As part of my immersion, this week, in Czech films, I devoted Monday late night to the 1968 Academy Award winning film in the Best Foreign Film category, Closely Watched Trains. This is a film that just misses out on greatness because of some lapses near the beginning and at the end. That’s unfortunate because the film also possesses some major strengths – in its performances and its clever manner of addressing weighty issues in such a low key style that you hardly recognize the strength of the film’s statement until it’s all over.

Closely Watched Trains was directed by Jiri Menzel and is considered one of the crown jewels of Czech New Wave cinema that emerged during the period of liberalization before the Soviet invasion and which continued its subtle political criticism even during the Soviet occupation. The script was based on a story by Bohumil Hrabal set in occupied Bohemia in the autumn of 1944. The protagonist is an unambitious boy in his late teens named Miloš (Vaclav Neckar). Miloš wants only to follow in the tradition of his male ancestors – making a living while exerting himself as little as possible. The prologue informs viewers that Miloš’ great-grandfather retired early on a pension after being injured in the line of duty. His grandfather became a hypnotist in order to avoid manual labor and attempted to halt a line of German tanks advancing on the town by hypnotic suggestion, only to be promptly run down by the lead tank. His father had retired in his forties after a short career as a train conductor and had reclined on the couch ever since. Miloš has opted, therefore, to be trained as a train dispatcher, a job that involves mainly standing around and throwing a switch every few hours. His first assignment is at the remote Kostomlaty rail station, where life is quiet and largely unaffected by the Nazi occupation or the war, except for an occasional troop transport or supply train passing through. These military trains must be especially closed watched and, hence, provide the basis for the title of the film.

Professional duties occupy so little of the day that the personnel at the station are pretty much free to pursue their personal interests. Miloš’ training is supervised by Hubicka (Josef Somr), who is a womanizer of the first order and rather successful at it. In one scene he imprints various parts of a young lady’s body using his dispatcher stamps, with great erotic effect. His boss, the station manager, is Max (Vladimir Valenta), an obese fellow who resents Hubicka’s debaucheries and whose own priority is raising geese and other fowl. Miloš has a love interest in the form of Máša (Jitka Bendova), who is a cute, sensuous conductor. In the first scene in which she appears, the two of them have puckered up for a kiss, eyes closed, she leaning down from the caboose platform and he standing on the ground, when the train pulls away just before the kiss can be culminated. This turns out to be emblematic of their entire relationship. At this point, the movie seems to be presenting itself as mainly a lighthearted coming-of-age comedy with Miloš’ virginity the most weighty concern.

Máša, who is clearly not interested in playing coy, invites Miloš to her uncle’s place. The uncle is a photographer and there are some humorous moments, here, involving his work photographing customers, but soon Máša has got Miloš exactly where she wants him – next to her in bed. Miloš' inexperience, however, gets the best of him, especially since his maiden voyage (so to speak) must coincide with a bombing raid, and he experiences premature ejaculation followed by impotency, leaving Máša in a state of agitated disappointment and Miloš so humiliated that he soon undertakes suicide by slashing his wrists. He is discovered in the tub, however, unconscious but alive, and receives the requisite medical attention and sexual counseling, which amounts to the old man-to-man recommendation of seeking an experienced older woman for proper initiation. Some very funny business follows from this when, for example, Miloš asks the station master if he knows any older women that might be able to break him in and when the station master replies, “No”, follows up with, “How about your wife?” When the station master says, “No, I keep her for myself.”, Miloš quickly corrects the error, “No, I meant does she know an experienced woman who could provide the service?” And so it goes. Then there’s an outrageously erotic scene where Miloš goes to ask the station master’s wife himself and she is in the midst of cleaning a freshly killed goose, stroking the down from its long neck.

Miloš’ opportunity finally arrives in a somewhat surprising way. It turns out that Hubicka, the womanizer, is also part of the Czech resistance. An attractive female resistance fighter arrives with a bomb which is to be used to blow up a closely watched ammunition train that will be passing through the station. At Hubicka’s request, she gladly agrees to introduce Miloš to manhood and succeeds in doing so. We see in this a not so subtle symbolic relationship being drawn between successful manhood and acts of resistance against an oppressive occupying force. This was a bold statement for a film to make coming out as it did in the midst of Soviet occupation. All of a sudden, this light-hearted and matter-of-fact comedy has taken a dark turn into political commentary. Another interesting bit of symbolism is the strategic use of the famous chords from Liszt’s Les Preludes, which were a routine part of German propaganda broadcasts during World War II. In Closely Watched Trains, it is used antithetically at moments of set-back for the Nazi characters as well as signaling Miloš’ passage into manhood. Amazingly, this film seems to exist on two separate levels: lighthearted comedy about ordinary Czech people of no special heroic quality and, suddenly, political drama. The ending is surprising, but deserves to remain a surprise for viewers who have yet to see this film.

I’ve had to ruminate over whether to rate this film as four stars or three. I am certain that some viewers will experience it as no better than an average film because the pace is slow, especially in the first forty-five minutes or so. There is also some weakness after the sudden surprise ending, when there is too little epilogue to put it all into perspective. For those who can adjust to the low-key style of this film, there is humor enough and other cinematographic qualities sufficient to justify a four-star rating. Several of the characters are both delightfully humorous and complex. The performances are all excellent, especially Vaclav Neckar in the lead role. The cinematography nicely captures the starkness of the remote location. The film has a feel of openness to it, both in the visual spaces and in the use of dialog-free segments. The realism of the Czech New Wave style is strongly in evidence. The most impressive aspect of this film, however, is its ability to combine successfully contrary characteristics – to be simultaneous comedy and tragedy, non-heroic and heroic, lighthearted and political. The film is in Czech language with English subtitles, black-and-white, and has a running time of 89 minutes.


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You might want to check out these other excellent films from Czechoslovakia:

Kolya
Shop on Main Street

Recommended:
Yes

Viewing Format: VHS
Video Occasion: Fit for Friday Evening
Suitability For Children: Not suitable for Children of any age