The Fifth Horseman is Fear (1965)

Set during the Nazi occupation of Prague, Czech filmmaker Zbyněk Brynych's "The Fifth Horseman is Fear" (1965) presents a riveting portrait of an atmosphere of paranoia and impending doom, as an old Jewish doctor is faced with a moral dilemma that could cost him his life. The title derived from the Biblical four horsemen of the apocalypse, refers to the German politics of fear that resulted in an environment of all round dread and unrelenting chaos.

Dr. Braun (Miroslav Machácek in a tour de force performance), forbidden to practise medicine any longer, is now reduced to being a sort of warehouse-man for the Nazis, cataloging confiscated property of Jews who have already been sent packing. Aware and apprehensive of what's to come, Braun constantly looks over his shoulder and sometimes hallucinates about the secret police following him. When an injured resistance fighter is brought to his attention for some treatment, Braun is faced with a quandary of a lifetime. Should he serve his lost profession in the name of humanity and face the naturally disastrous consequences, or should he go on living like a zombie puppet of the Nazis?

Of course, he chooses to jump right in, to heal a wound after several years, his hands trembling, both out of fear of messing up the job for lack of practice, as well as out of fear of certain death if reported. The question of keeping the deed under wraps proves to be a daunting one, as unavoidable physical pain threatens to make the patient scream and give everything away. Morphine would help, but getting a hold of it in such times proves to be a herculean task, let alone the tough job of hiding the patient from the secret police who often raid the building, given that the neighbours are just as helpless, and the sneaky building secretary/warden, Mr. Fanta (Josef Vinklár) could very well be an informant!

It is astonishing how dense the framework of the film is, for a modest run time of just above 90 minutes. The film begins on a deliberately off-kilter note with random shots of either crowded streets or empty back alleys, with suspicious looking men keeping a watch, edited in a seemingly haphazard manner. There are shots of fascist posters on the wall, urging citizens to report information, presumably about the resistance, in order to ensure their safety. 

A rather disquieting piano score accompanies the introduction of Dr. Braun in the confiscated property registration department. It is a nightmarish setting, with large walls full of clocks, a depressing symbol of time itself being snatched away from hapless Jews. Other goods such as musical instruments and other belongings occupy the huge office building as the employees go about their jobs like the living dead.

The unusual editing and visual technique establishes a mood of chaos and uncertainty at the outset. It is a situation where almost everything remains unclear. A sense of tension looms, as most others await new regulations, while Dr. Braun seems to be certain where it's all headed, and it doesn't seem to be a pretty sight. Despite the setting being of the time of the rise of the Nazis, Brynych refrains from highlighting any of the actual events of the war or the holocaust.

The recurring shot of a smoking chimney perhaps reflects the grim picture of the holocaust, while the primary focus remains on the few who are still at an arm's length from inevitable doom, but living under tremendous mental torment. The psychological anguish resulting from the lack of stability in a society crumbling under turbulent conditions is the focal point of Zbyněk Brynych's film.

That the situation is wholly unpredictable is demonstrated in a brilliant sequence in which the injured resistance fighter is first discovered by the young boy in the building. He is seen from a distance riding his bicycle and falling off repeatedly. The boy is initially amused at the sight, thinking it to be some kind of a real life comedy of a bungling drunk, until he realizes what it is upon a closer look. Also during Braun's quest for morphine, one can see how most citizens are calming their nerves with booze while some others can't seem to control their debilitating mental state.

Dr. Braun's apartment building itself gives off an air of some kind of a claustrophobic chamber of death, with its echoing sounds of screaming inhabitants, crying children, and constantly fading lighting. Those low angle shots looking up at the winding staircase, sometimes with neighbours staring down suspiciously, while in turn evoking suspicion, resembles something straight out of a horror flick. These neighbours are another eclectic bunch and we meet them only briefly earlier on.

But in a rare masterstroke, Brynych completely shifts our attention to the other building tenants and their inside lives, instead of Braun in the final half hour when the suspense is at its peak. It is noteworthy how familiar the audiences get with these characters in a short period of time. It's just a slight letdown but not a major hitch, that in a drama so realistic and grave in nature, a couple of these characters are portrayed like unrealistic caricatures, notably Fanta, the warden and the cantankerous Mrs. Kratochvilova with her rabbits.

