A family trip to one of the Czech Republic’s most popular national parks makes for the perfect setting for some dry, keenly observed humor in Bohemian Paradise (Dovolená v Českém ráji), now playing in Prague cinemas (and with English subtitles at Kino Světozor). A marked shift from the broad Kameňák-style comedies that have dominated local multiplexes in recent years, this understated trip has more in common with Jacques Tati than Zdeněk Troška. While hardly high art, it’s one of the summer’s most pleasant surprises, offering a warm but unsparing portrait of Czech holiday culture that will resonate with anyone who has spent time in the country’s campsites and forests.
Written and directed by Adam Koloman Rybanský, Bohemian Paradise stars Tomáš Jeřábek and Magdaléna Borová as Milan and Týna Svoboda, a married couple whose already-strained relationship is further tested during a family camping vacation in the Český ráj region with their two children. After an unexpected tragedy throws their trip into chaos, Milan drunkenly wanders into the woods and finds himself hopelessly lost, while Týna struggles to keep the family together back at the campsite.
Rybanský, whose debut Somewhere Over the Chemtrails blended rural comedy with social satire, again demonstrates an affection for flawed, recognizable Czech characters. The film is populated by stereotypes—the perpetually unprepared tourist, the overbearing campsite manager, the aging tramps, the opinionated regulars who have vacationed at the same campground for decades—but they’re portrayed with warmth rather than ridicule. The comedy comes not from mocking them, but from quietly observing their behavior in situations that feel instantly familiar.
If not quite Tati, much of the observational humor in Bohemian Paradise recalls the visual comedy of Mr. Bean. Instead of relying on punchlines or exaggerated performances, Rybanský patiently watches his characters navigate the rituals of Czech outdoor life: pitching tents, hiking ill-prepared through the forest, battling mosquitoes and ticks, arguing over trivial inconveniences, and inevitably turning to alcohol as the solution to most problems. The result is consistently funny because it feels authentic.
Jeřábek is especially memorable as Milan, a well-meaning but hapless father whose attempts to salvage the vacation only make matters worse. Borová is equally strong as Týna, balancing frustration, disappointment, and lingering affection beneath her increasingly exasperated exterior. Their marital tensions never overwhelm the comedy, but they give the film an emotional grounding that elevates it above a simple collection of gags.
The younger members of the family provide some of the film’s biggest laughs. While their parents spiral into anxiety and frustration, the children maintain an infectious optimism that perfectly matches the film’s worldview. Their enthusiasm becomes a quiet celebration of Czech summers themselves: this version of Bohemian Paradise may be run-down, uncomfortable, and full of mosquitoes, but it’s ours, and that makes it worth loving.
Petr Čtvrtníček is the gruff operator of Camp Mosquito (Kemp Komár), played by the real-life Camp Čertoryje, embodying the kind of eccentric local personality anyone who has stayed at a Czech campground has probably encountered. Saša Rašilov is an amorous father staying at the camp with his young son who sets his sights on Týna.
One of the film’s sharpest sequences comes early during a visit to Trosky Castle, when a tourist falls to his death while attempting to take the perfect selfie. Rybanský avoids treating the accident itself as slapstick, allowing the appropriate shock to register among those nearby. Yet by observing the event from a detached distance, he quietly acknowledges the dark absurdity of such an entirely preventable tragedy. It’s a perfect illustration of the film’s comedic approach: finding uncomfortable humor not through exaggeration, but through patient observation.
That humor is underscored by observing the endless line of tourists slowly climbing the steps to Trosky Castle, filmed from afar in a way that gently skewers the rituals of modern sightseeing without ever becoming cruel. Milan’s increasingly desperate journey as an underprepared “Czech tourist” through the surrounding forests is similarly understated. Hungover, dehydrated, and hopelessly lost, he repeatedly encounters strangers who, lacking the water he desperately needs, instead offer him “something better”: more alcohol.
There are moments in the second half where Bohemian Paradise edges toward broader comedy and more overtly surreal scenarios, threatening to lose the delicate tone established early on. Fortunately, Rybanský keeps these detours under control, never allowing them to overwhelm the observational style that makes the film distinctive.
Cinematographer Matěj Piňos bathes Český ráj in hazy, nostalgic summer light, turning the UNESCO-protected landscape into the true star of Bohemian Paradise. The sandstone rock formations, forests, and the unmistakable silhouette of Trosky Castle receive loving treatment throughout, and even viewers who have never visited the region may recognize some of its forests from Kingdom Come: Deliverance II, which famously recreated the the castle and its surrounding areas.
Rybanský mines a brand of comedy from everyday Czech behavior and family dynamics here that recalls Ecce Homo Homolka, but his take is gentler and less acidic than Jaroslav Papoušek’s classic. His characters are caricatures, certainly, but they’re treated with a warmth and empathy that the earlier film’s almost neo-realist approach could not spare.
At a time when many Czech comedies rely on lightweight fluff or crude punchlines, Bohemian Paradise succeeds simply by slowing down and paying attention. It’s an affectionate, sharply observed portrait of domestic tourism that understands its subjects well enough to laugh with them instead of at them. It may not reinvent Czech comedy, but it confidently charts a different path, one that hopefully more local filmmakers will be willing to follow.
