlacil’s 13th century historical epic Marketa Lazarova remains an unfairly neglected film in this country, although it was reissued in 2007 by Second Run.

Adapted from Vladislav Vancura’s 1931 novel, the film is divided into two major sections: Straba (Straba the Werewolf) and Beránek Bozi (The Holy Lamb/Agnus Dei). In Straba, we are introduced to the two Kozlik brothers, Mikolas and Adam, as they launch a savage attack on a Saxon count and his retinue. In the hope of ransom, Mikolas kidnaps Kristian, the young son of the Saxon count, but succeeds only in bringing down the wrath of royal authority and the displeasure of his own father. Old Kozlik, responding to a royal edict calling for the pursuit of his clan, orders Mikolas to enlist Lazar, head of a rival bandit clan, in setting an ambush for the commander of the king’s army. Instead, Mikolas is attacked and left for dead by Lazar’s simple-minded kinsfolk. The Kozlik sons soon return to claim their revenge, abducting Lazar’s daughter Marketa and leaving her father nailed to the gates of his burning fortress. At a secret woodland hideout, Marketa is raped by Mikolas.

In Beranek Bozi, the introduction of the wandering monk Bernard helps to tie the increasingly diverse plot elements together, which include the death of Adam at the hands of the king’s troops, and a horrific battle with the Kozliks that ends with young Kristian going insane.

In the final section, the plot begins to come more sharply into focus as the relationship between Marketa and Mikolas grows into one of love, and the net begins to finally draw in around the Kozlik clan…


The most immediately striking aspect of Marketa Lazarova is the way in which it immerses us into its world with an intensity that is almost overwhelming. Vlacil’s dedication to the historical mise-en-scène, and the manner in which it transports the viewer into a world so remote from our own, both temporally and spiritually, is quite staggering. The intensive period of preparation and research that preceded the shooting undoubtedly accounts for much of the film’s veracity to the era. Vlacil relocated his cast and film crew to the Sumava forest for two years, where they were put to constructing the various sets using traditional methods and implements. He also drew on anthropological studies, dressed his cast in authentic clothes, and had them speak in the dialects of the era. For a film emanating from the Czechoslovakia of 1967, it is remarkably untainted by the politics of its own time, occupying a space as far removed from social realist propaganda as it does from the romanticism of the Hollywood historical epic.

The world of Marketa Lazarova is one we are not so much invited, as thrust into. At no point does the director invite us to see this world in any other way than through the eyes, beliefs, and feelings of the film’s characters. Vlacil often uses the viewpoints of relatively minor characters, such as Bernard or Kozlik’s feral children, to give the story a grounded point-of-view perspective. The technique is reinforced by the visual motif of peering eyes, watching the fearful events unfold before them.

From a cinematography standpoint, this provides a chance to slip in a lot of unusual compositions. Obstructions (an overhanging branch, swaying marsh reeds, marching soldiers) force the viewer into peering through and around objects much like the characters. The camera is constantly in motion as it stalks the movements of the characters, and yet the composition never appears to be anything other than meticulously planned.

Much of the apparent difficulty of the film arises from the unconventional presentation of the narrative. The relatively simple tale is subject to constant changes in perspective, vertiginous dislocations of point-of-view constantly arising out of moments of memory and clairvoyance. Such complexity in the film’s basic structure is not mere wilful artfulness, but intrinsically linked to Vlacil’s steadfast refusal to have this world judged by contemporary standards, to allow the projection of the future present onto the past. The brutality of Mikolas only seems less extreme in the context of the escalating violence of the story. Alexandra instigates an incestuous relationship with her own brother before moving on to young Kristian. Marketa, initially raped by Mikolas, eventually falls deeply in love with him, and weds him on his deathbed. At no point is judgement allocated by the director or narrator, no matter how foreign their actions may appear to modern audiences. The initially alienating techniques employed by Vlacil paradoxically work to draws us further in, as the fractured viewpoints coalesce or contrast, deepening our understanding of the events unfolding before us, and allowing us to identify and empathise with the characters.

It is testament to the strength of Vlacil’s vision that despite its extended period of preparation and shooting, the film possesses the intensity of an almost instantaneous inspiration. Despite the variety and complexity of the film’s visual and narrative technique, Marketa Lazarova plays as a seamless whole. A strong coherent art direction works to hold the piece together – from the poetic menagerie of animal images (the raven, the snake, the deer, the lamb; representing the hunter and the hunted) to the thematically linked costumes (the fur-covered armour and wolf-eared hood of the lupine Old Kozlik, and the woolly white snood that frames the face of the lamb-like Marketa as she returns home from the convent). A highly elliptical and fractured narrative is held together by the painterly beauty of the cinematography, and the uniform excellence of the acting. Special mention must go here to the young Magda Vasaryova’s utterly convincing portrayal of Marketa’s passage from child-like naivety to steely fatalism, as well as to the appropriately ferocious performance of Josef Kemr as Old Kozlik, all animalistic violence interspersed with insane hyena-like cackles.


Admittedly a difficult work, Marketa Lazarova nevertheless deserves to rank alongside the great masterpieces of 20th century cinema. It is film that anyone with an interest in world cinema should be at pains to track down and deserves to be experienced by all who relish a challenging, even genuinely mind altering experience. GJK