It is said that Brynych modeled this film as a veiled attack on Soviet communism, while narrating a story set against the backdrop of the Nazi occupation. "The Fifth Horseman is Fear" is an intense film that works either ways, given the similar oppressive political ideologies. With an intriguing central moral conflict, it succeeds in showcasing the resulting devastation, not of the physique, but of the psyche of man, in a very compelling manner.

Score: 9/10

Valley of the Bees (Údolí Včel) (1968)

***NOTE: The following analysis/review may contain MILD SPOILERS regarding some detail in the film, but not to the extent of making the film viewing experience any lesser.***

"Suffering is the way to God".

Welcome to the dark ages, where ignorance and religious fanaticism looms large. These are the medieval times in an unknown century, presumably the fourteenth. It is the era of the Christian Military Orders, societies of Knights with a common purpose of propagating and defending their faith. Men who commit to the life of the Order have to lead harsh lifestyles. This includes, vows of celibacy, rigorous fasting, praying, and ultimately defending the honour of their religion and faith. Deserting the Order is a punishable offense, and anyone found guilty of doing so would be tagged a traitor and could face death by some of the worst methods.

Some of these men, however, don't necessarily commit to the Order on their own accord. A few are forced into it for various reasons. They are perhaps too young to realize what they are getting into, or are paying for the sins of their fathers. In such a scenario, there are those who choose to flee. They desire the good life, settle down, marry, have kids. And why not? It's only human. But then, it's a sin to even think like that, for by doing so, you are betraying Jesus Christ. With such unpleasant ideas instilled in these men, it is not unthinkable that some have doubts, and face a strong crisis of faith. But the Order claims that they have weakened and pray that God forgive them their weakness!

František Vláčil's "Valley of the Bees" (1968) takes us right at the heart of such a grim universe. A teenaged Ondrej, angered that his much older father is marrying a girl his age in their large castle, gifts his new mother a basketful of flowers, beneath which there turn out to be a number of half-dead bats! Enraged at the insult to his new bride, Ondrej's father flings his son on a wall, badly hurting him. Calming down the next instant and regretting his act, though, the father prays that his son's life be saved, in return for which, he vows to send his son to the Order so he can dedicate the rest of his life to serving God.

Several years pass by and Ondrej grows up to be a man (Petr Cepek) in the Order, and in the process, strikes a warm friendship with his mentor, Armin (Jan Kacer). An unforeseen chain of events leads to Ondrej ultimately fleeing from the Order and seeking a path back home. A dejected Armin vows to find Ondrej and bring him back.

Vláčil tells a story that is reasonably simple, but rife with complex themes, addressing subjects like crisis of faith and the established concepts of sin and redemption. Ondrej eventually returns home to find his father dead and his stepmother Lenora grown into a beautiful woman (Vera Galatíková). Not surprisingly, there is an instant attraction, but it is sinful to have such feelings for each other, for in effect, they are mother and son, even though they've hardly known each other or lived with that kind of a bond. Both, supposed devout Christians are now faced with a huge dilemma.

Lenora flogs herself in one scene, presumably as punishment for having lustful thoughts about her stepson. But when he does make advances, she rejects them, although she seems to want him. She sighs in silence and looks on in helpless desperation when she overhears Ondrej and the maids discuss about an impossibility of there being any children in the courtyard to make it a livelier place. Quite ironically, in a bid to save the dying local Church, the priest Father Blasius (Michal Kozuch) agrees to marry off Ondrej and his stepmother, thus letting them officially sin in return for a donation!

While Ondrej is the apparent lead character here, it is the character of Armin that acts as a driving force in putting forth several of the stronger themes. Armin's desperation to bring Ondrej back may be a result of a homosexual undercurrent, although it is not made explicit. There are scenes to suggest that men committed to the Order experience a sexual urge towards their fellow knights.

One particular bawdy-looking man seems to make advances at Armin, which he rejects. The entire scene is pulled off in an implicit manner and one may even fail to notice that any such thing is implied. At one point Armin who doesn't make an eye contact with a woman says, "Men of the order do not look at women", almost serving as a veiled reference to homosexuality being a norm in sects such as the one Armin comes from!

On at least two occasions, other characters point out that Armin's body feels cold. This serves as a metaphorical reference for how dead Armin really is! All the life has been sucked out of him. He is the trained robot of the Order, a stubborn protector of the faith, one who wouldn't relent and will abide by the rules 'til the very end. There appears to be a direct attack on the rigid dogmatism of any religion, sect or organization in general. It wouldn't be wrong to think of "Valley of the Bees" as a veiled critique of the authoritarian and harsh ways of the Communist government, considering the film was released in 1968, the decade of the very important Czech new wave. Armin's stuck up ways and the authoritarianism of the head of the sect enforcing rules, very much mirrors communist traits.

