The 1996 Oscar winning film in the Best Foreign Film category, Kolya, was a family affair in more than one way. It was directed by Jan Sverak, a bone fide member of the Czech New Wave school of cinema, and was scripted by and starred Zdenek Sverak, the director’s father. In a surprising way, Czech cinema may actually have benefited by censorship under Soviet occupation. The Czech national artists developed shrewd and subtle tactics for expressing what they had to say in ways that could evade the censorship that would have inevitably been applied had their political themes been more obvious. Consequently, Czech films of the New Wave acquired a degree of nuance of expression that simultaneously deepened their artistic merit.

Historical Background: Kolya is set in the Czechoslovakia of 1988, during the twilight of communism. The old Czech Constitution of 1960 had ceded preeminence to the country’s Communist Party and the nominal civil rights guaranteed by that Constitution were mainly observed in the breach. Rampant censorship stifled both the press and the arts. In 1959, hundreds of thousands of Czech citizens began to stage demonstrations that called for the end of Communist domination and the guarantee of free elections and such liberties as freedom of speech and a free press. This largely nonviolent uprising became known as the “Velvet Revolution.”

The Story: Frantisek Louka (Zdenek Sverak) is a 55-year-old professional cellist and confirmed bachelor. He was once the principal cellist of the prestigious Czech Philharmonic Orchestra, but had been removed from his post by the authorities for no better reason than his having furnished a glib response to a question on one of the endless forms of the Communist bureaucracy. Louka must now make do with gigs at weddings and funerals and such menial activities as refurbishing the lettering on aging headstones in the graveyard. His debts are accumulating and he badly needs a car to lug around his bulky instrument.

Louka’s friend, Broz (Ondrej Vetchy), a gravedigger, offers him a way out: a “fake” marriage to Broz's niece, a young Russian woman badly in need of Czech citizenship to evade deportation back to Russia. Although the very idea of it is repulsive to Louka’s bachelor instincts, he is won over by his mother’s plea that her house (which will someday be Louka’s) is badly in need of repairs to the weather-beaten eaves . Besides, he will not have to live with the bride, they will divorce in six months, and for this minimal trouble he will be able to settle his debts. The wedding scene is awkwardness itself, since the bride speaks only Russian, a language that Louka has steadfastly refused to learn out of his contempt for the occupiers. The bride, Nadezda (Irena Livanova), is at least spared the ignominy of comprehending Louka’s crude one-liners about the wedding night, which, to Louka’s dismay, is without consummation.

Life briefly returns to normal for Louka, whose extensive free time is largely consumed with womanizing. With good looks and a cool demeanor highly reminiscent of Sean Connery, Louka maintains a busy schedule in his belfry apartment at the top of an old apartment building. Female musicians, students, and married women alike find their way to his door. One such seduction is unexpectedly interrupted by the police at his door. With them is five-year-old Kolya (Andrej Chalimon), a Russian boy and son of Nadezda. Shortly after their marriage of convenience, Nadezda had used her Czech citizenship to join her real lover in West Germany and had left Kolya behind with his great-aunt. When the great-aunt suddenly died, Louka had been identified as the boy’s stepfather and nearest remaining kin. Horror of horrors! The lifelong bachelor suddenly finds himself responsible for a five-year-old boy and neither speaks a word of the other’s language.

Louka is at a total loss as to how to care for a child – any child – much less one with whom he cannot verbally communicate. The sobbing of the boy at the apartment window is no help at all. Louka tries desperately to preserve is old lifestyle, but quickly discovers that this addition to his “family” has to be fed, schooled, tucked into bed, have his temperature taken when he’s ill, and read stories. The boy even has to share Louka’s only bed. Louka initially tries every tactic he can think of to transfer responsibility for the boy to someone else. Broz refuses (he already has a slew of children), Louka’s elderly mother won’t hear of it (she won’t have a Russian – any Russian – in her house), and the social service agency declines as well. One small source of help comes from one of Louka’s married girlfriends, Klara (Libuse Safrankova) (one who would really greatly prefer to be hitched to Louka than her current husband). Then gradually (and predictably) something magical begins to happen. The little boy’s expressive face is irresistible. We observe Louka taking the boy's hand as they cross a street together. We watch Louka become frantic with desperation when he momentarily “loses” Kolya during a train ride. We see Louka alarmed in yet another way when he notices that Kolya, using a puppet theater, is performing mock cremation ceremonies after having attended several such events while Louka was playing cello.

Louka is also being pressured by the Soviet authorities who suspect that his marriage to Kolya’s mother was a sham – and hence illegal. Kolya inadvertently saves the day when he refuses to be separated from his step-father during one such interrogation and draws pictures illustrating his genuine affection for the man. This undermines the confidence of the authorities that the marriage was not authentic. Still, the authorities persist with their investigation and just as Louka and Kolya have grown deeply attached to one another, it becomes increasingly likely that the child welfare people may intervene. Louka settles on a dramatic course of action on Kolya’s behalf. On the personal level, the film reconciles the plot in a rather creative way, which readers will have to discover for themselves. On the political level, the resolution is, of course, the one that history in fact provided.

Themes: The film’s theme may be a hackneyed one (aging bachelor finds new meaning in life from the love of a child), but it is developed here with such freshness that most viewers will experience it with all of the originality that it must at one time have possessed. One nice touch in this film is the parallels between Louka’s rebirth as a human being and the concurrent rebirth of the nation of Czechoslovakia as an independent republic. The film morphs back and forth between the personal life of Louka and Kolya and the landmark political events of 1988/9. We watch Russian trucks rumbling through the streets and parked right outside the home of Louka’s mother. Later, we watch crowds of Czech citizens celebrating in the streets.

Production Values: The cinematography by Vladimir Smutny is very nicely done. He gives main emphasis to warm golds and browns and deep reds. There is a brief surreal touch illustrating Kolya’s feverish state of mind during his illness. The warmth of the cinematography is complemented by an equally moving score, especially featuring excerpts from Dvorak’s Four Biblical Songs. There’s also a nice use of vintage documentary footage of Kubelik conducting the Czech Philharmonic Orchestra playing Smetana’s Ma Vlast (a stirring piece of Czech nationalistic classical music) as celebration of the end of the Russian occupation. The performances by the two leads are very convincing. The developing emotional bond between the two appears to be genuinely heartfelt.

Bottom-Line: Kolya is a deeply personal story yet universal in its scope. It won the Golden Globe as well as the Academy Award for Best Foreign Film in 1996 and deservedly so on both counts. The film has been enormously popular in its native country as well as an international success. Kolya is in Czech with English subtitles and has a running time of 112 minutes. It really should not be missed!


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

Closely Watched Trains
Shop on Main Street

Recommended:
Yes

Video Occasion: Good Date Movie
Suitability For Children: Suitable for Children Age 13 and Older