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.
…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…
…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…
…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.
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