A lot of ambiguity surrounds the character of Armin and his motivations, especially pertaining to his acts in the final third. Apart from the homosexual subtext discussed above, there also appears to be a strong sense of jealousy stemming from a false sense of pride and accomplishment in the faith of the Order. A very intense conversation takes place between Armin and Father Blasius. Armin vents: "Why should only the virtuous die of cold and hunger in their cells? The others live without faith and multiply like ants". Armin is left with a sense of disbelief and an obvious crisis. What good is his dedication to the Order, following all the rules, while the one who breaks them, Ondrej, is about to begin a happy life with a woman. A devastated Armin feels forsaken by God when he simply cannot come to terms with the fact that Ondrej is a much happier man, despite his supposed betrayal of Christ. And therefore, what actually drives Armin to take that final drastic step, is open to interpretation.

A film as dark, and of such intense magnitude needed a storytelling style just as dark and disquieting, and Vláčil ensures that he does justice. His film is a marvel of a period piece that puts you right in the midst of the middle ages. The attention to detail, the costumes, the sets, everything is authentic to the hilt. The poetic filming style and the bleak, black and white cinematography ensures that every frame evokes a sense of despair and desolation. 

A brooding atmosphere and a sublime, hypnotic score evoking gloom and loneliness adds to the experience and literally makes the viewer feel the chill of those godforsaken times. The long shots overlooking the castles, the fortresses and their interiors emanate a ghostly aura and a sense of foreboding. For all its style, the film would probably not have been as effective had it not been for the exceptional performances from a great primary cast of three. The actors completely understand their characters and their inner conflicts and end up delivering powerful, convincing performances.

František Vláčil's "Valley of the Bees" is a masterpiece of Czech cinema, a dark saga that has such enormous power, it will likely leave you gazing at the screen long after the final frame.

Score: 10/10

Witchhammer (1970)

In 1678, somewhere in the Northern Moravian region of the (now) Czech Republic, an old beggar woman was spotted hiding a piece of the sacramental bread during a communion in a church. When the priest present there confronted her and demanded an explanation for her action, she begged forgiveness and said she was carrying it for a certain other woman, whose cow had stopped giving milk. They believed the holy wafer would make the cow give milk again! The priest reported the matter to the countess, and upon discussing with some others, it was concluded that the women were not victims of some superstitious beliefs, but rather, practitioners of witchcraft!

A witch commission led by an ex-inquisitor by the name of Boblig was formed. Boblig was given all the powers to do whatever was deemed necessary to get rid of witchcraft in the countess's estate. Driven by a greed for wealth, power and recognition, Boblig commenced his trials starting with three women, which triggered a chain reaction of false accusations, wrongful arrests, and forced confessions by the most barbarous acts of medieval third degree torture.

All this eventually led to execution by burning at the stake, of hundreds of innocents including a well-respected priest. This gross injustice continued for almost eighteen years 'til Boblig's death. He went on amassing the wealth of the people he prosecuted, and no one could do anything about it. Those who dared protest, were implicated as well. This is no fable. It is a true story; a dark chapter in the history of Moravia, that witnessed one of the worst faces of human moral corruption ever.

Václav Kaplický penned a novel on these events, which was later adapted by director Otakar Vávra in his sledge hammer of a film aptly titled "Witchhammer" (1970). The film came out towards the end of the most rebellious movement in cinema, the Czech New Wave. Vávra in his stark, dark film pulls no punches and delivers a brutal, gut-wrenching slab of cinema that leaves you feeling appalled and helpless.

It is an era that is incredibly medieval, literally as well as figuratively, where religion and superstition dominate to the extreme, and heretics face censure and punishment for anything that goes against the established Catholic beliefs. It also appears to be commonly accepted that witches exist and they meet at some local meeting place called Peter's Rock, where they indulge in all sorts of sacrilegious activities including fornication with the devil! Anyone suspected of even going near that place is subject to persecution and death by burning if charges of witchcraft are proven against him/her!

