Zelary(Czech Republic, 2002,148 min) --Dec 5, 2004
Zelary won its rated R status in the first 5 minutes, and I' m still puzzled by the choice. Was it the post-89 Eastern European cinema's obsession with sex on screen? (15 years after the fact it's maybe time to move over the memory of 40 or so years of purely allegoric stuff ). Or was it the pedagogical approach of putting a joke/the hottest stuff at the beginning of the class so everyone shows up in time and pays attention?
Anyhow, the first climax is followed by the usually WWII resistance/spy type of scenes, until the train's arrival to the little stop of Sadova Hut. I have only one question from all this part: what ever happened to the Eliska's friend, the surgeon? Did he really emigrated and is he the man we see 20 years after the action, at the end of the movie? His name, Richard Littner, could have been German as well as Jewish. On the other side, Eliska's assumed name becomes Hana Hofmanova, a name so chosen to sound German, so there is plenty of space of imagination in here.
Once in Sadova Hut, (Eliska's former patient and Hana's future husband) Joza starts walking more comfortably, as clearly in his element as Hana is not. We need very few elements to label the new characters: Hana's first hostess acts as she has a claim on Joza, but the claim seems to have expired. The school principal uses alcohol to block his existential questions. The local priest uses faith to put daily decisions into perspective, and consistently chooses the least of two evils. Joza's neighbor is always smiling, a happy counterpart to the grin of Lucka the midwife. And the same neighbour says something that we get to understand later as well: 'you can't just go around using your town clothes; the locals would not accept you'.
There are signs of what it is acceptable or not acceptable behavior all through the story, but the final migration to the shelter in the bogs makes it clear: Zelary is a self-sufficient community that defines itself as 'us vs. them', where 'them' can be anyone from the town dwellers to the Germans, from the game keeper to the Russians, on short anyone who is not born on the mountain or married on the mountain. What happens with 'us and ours' is our concern, in the measure in which affects the community as a whole (beating one's own wife is talked about, but not really acted upon, while messing with someone's else wife without her consent is to be punished at once, and the punishment is not to be discussed; the other workers at the sawmill, not Joza, are the ones saying 'if something happens to her (Hana), we know where to come after you') ; but in front of an outside danger, even the drunk troublemaker is brought to the safety of the shelter for no other reason than being one of 'ours'. {I would take a guess that this is still the rule in many communities all around the globe; a Persian saying comes to mind here, 'Family takes care of family'}. What happens to 'them and theirs' is none of our business (that's at least my take on the lack of reaction of the community toward the killing of the sheppard or of the game keeper's family; the other take would be, of course, that there is a reaction but not a visible one).
There are dark and violent moments all through the movie, and alcohol or easy access to a firearm are to be blamed for most of them. The scene with the Russian soldier taking part unknowingly in a father-and-son revenge, speaks volumes about taking action in an unknown situation and sounds uncanny similar to stories from newer wars.
There are also small moments to be treasured all over the movie: the little girl counting on her fingers the forest animals or sharing her gift of chocolate. Hana's introduction to the old art of medicinal plants (buckhorn, anyone?) and later the ladies getting ready for Christmas, and totally enjoying themselves, ear scratching song and all. Azor's assessment of Hana's first try at cooking (we have in Romanian a similar saying 'not good even for feeding the dogs'). The joy of new wooden floors. The wedding song 'Forest, green forest' .
And what probably stands out is documenting the evolution of the whole relationship Joza-Hana, from the hospital bed to the conjugal one. We see it in the changing of addressing formula from 'Pana doktorowa' (Mrs Doctor, a polite title that Eliska/ Hana refuses promptly "I'll have to wait for both titles"), to 'Hana, thou', followed quickly by 'Hana, you' and eventually by Hanulka (the diminutive form for Hanna, to be used for children, or very close members of the family). We see it in Hanna's slow acceptance that she is safe around Joza, in her attempt to tame the house environment, from a quick inventory of its belongings to the request for soap, and finally in the comfortable bed talk. In their intimate moments, Hana and Joza talk more than Eliska and Richard ever did, as if their explicit differences make verbal communication more necessary. The "May I touch you" scene ( a simpler way of saying "before I get myself in trouble, let me clarify things; do you mean what I think you mean or is it another town trick") , the asymmetrical ears scene and the "I have plans, too." scene (involving medical school for Hanna; and buying some sheep for Joza as we) - all of them are, if not Kodak moments, then very memorable Barandow ones.
And when all seems to be going well, when love and understanding seems to reign over Azor's masters, Spring '45 comes and all things get complicated. The scenes around the entry of the Russian soldiers in the village can be read on many levels. Lucka the midwife is the only one who doesn't join the evening celebration, and the only one who manages to escape unharmed from the visit of a drunk and armed soldier (another saying comes to mind "an old women will dare to go in court against the D/Evil, and will win compensation as well", an oblique tribute to the wisdom brought by life experiences). The priest gets killed, an early sign of the faithless era to follow. The wild boy shares his safe shelter with the whole village. The school principal is the one to give away that shelter, maybe an allusion to the complicated behavior of the intellectuals during the Soviet occupation(I might be applying an extra filter to story,not necessary the one intended by the playwriter). And finally, Joza dies and we can't quite make sense of his death, of his choice to not ask for help. Is it extreme sense of duty for the community? Is it stupid bravery, not improved by the delirium that comes with loss of blood? Is it a supreme act of love, freeing Hana to go off the mountain/ freeing himself from the tougher pain that will come with Hana leaving one day? We don't know.
