Occupation (Okupace)

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Credit must be given to Occupation for answering a question I had never previously considered: is there actually a good reason to wear a Nazi uniform? A blend of satire and national inquiry, all wrapped up in a one-scene thriller-comedy, the Czech film zigs and zags through one dark and heavy night of the soul.

After Soviet control of Czechoslovakia in 1968, theatre is in crisis mode. Pre-1968, directors were putting on Beckett productions. Now theatre has turned to a more politicised mode, the film taking place entirely after a production of a play lionising the life and death of journalist-turned-resistance leader Julius Fučík. Imprisoned and executed for his communist beliefs, he was turned into a propaganda symbol for the controlling party.

For director Jindrich (Martin Pechlát), drowning his sorrows in the theatre bar, the play was a total failure, featuring “mediocre actors and mediocre direction.” He was once a revered playwright, as student Milada (Antonie Formanová) shows when asking him for help on her student thesis project. She wants to know who a hero is: unlike the Nazi uniform question, this one is left unanswered throughout this black comic thriller.

There’s a touch of Quentin Tarantino here, whether it’s the long dialogue scenes, mix of comedy and violence and the twangy guitars on the soundtrack. While the final twist can be seen a mile away (and is the kind of easy resolution Tarantino would avoid) it still pays off in a deeply satisfying way, showing how resistance is easy to talk about, and often impossible to put into genuine action. The other key influence is closer to home: Miloš Forman’s The Fireman’s Ball (1967), featuring a similar balancing act and an equally gratuitous level of heavy drinking. But while Forman had to sneak his critique under the censors, director Michal Nohejl, along with co-writers Marek Sindelka and Vojtech Masek, is far freer with his lacerating look at the era.

The party turns from a pity-fest into a taut thriller when a Russian commander appears and instantly spices up proceedings. While the Russians are heavily critiqued and stereotyped, the film sets much heavier targets on the Czechoslovakians themselves, who ultimately held little resistance against the Germans. The Russians on the other hand, liberated the country, and saw themselves at this moment of acting in their best interest. Still wearing their Nazi uniform from the earlier play, the film plays upon both Russian and Czech national nightmares. It’s bad taste that achieves fascinating results.

Occupation captures the era well, with colourful clothing, deep-hued lighting, reverb-heavy music and meticulous production design. Essentially a play in film form, the widescreen aspect ratio and careful blocking allow for variation in shots that all take place in the same room, complemented by a game cast who enjoy the opportunity to drink, dance, moan, tease, bully and fight in equal measure. While never reaching genuine hilarity, it’s still an entertaining night in the company of deeply miserable people during one of their most hopeless eras.

Occupation plays in the First Feature section of the Tallinn Black Nights Film Festival, running from 12-28th November.

Servants (Služobníci)

It looks like the 19th century, but in reality this drama is set in the 1980s, shortly before the demise of the USSR and the dissolution of Czechoslovakia. Life was so colourless and oppressive that it looks like a distant past. Perhaps unsurprisingly, director Ivan Ostrochovsky opted to shoot the movie entirely in black and white, with his camera virtually static. The outcome is somber and stern, a highly claustrophobic movie almost detached from reality. A cold, monotone and austere affair, yet brewing with political ardour and religious faith.

Such was the reality of devout Catholics living under the Czechoslovakian communist regime. Their Church was allowed to exist as long as it cooperated with the highly corrupt and technically atheist government. An initiative called Pacem in Terris (named after a papal encyclical about relations between states and individuals) sealed this awkward collaboration between state and church

Students Juraj (Samuel Skyva) and Michal (Samuel Polakovič) had to grapple with both tyrannical organisations at once. State and Church – both led by dispassionate and cold grey man – were prepared to resort to extreme tactics in order to silence and even exterminate rebels and defectors. The film opens up with a car stopping under a busy underpass. As other vehicles drive past above, a battered corpse is removed from the boot. The symbolism is clear: Life goes on as usual as the rulers carry out their dirty operations from just below. The tactics of the secret service and the surveillance police resembled a mob.

The position of the Vatican was very ambiguous: while it demanded that followers did to engage with political organisations, Pope Paul VI himself collaborated with the regime in order to safeguard institutional protection essential for the continuing. existence of the hierarchical Church.

This is a movie about individual morality. The oppressors constantly warn students against “brothers who strayed from the righteous path”, and instead commanded them to obey in silence: “The Lord is a friend of silence. Plants and trees grow in silence. I therefore declare silentio in this seminary”.

