The lives of ordinary Czechs surviving under the thumb of Soviet oppression were never as pointedly—and hilariously—depicted as in Ecce Homo Homolka (sometimes translated as Behold Homolka), which was presented in a newly restored version at this year’s Karlovy Vary International Film Festival. While this quintessential Czech comedy may hold limited appeal for general international audiences, the unique droll comedy still packs a punch after 55 years—as seen by its rapturous reception at KVIFF.
Directed by Jaroslav Papoušek, Ecce Homo Homolka presents a day in the life of the average family in post-Prague Spring Czechoslovakia, during the early years of normalization (it was filmed in 1969, a year after Soviet tanks rolled through the country, and released in 1970). The Homolka family begins the day by foraging for mushrooms in the forests near Prague, before retreating home for a lazy Sunday afternoon; exteriors of the Homolka home were shot on Bořivojova street in the Žižkov neighborhood, just around the corner from another classic comedy, Waiter, Scarper! (Vrchní, prchni!).
The Homolka family consists of Gramps (Josef Šebánek) and Granny (Marie Motlová); their henpecked son Ludva (František Husák); his domineering wife Heduš (Helena Růžičková), and their playful twin sons Péťa and Máťa (played by six-year-old Petr Forman and Matěj Forman, twin sons of director Miloš Forman, who introduced the movie in Karlovy Vary as the pinnacle of their careers).
The Homolkas share a brief moment of solitude in the forest—Ludva splashes around in a stream with his sons, the overweight Heduš, a former ballerina, elegantly dances through the trees, and Gramps and Granny enjoy a nap—before they, and everyone else enjoying the summer morning, unceremoniously flee the locale after hearing cries for help. Better avoid confrontation and let someone else provide assistance, the local community decides in unison.
Back in Prague, Ludva debates going to the races with his wife and sons or joining his dad at a football game, which he really wants to do; the outcome of this existential crisis has been predetermined by Heduš, but Ludva drowns his sorrows in vodka before he even makes it to the entrance of Prague’s Velká Chuchle racetrack, leaving him to appreciate the rest of the day through an afternoon hangover.
Back at home, the family members bicker amongst each other for the rest of the running time. Not only is their day ruined, but their lives as well: Heduš and Granny bemoan their physical appearance, and Ludva and Gramps bemoan their choice in wives. The self-loathing approach to their very existence—which they do not blame entirely on outside circumstance, but acknowledge their own hands in creating—comes across in every bitter line they share with each other. It’s analogous to the fate of their country.
Writer-director Papoušek was one of the key figures in the Czech New Wave of the late 1960s, and wrote early films for both Miloš Forman (Black Peter, Loves of a Blonde, and The Fireman’s Ball) and Ivan Passer (Intimate Lighting) that received international acclaim. Forman and Passer would both leave Czechoslovakia and find success in Hollywood after the Warsaw Pact Invasion, while Papoušek would remain in the country for the rest of his filmmaking career, which included two Homolka sequels (Hogo fogo Homolka and Homolka a tobolka).
The same kind of ironic, self-deprecating humor seen in the writer’s earlier films, especially in The Fireman’s Ball, is replicated in Ecce Homo Homolka, but after the crushing of Prague Spring it has turned sour and acidic. As director here, Papoušek does not shroud his family beneath cinematic stylings but instead observes them through full-frame compositions, in flat lighting and often in various states of undress. Here, the quintessential Czech family is put on full warts-and-all display for everyone to see.
“Family is the foundation of the state,” Granny states towards the end of the film, in a line that seems to confound those around her. The implication is that if families like the Homolkas are the foundation of the state, it’s standing on shaky ground. But alongside Papoušek’s bitter critique is an raw, naked love: these dressed-down characters are known and real, and if we don’t see ourselves in the Homolkas, we’ll nevertheless recognize them walking down the streets of Prague every day.
For viewers not attuned to Czech life, meanwhile, it’s difficult to say how far very specific cultural comedy might travel; the observational humor can be likened to Seinfeld and the family dynamic, perhaps, to National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, but a large part of the appeal is being able to relate to these characters. For local audiences, meanwhile, Ecce Homo Homolka remains a cultural touchstone that remains as relevant today as it was more than half a century—and a sold-out audience of more than 1,100 people at its Karlovy Vary revival was held in almost constant laughter for the duration.
