I was struck by the opening sequence of Frantisek Vlácil’s Marketa Lazarová (1967). The first moments of this 13-century medieval bohemian epic portray the desolation and unflinching cold of a time and place in a manner that is utterly visceral. Low angle cinematography draws the audience in as voyeurs of a bandit attack on a coach, placing viewers close enough to the action that they might feel compelled to reach out and touch the frozen snowy landscape. Unfortunately, the film peaks here, leaving nearly two and a half hours left in which it resides in narrative mediocrity.
Early on, I couldn’t tell whether the poorly executed additional dialogue recoding (ADR) voiceovers were intentionally echoed for a stylistic touch. Certainly Vlácil couldn’t be justified in thinking that they were cohesive. While I was initially intent on not letting this element of the film distract from my viewing, it became impossible to ignore when the picture’s diagetic sound took on the same obtrusive quality. Still, I was mesmerized by the stimulation of the visual pallet which this movie offers. Shot in a black and white that is at times stark, the film also includes sequences of an absolute dreamlike state. It’s quite heavy on the symbolism as well, as its plot supposedly pertains to the clash between paganism and Christianity that racked Eastern Europe during the period.
I say “supposedly” because I spent the 162 minutes of this picture’s runtime trying desperately to figure out what was going on. Perhaps I enjoyed the opening sequence so much because the beginnings of films always breed confusion, as we get to see the characters before we really know them. Here, I never once throughout felt that I really understood any of the characters, let alone their motivations. War films can be difficult to follow because it’s tough to pick out certain characters when they’re all wearing the same thing. A similar quagmire is likely to befall many a viewer of this piece of Czechoslovakian cinema, as animal skins don’t tend to be easily distinguishable on black and white film. Add to this factor the bearded element of many of the characters herein and it leaves only the eponymous female lead and the one-armed son of a warlord who stand out amongst the crowd.
To be fair, there are several aspects of Marketa Lazarová that work quite well. The soundtrack, comprised primarily of vocal music that feels true to the period, evokes an element of medieval Europe that is simultaneously religious and bleak. Surviving harsh winters and retaining long-held beliefs were the major elements of life in this time and this place, and in conveying that fact the film succeeds. Still, it lacks an element of humanity with which most audiences could relate. In fact, upon its preview screening Variety acknowledged the artistic merits of the picture while predicting its commercial failure, calling it “a stunning work – unsuitable for general commercial release.” (Schneider, 483)
Indeed, this is a style over substance work that has likely remained in the semipublic conscious due to the efforts of film snobs who can appreciate its loose (barely there) narrative. By its conclusion, the film descends into a mess of unjustified voiceovers that confuse both the audience and the characters alike. While the cinematic merits of this picture are high, its quasi-narrative, involving the kidnapping and rape of a young virgin who has been promised to a convent, isn’t exactly the Saturday afternoon matinee aimed at teen audiences that it might sound like.
Language: Czech
Runtime: 162 Minutes
Available @Youtube.com
Grade: 1.5 Hats Off
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