A classic romantic comedy of the lightly screwball variety, Kristián is one of the best-remembered and most beloved Czech films of its period. On the international scene, however, it’s largely unknown (I note that at the time of writing, it doesn’t have a single external review listed at IMDb.)
Czech film from the end of the silent era through the 1960s New Wave is a relative black hole for most foreign audiences, which is a real shame, because films like Kristián demand to be seen and appreciated right alongside their Hollywood counterparts.
Kristián (Oldřich Nový) is a big-tipping aristocrat who shows up at the Oriental Bar once a month, seduces a woman by force with song, dance, and romantic fantasy, and then promptly vanishes. But Zuzana (Adina Mandlová), his most recent object of seduction, is left in a real tizzy; determined to resolve the fantasy, she sets out to find the mysterious Kristián.
At Kristián’s address, however, she finds frumpy housewife Marenka (Nataša Gollová), who claims to know nothing of the mysterious Don Juan; when Zuzana spots his picture, Marenka claims it’s her brother-in-law.
Searching for the brother, Zuzana meets Alois Novák: a meek, bespectacled clerk at a travel agent’s office who bears a striking resemblance to Kristián. He continues the ruse, pretending to be Kristián’s brother, but he’s not fooling Zuzana; still, she lets him keep it up while turning his life upside down in order to teach him a lesson.
Written by Eduard Šimáček and Josef Gruss, from a French play by an uncredited Yvan Noé, Kristián‘s screenplay bears many of the trademarks of the Hollywood screwball comedies by Howard Hawks, Gregory La Cava, Leo McCarey, and others, including the farcical situations surrounding a mistaken identity.
It’s frequently very funny, though the pace here is decidedly slower, and there’s a greater focus on the romantic aspects of the story – particularly the Kristián fantasy and what it inspires in Zuzana.
There’s one other major difference between this film and Hollywood films from the same period: the cathartic resolution to the touching, heartfelt, and subtle romance between Kristián and Zuzana. The ending (and, indeed, the construction of the film that leads up to it) reveals fundamental cultural differences that place importance on contrasting aspects of society.
Kristián was directed by Martin Frič, one of the most prolific Czech directors from the 1930s until his death in 1968. He’s best known for his comedies, which included work with actors Hugo Haas, Vlasta Burian, and the famous comedy team of Jan Werich and Jiří Voskovec. In Kristián, he lends a very precise and exacting touch; there are no wasted scenes or even words, and what happens feels destined and logical, even if the romantic in us wishes otherwise.
Also noteworthy: some beautiful original music by Sláva Eman Nováček, including the memorable song Jen pro ten dnešní den (see clip below). Popular bandleader R.A. Dvorský appears as the conductor and singer at the Oriental Bar.
Kristián was filmed in 1939, during the early days of the German occupation of Czechoslovakia; it was released on September 8, during the dawn of the Second World War. There’s precious little political commentary on overt display (though you could read plenty into the script’s resolution of the romantic fantasy), which is just fine; this is delightful escapism.
Off the screen, however, the war and its aftermath took its toll on the cast. Oldřich Nový, who was launched into stardom after his lead performance here, was persecuted by Nazis when he refused to divorce his Jewish wife; they were both imprisoned in a concentration camp as a result (their story was eerily echoed in 2009’s fictional Protektor.)
Arrestingly beautiful co-star Adina Mandlová was immensely popular during the 1930s (she reportedly turned down the lead role in Gustav Machatý’s Extase, which Hedy Lamarr rode to stardom), but she was accused of Nazi collaboration and blacklisted due to starring in a German-produced 1943 film, and her career never recovered.
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