lunedì 18 gennaio 2021

Holubice (La colomba bianca) - Frantisek Vlácil

premetto che Frantisek Vlácil è un grandissimo regista, anche se da noi è praticamente sconosciuto.

Holubice è la sua opera prima, per molti registi sarebbe il loro capolavoro, ma non voglio essere polemico o antipatico.

il film racconta di una colomba bianca viaggiatrice, attesa da chi l'ha allevata, in Germania.

la colomba si ferma invece a Praga, perché un ragazzino in sedia a rotelle le ha sparato.

la magia del film sta in quello che la colomba riesce a tirare fuori dagli umani, in Germania la aspettano e due giovani si innamorano grazie alla colomba che non arriva e nessuno sa perché, il bambino si pente e comincia a guarirla, e guarisce anche lui, un pittore dipinge un quadro bellissimo, protagonista la colomba, e aiuta il bambino a crescere.

la Praga magica si vede sempre sullo sfondo, ma anche la periferia è magica.

se non hai paura della bellezza del cinema e se non soffri di vertigini per il volo bellissimo della colomba e della poesia, allora questo film è per te.

buona visione - Ismaele

 

 

QUI il film completo, con sottotitoli in inglese

 

Le peripezie di una colomba viaggiatrice sono al centro di questo film: si perde, viene ferita, viene curata fino a quando... Il primo lungometraggio di Vlacil è già un piccolo gioiello ricco di stile e poesia. Il regista mostra sin da subito grandi capacità nell'allestire inquadrature molto curate e di grande bellezza visiva. La storia è semplice ma non manca della capacità di coinvolgere lo spettatore. Per non creare aspettative eccessive è bene dirlo: le vette di Marketa Lazarova sono certo lontanissime, ma avercene di esordi così.

da qui

 

It’s a very simple story it’s about a boy who nurses a dove after he injures it so it can return back home. It contrasts his story and the girl Susanne waiting for it’s return to his home in the Baltics. There really is much more to that story than that, it’s only slightly over an hour. It exceeds its simplistic story which wonderful cinematic touches throughout. It’s compared to Kes in the press notes but it’s a very strange comparison cause it has tons of surrealistic touches, which is the complete opposite of Ken Loach’s great film. It’s photography is truly stunning and leaves indelible marks on the viewer’s memory, it won award for it’s cinematographer Jan Curík who would later shoot Valerie and Her Week of Wonders and The Joke

da qui

 

…Our tale begins with a young wheelchair-bound boy, Michal (Smyczek), coming upon the titular dove after it gets lost in a storm on the way to the sea. He impulsively wounds it with his air rifle but, goaded on by artist Martin (Irmanov), Michal urgently wishes to nurse it back to health. Meanwhile the bird's intended owner, a young girl, wait for its arrival, and Martin works on producing a stylized print inspired by the bird's arrival.

Simple but visually striking, The White Dove manages to spin visual poetry out of its simple structure with the final fifteen minutes in particular turning into an almost entirely nonverbal feat of storytelling. The idea of a world connected by the behavior of people to each other and the creatures around them is handled with restrained effectiveness, coupled with compositions that become more stylized and powerful as the film progresses. It's certainly a far cry from the animal-themed movies Disney was turning out around the same time…

da qui

 

What on paper seems like an undistinguished and nominally uplifting fable turns out to be a finely crafted miniature, splendid with echoing visual metaphors and painterly details. The contrasting palette of deep, smoky grays and bleach whites is echoed in the score, which alternates between sonorous orchestral motifs and shimmering, chiming electronic passages. In addition to the symmetry within the individual frame, there are visual cues joining the scenes in the two parallel locations of the film; ripples in glass prefigure the rolling waves of the seaside; the layered reflections of a cityscape in Martin’s window become warm glints of sunlight in a lagoon at low tide.

Director Vlacil’s method of rigorous pre-planning is evident throughout the film. Geometry, both intensely structural and giddily ephemeral, infuses its compositions. He and cinematographer Jan Curík make ample use of laminal compositions. Their frames will often incorporate bodies and their shadows, along with numerous points of focus on a single plane, not to mention the use of glass surfaces that carry both the image of the object behind them and an imposed layer of text or reflection, code or embodiment.

The avian theme, symbolizing liberation, goes back to Old Testament Noah and surely before, inspiring people by traversing that which they are unable or unwilling to themselves, and with ease and grace. But the homing pigeon carries a special significance for people of the 20th Century, passing over walls and political boundaries to deliver news from the free world, the just world (as it exists in the mind of the imprisoned), materializing from an idealized nothingness and baring the thread that leads back to our past of a unified humanity. There are so many things flying through the sky (bombs, satellites, helicopters, etc.) but the dove is somehow separate from these, untarnished and eternal.

da qui


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