Director:
Filip RenčGuión:
Ivan HubačCámara:
Petr HojdaMúsica:
Ondřej SoukupReparto:
Táňa Pauhofová, Karl Markovics, Gedeon Burkhard, Zdenka Procházková, Simona Stašová, Martin Huba, Anna Fialová, Jiří Mádl, Lenka Vlasáková, Pavel Kříž (más)Sinopsis(1)
One of the greatest untold love stories of the 20th century, this is the story of Lída Baarová, a beautiful Czech actress, who conquered Germany's silver screen as well as the heart of one of the Third Reich's most powerful men: the Minister of Propaganda, Joseph Goebbels. How could Hitler's chief ideologist fall in love with a non-Aryan Slavonic beauty whose race had been designated as inferior by the Führer in "Mein Kampf" and whose country was soon to be occupied by the Nazis? How could one of Europe's most glamorous actresses reject offers of stardom from Hollywood in preference to a dangerous romance with the Nazi monster with a deformed leg? The movie will shatter taboos and probe the thin red line between demonic ideology and passions of the heart. (texto oficial de la distribuidora)
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Reseñas (10)
Filmová výzva v karanténě - oblíbené herečky, Táňa Pauhofová. Mně se ten film moc líbil. Táňa Pauhofová je půvabná a inteligentní herečka, jež se na některé role hodí lépe, na některé méně. Asi se všichni shodneme, že jako paní Burešová byla dokonalá a nepřekonatelná. Lída Baarová byla trochu jiný šálek kávy, i když si maskéři dali hodně záležet a snažili se, rozumím tomu, že řadě diváků a fanoušků vadí nepodobnost s naší slavnou herečkou z třicátých a čtyřicátých let. Ale i tak ji zahrála skvěle. Výborný je rovněž Goebbels neboli Karl Markovics a samozřejmě duo Stašová-Huba. Pavel Kříž v roli Adolfa Hitlera mi připadal lehce komický. Co si budeme povídat, jedná se o smutný a tragický příběh potvrzující, že krásné ženy to v životě zdaleka nemají vždy jednodušší a nemají na růžích ustláno.
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The story of Lída Baarová holds the potential for a great historical film, as well as for reflection on the essentially Czech and still unaddressed issue of the moral considerations of life under totalitarianism, or rather the national guilt of ethically ambivalent everyday existence under the past regimes. However, none of that comes across in this highly ridiculous yet soul-crushing mess. In the few scenes where the film touches on the life of Lída Baarová and her career in Nazi Germany, it offers up an insipid illustration in the best case, though it rather relies on superficial exploitation of the audience’s prejudices. The Nazi leaders, the Czech collaborators and finally the unhinged mother and the young journalist are probably intended to be great roles, but they never rise above the level of ridiculously stiff caricature. In addition to the passages with Goebbels, which go far beyond the boundaries of camp thanks to the overwrought acting, writing and directing, the film contains nonsensical sequences that take Baarová’s story into unexpected genre realms. Of these, the one that stands out the most is the etude that seems to have been cut out of a vulgar teen comedy, which is appropriately highlighted by the casting of Jiří Mádl. The narrative is another story. It takes a step toward the concept of an unreliable narrator, but due to its haphazardness, it ends up being a mere pile of nonsensical, impotently literal and boorishly phantasmagorical scenes that reek of paper, cocaine and stupidity. As a result, The Devil’s Mistress is neither a great biographical film nor powerful Nazisploitation, nor an ethical drama, nor just ordinary trash. Rather, it’s just a disarming fiasco whose main constants are poor judgment and incompetence. On the other hand, the project apparently had at least some ambition to show a controversial figure of 20th-century Czech history in a different light than as a demonised collaborator (though the image of a starlet blinded by love and her own fame is barely more flattering). Paradoxically, the film itself became a subject of controversy in modern Czech culture due to the involvement of neo-Nazis, the expenditure of enormous sums, which was definitely not apparent on the screen, and the strange sell-out in the form of a VIP-studded premiere, which in line with the phrase “life imitates art” mirrored the scene of a premiere with Goebbels in attendance. But perhaps in a few decades, the case of Renč, Hubač and Landa will serve as a preview for a similarly disorderly film that will show them as tragic greats blinded by their love for tyrants and themselves.