In such a scenario, the ugly face of religious extremism and dogmatism reveals itself. The incident of the old beggar woman, as it happened, acts as a starting point and thus ensues, a series of events that beggars the imagination. Meaningless arrests, confessions forced out of innocent women and men by cruel methods including subjecting to the rack and the thumbscrews, and eventually the unjust execution of these hapless beings by burning at the stake in public presence. The older women are left to suffer insufferable pain and beating while the more younger women also become a victim of the lust of their captors. A humiliating full body examination of a woman becomes an excuse, to find the devil's mark which could very well be a mole!

All this at the hands of a hungry madman who begins to love and strives to maintain his authority. Vávra intersperses shots of a cloaked monk standing in the shadows, mumbling misogynist recitation, presumably from the Malleus Maleficarum, a 15th century book on the prosecution of witches, juxtaposed against the film's steady buildup to atrocities of increasing magnitude. The monk's more horror-fiction-like chilling narration reveals an irony in the film's brutally realistic proceedings. Who is really at one with the devil here? The punished or the punisher?

This reviewer was blissfully unaware that the film is a historically true account of actual events that happened in the 17th century on this very planet and hence upon the realization of the same, the impact was all the more powerful. Injustice of this ghastly nature went on for years, and nobody did anything to stop it. Whatever happened to humanity back then? How does a lousy, sloppy innkeeper who served drinks in an empty inn suddenly begin to control people's lives? It all boggles the mind!

But then one realizes that it wasn't just in those days that such things happened. This is a classic example to give to explain historic recurrence. The trials happened in the 17th century. Similar witch trials happened in colonial Massachusetts around the same time (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Salem_witch_trials). In the 20th century, happened the Communist regime that led to the said film movement, the Czech New Wave.

Obviously, Otakar Vávra drew parallels between Václav Kaplický's novel based on the real incidents then, and the real incidents now (during the 60s in Czechoslovakia) and in a move of genius, presented a veiled allegory in the form of a historical drama! The dig at the Communist Government and their unjust, haphazard ways starts getting clearer when there seems to be no respite of any sort, and one begins to see where the film is going. A power-drunk Boblig blurts out in an empty dining hall: "I have moved forward. All it takes is courage, a firm goal and no scruples. I am at the top". Isn't that true of essentially any Fascist leader?

Similarly, albeit also in contrast, during the era of US Senator Joseph McCarthy in the 1950s, there was McCarthyism, the anti-communist movement, which was characterized by reckless accusations of disloyalty and communist tendencies against thousands of Americans. There was a similar fear campaign against communist infiltration in the US government much like the paranoia surrounding infiltration by the witches among God-fearing Christians as depicted in the film. History indeed does repeat itself then!

A major theme explored in the film is that of the credibility of torture as a means of extorting out a confession and an ultimate means to reach the truth. One of the characters in the film even spells out this aspect when he says that one shouldn't underestimate bodily pain. It then brings to mind several contemporary situations, like methods used post 9/11 and other such instances where third degree torture is inflicted and relied on to incriminate someone. But how much truth is really there to these judgements after all?

Many of the Czech New Wave films, especially those that satirize the communist government, have an absurd comedy flavor to them and the leaders represented in those films are bungling idiots. "Witchhammer" is a film of a different breed, however. It is one that isn't really a comedy, but a rather serious, tragic, harrowing, agonizing, gut-wrenching, infuriating, grit-your-teeth-with-helplessness-and-anger kind of a film! It has the tendency to emotionally affect and disturb, and make you feel worse than any modern day torture porn film. And therefore one expects, in a powerful film such as this, given the film's grave universe, that the characters are at least treated with the same kind of gravity.

It is not a major issue, but a tad disappointing, however, that some comic relief has been resorted to and there are some blatantly caricaturish portrayals of certain characters. The side characters are excusable, but even the antagonist, Boblig (Vladimír Smeral) is shown to be a textbook villain who is a loud, lecherous, nose-blowing drunk with an evil smirk and cartoonish mannerisms! It would've benefited to make him a more realistic character, like Dean Lautner (Elo Romancik). Along with being aggressive as he is here, he could also have embodied a more grave, cold, ruthless persona. That would give off an aura of a real fascist leader emblem that this character intends to be.

Beautifully cinematographed by Josef Illik in sharp black and white and chiaroscuro to accentuate the exceedingly bleak proceedings, wonderfully scored by Jiri Srnka and replete with some splendid performances, "Witchhammer" is one hell of a hidden disturber that would give a run for the money to all the modern horror films centering around torture. Definitely watch if you have a reasonably strong heart. It will be a while before the effect wears out.

Score: 9/10