Directed by:
Miloš FormanCinematography:
Miroslav OndříčekComposer:
Evžen IllínCast:
Hana Brejchová, Vladimír Pucholt, Vladimír Menšík, Ivan Kheil, Jiří Hrubý, Milada Ježková, Josef Šebánek, Josef Kolb, Marie Salačová, Jana Nováková (more)Plots(1)
A factory manager in rural Czechoslovakia bargains with the army to send men to the area, to boost the morale of his young female workers, deprived of male company since the local boys have been conscripted. The army sends reservists, mostly married middle-aged men - and the local beauty Andula, spurns those bold enough to try to win her, for the jazz pianist, newly come from Prague to perform. He seduces her and impresses her, telling her "most women are round, like guitars but you are a guitar by Picasso". Staying the night with him causes a lecture on a young woman's honour at her hostel so she throws over her other suitors and makes her way to Prague to find the young man. His protective Mamma and weary Pappa are not pleased when she arrives on the doorstep with her suitcase. (Second Run)
(more)Reviews (7)
Even though Miloš Forman didn't have sufficient resources in Czechoslovakia to make big-budget films, he managed with what he had and could thus shoot small but powerful films that brilliantly depict who the Czechs really are and what trivialities we deal with in our lives without realizing that we're harming someone by doing so.
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Miloš Forman is one of the most talented people ever to have anything to do with Czechoslovak cinema. It’s a pity that the commies drove him away. PS: The best bed scene ever :)
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One of the most awkward films in Czech history. Of course in the best possible sense. Forman has civilized his form to the very limit of his possibilities, Ondříček's camera sometimes feels quite cumbersome, and the dialogues (which Forman allegedly played for the actors beforehand) are absolutely realistic and completely free of any stylization. They are simply snippets of intercepted speech, put together in situations picked up by watching that seem to lack comedy, but as soon as one listens to the stream of banalities and gray phrases, the extraordinarily rich and poetic core of the film breaks out. The film has a perfect undertone of communist uniformity, stupid brass band music, stupid melodies from television, the hum of a factory, etc. The naivety and surrender of Andula, who is adolescently naive, but at the same time beautifully cheeky and full of ideals, stands out from the monotony. However, I consider the Pucholt-Šebánek-Ježková "bed" scene to be the absolute highlight, which is an example of new wave humor. A very inconspicuous and very beautiful film.
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A beautiful film, more beautiful than I remembered it. And that's in spite of a lot of things that happen in it.
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A story with three emotionally disparate segments: the first steeped in the awkwardness of the situation and bachelor excesses, the second marked by youthful romance and lover's platitudes, and the third on the ground of parental domination and lost illusions, and they are combined into a complex contemporary account of the fleeting and false effects of love from the position of the fairer sex. Especially in this day and age, when we see posts on Facebook from 14-year-old girls whose sensitive little hearts have been broken by their 18-year-old boyfriends, it is more than obvious how timeless and apt the film is; but that’s the case with almost all Forman’s movies.
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The Loves of a Blonde is a typical example of Miloš Forman's veristic method of filmmaking. The omnipresent sense of awkwardness and cruelty, the observations, the improvised (and often empty dialogue) between the (non!) actors, the important dance sequences and many other features that are typical of the director. Overall, the plot/story is more intense than in Peter and Pavla, but the director's crowning achievement, which rides a similar wave, remains The Firemen's Ball. Initially, the film was quite slow, gradual, even tedious, something you have to get used to, but the (almost) final bed scene is second to none in this country (and maybe even abroad). In short, a film that, while not perfect, is timeless and stands out for its directness.
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The hapless and clueless Brejchová has so much of that cutely goofy esprit of rural naivety and pure femininity here that she steals every scene, even when she’s just sitting there looking confused. The rest (especially the party scene with the soldiers), as is usual with the duo of Papoušek-Forman, I finished watching practically from under the table, I felt so embarrassed. A painful study in the inability to communicate, which I would have shot into space to prevent a possible alien civilization from making its first attempt to meet humanity from anywhere outside of Žďár.
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