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I won’t hide that I was truly looking forward to watching a film about Lída Baarová. I wanted to watch the story of one of the most tried Czech actresses from the First Republic and I was lured not only by the huge budget, but also by the actors who were a part of this project. Films like In the Shadow or Habermann's Mill proved that even in our country there is a lot of skillful people who can film a serious historical story. I went to see the film immediately after the Czech president Miloš Zeman and his spokesman Jiří Ovčáček saw it. That’s just as an introduction. Filip Renč’s filmmaking is a total routine but I admit that I really liked Guard No. 47. But then he really pissed me off by his support for the political party ODS and the final push was his filming of spots for Miloš Zeman at the time of his presidential candidacy. That is really lame. I believe that politics do not belong into art and never did. So, I really don’t give a shit that Zeman or Ovčáček saw the movie. I also don’t give a fuck that they liked it. Did Renč really need a pre-premiere for politicians, whom I personally consider to be human hyenas? If he is an artist, he is able to manage in other ways. This film was supported not only by the long-debated grants, but also by Daniel Landa along with some artists from Arabia, as he likes to say. So, it seems that Mr Renč can manage pretty well. Anyway, I would shut up, if I could at least say that the film is good. But it would really have to be good. The screenplay was quite okay. Lída’s story is incredibly strong and sad, so there was not much the screenwriter could have messed up. The problem is the directing. I don’t know where Renč gets his ideas from, and the lowest point is Lída’s sex scene with Goebbels. First we see the legs, where one is limping, then the camera moves into a fireplace where we watch the fire and then in that fire we see the faces of the two in sexual agony. That is probably the worst from the film. But I have to say that such scene was really sickening for me. At the same time, the pre-war atmosphere was done well and the actors tried their best. Táňa Pauhofová was great. The German actors also did not disappoint and Martin Huba and Jiří Mádl really pleased me. I even think that those two had the best characters of the whole movie. Pavel Kříž as Hitler also did not bother me. It’s a pity that Simona Stašová, whom I otherwise hold in high regard, plays a character like from some slapstick comedy. That really does not belong in a story like this one, which is my next issue with the movie. Personally, I’ve seen a lot of European dramas from the period of the Second World War. At times the stories were really strong and sad. However, I have never had a whole tough story lightened up by humor. It really does not belong in these stories and the worst of all that in this movie was, sadly, Mrs. Stašová. Mr Renč, you really cannot shoot a serious film seriously, can you? With everything it entails. After all, the Night of Broken Glass could have been an emotionally nerve-wrecking scene. I also anticipated that the finale would really knock me down. It was going in that direction, but then the director cut it off so quickly that I really didn’t know if I should laugh or cry. The three stars are really out of pity. Even though the movie pissed me a lot, in the end I got used to its narration. On the other hand, should I really be forced to getting used to a film’s narration?
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Let's leave aside the fact that the name "Lída Baarová" is no longer the name of an actress who lived from 1914 to 2000 and worked in Czechoslovakian, German, Austrian, Italian, and Spanish cinema, lived through all sorts of things, and then kept only theater at the end of her career. "Lída Baarová" has been an affair since Standa Motl entered her life and a social event since Filip Renč entered her fate. Renč's The Devil's Mistress is something of an intersection between Requiem for a Maiden and Guard No. 47, two moments in his career when Renč realized the power of film as a social event and the power of the period piece. This film amounts to cellophane tinsel that doesn't work, unfortunately. The artistic license is beyond believability and one searches in vain for qualities in certain aspects. On the other hand, personally, I don't really care. Films have been made about the likes of Anny Ondra since the 1970s, and thankfully no such hysteria has developed around either.
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An empty bubble, perfectly crafted tabloid PR and a desperate report on the state of domestic cinema all in one. I went into it with a preconceived notion, but I was still surprised at how terribly shallow it ended up being. There’s not even a hint of an attempt to get under the skin of any of the characters. Hubač and Renč ride a primitive wave that follows Goebbels' slimy stares and Lída's guileless naivety as a simpleton, with clouds of declamatory side characters around them that are completely useless for moving the plot along. Renč's incompetence as a director is fully manifested in all the meaninglessness as he masks all the primitiveness with camera kitsch, dubious editing, and a strange pleasure in exploitation, which allows relieved volleys of laughter to come out. Sometimes it amazes me how far creative ambitions actually go.
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