The young, scrawny and vulnerable-looking Juraj and Michal are left to decide whether to abide by the corrupt rules, or follow their personal instincts risking illegality, persecution and even death. Their vulnerability is emphasised in a sequence in which Juraj in made to strip in front of his uniformed oppressors. The two young man are stuck between the sword and the wall. Their predicament raises an urgent question about the very essence of their religion: does Catholicism mandate obedience or subversiveness? Jesus Christ was a profoundly subversive person, yet the modern Church seems to frown upon – even punish – any sort of subversive behaviour, not aligned with its strict doctrine.

An internal courtyard where students play football also has a pronounced symbolism. The area is filmed from above, the square walls are exactly the same shape as the unusual ratio of the movie frame. Novices are imprisoned in an inescapable existence. There is no escape, except perhaps for a brief ball game. This is just one small example in a film dotted with aesthetic lyricism. Constant sounds – breathing, praying, singing, humming and a creepy choir that sounds almost as panting and gasping – add the final touch to this highly atmospheric film experience.

On the downside, the narrative of Servants is a little confusing. Our protagonists barely talk – presumably for their own safety plus the environment isn’t conducive to open communication. As a result, the narrative gets diluted in the poetic and aesthetic devices, and the plot/context is at time a little difficult to follow.

Overall, this is a masterful and impressive communist period drama, akin to Pawel Pawlikowski’s Ida (2103) and Cold War (2018).

Servants is out on Curzon Home Cinema on Friday, May 14th. At the same time it will also be shown as virtual cinema screenings at some selected sites including Home Manchester and ArtHouse Crouch End.

Fair Play

Get set for both a personal and a political journey. From the moment we enter Irene (Anna Gieslerova) and Anna’s (Judit Bardos) apartment, we are clearly in Eastern Europe during the Communist era. The evocatively decorated surroundings with ‘pull out bed’ and utilitarian furnishings, the drab clothing and simple bread and cheese breakfast immerse us immediately in this world. The country is Czechoslovakia, and the decade is the 1980s.

As Irene switches on the ‘Free Europe’ radio channel, we meet a woman who is willing to risk listening to forbidden news, glimpsing her position on the political system under which she is forced to exist. Mother and daughter share the extraordinary ability of elite athletes, giving them opportunities not afforded to most citizens. Irene, whose husband emigrated when their daughter (Anna) was small, puts all her energy into supporting Anna’s running career holding onto her plan of her daughter making her escape to the West while at the Olympics.

That this plan is not shared with her daughter is a decision that drives her to make extreme choices that are in conflict with her daughter’s wishes. The blurring of the personal and political leaves Irene making decisions that put her and Anna at risk of discovery and imprisonment, something that could ultimately jeopardise her daughter’s chance of escape. She wants Anna to have a chance at a free life, but also wants to cling onto her own principles.

The broader canvas of this story are the dilemmas that the citizens, of a Communist regime that does not do ‘fair play’, are thrust into. Anna and her mother agree to her having ‘Stromba’ injections to enhance her athletic ability. The state’s motivation is to prove that “Communist athletes are the best in the world”, Anna’s coach Bohdan (Roman Luknar) seems to want the best for his students, but is also conspiring with the secrecy of this system to protect his own job in fear of repercussions. Anna signs the agreement for the drugs programme but after being taken to hospital as a result of a collapse, decides to stop taking what she has found out to be anabolic steroids that could make her infertile. The state wants to control her body and potentially deny her the rights over her own reproductive life “everyone is watching me as if I was just muscles and weight” she proclaims.

We see Anna plucking hairs from her nipples and chin and becoming dissociated with her own body. Many of the threads in this narrative serve a dual purpose. The main players and their relationship with the state deeply compromises their relationships with each other. Anna’s relationship with Tomas (Ondrej Novak) illuminates her adolescent awareness of herself as a sexual being and also highlights the ‘class’ system that exists even in this supposedly socialist utopia. Tomas’ family have obvious wealth, displayed for us in the expanse of their apartment. At a crucial moment in the narrative Anna’s inability to obtain a permit to visit her father in West Germany is juxtaposed with Tomas’s family’s emigration to Austria.

Each of the individual performances is worthy of note, from the main characters to the smallest moments. The cinematography draws us in, Anna’s small frame perched on a giant statue of Lenin is a wonderful image of the individual being dwarfed by the enormity of the state. We care about these people and ache as they pick their way through each situation life throws at them.

Unfairness runs throughout Irene and Anna’s journey like a stick of rock. Ultimately they are united in choosing principle over personal gain, a decision that is vindicated in a final illustration of Soviet grandstanding where the government is more concerned with how they appear to the world rather than being tested in fair competition. Nothing is ‘Fair’ in this system and ‘Fair Play’ remains an important film, a very human depiction of life under an inhumane regime.

Fair Play is available for viewing at home right here and right now: