Slovak State Film Grew Out of a Dark Place, Ji.hlava Festival Historian Says

As a film enthusiast with a particular interest in the lesser-known corners of cinema history, I found myself utterly captivated by Petra Hanakova’s curation at the Ji.hlava Documentary Film Festival – “We Have Our Film!”, a revelatory exploration into the forgotten cinematic gems of wartime Slovakia.

Historian Petra Hanakova often notes that the shadowy beginnings of contemporary Slovak cinema are rarely acknowledged within Slovakia. This very fact is what led her to delve into the archives, in search of the surprising surge of films produced in Slovakia during World War II.

As a keen historian, I can’t help but underscore an often-overlooked fact: While the Czech lands were under Nazi control in 1939, the Slovak State was established – a puppet regime aligned with Hitler’s Germany. This state represented the first officially independent Slovak nation in history, with Bratislava serving as its capital and Jozef Tiso, a collaborating priest, holding the reins of power.

Hanakova finds this specific historic era in Slovakia to be incredibly intriguing and yet, not fully comprehended,” she notes, having showcased 24 discoveries from the war-torn origins of Slovak national cinema at the Ji.hlava Documentary Film Festival.

As a cinephile, I’ve found that this particular aspect of film production remains relatively obscure, particularly outside our borders. Interestingly enough, I recently penned a book about this very topic at the Slovak Film Institute. Given the novelty of the research, we thought it would be intriguing to explore its cinematic implications for the first time in several decades on the big screen.

During war times, filmmakers were exceptionally prolific, producing a diverse body of work. They were constantly filming, from the animated “The Mysterious Old Man,” released in 1944 and reminiscent of Disney productions, which celebrated electrification, to poetic odes to eternal rural landscapes that seemed apolitical and devoid of any political undertones.

1943’s “Summer Under the Krivan Mountain” by Eugen Matelicka artistically portrays the rhythmic rituals of women reaping in the Tatra Mountain meadows through evocative imagery, while Julius Kovacevic’s 1940 portrait of diligent workers underscores the fact that Slovakian history is being shaped by the hands of Slovaks.

Hanakova found the reactions from the audience intriguing, though occasionally disquieting. After a showing, a young audience member inquired about one particular character, asking, “Who was that ‘Tiso’ character?

Hanakova points out that a noteworthy discovery from that era is Palo Bielik’s 1944 short film “On the Island of Cormorants.” This movie depicts the unique coexistence of two groups: the filmmakers creating the production and these uncommon birds. It exudes a stunning radiance, offering a romantic portrayal of the floodplain forest near the Danube. Remarkably, it seems almost devoid of political undertones.

In my exploration, it appears that numerous movies churned out by the Slovak fascist government deliberately overlook any reference to their ruling system, I’ve observed. “This was a conscious decision,” Hanakova explains regarding my curation approach.

As a cinephile delving into the annals of cinema, I must acknowledge that the Slovak cinematic landscape of yesteryears may have been limited in quantity, but it was certainly not lacking in diversity. While today we often find ourselves drawn towards political narratives when examining the historical accounts of nations allied with Hitler during World War II, it’s crucial to remember that history, like a complex film script, is seldom straightforward.

During wartime Slovakia, cinema often emerged as a delicate balance between fulfilling “the needs of the era” and satisfying “the desires of art.” These movies were crafted by directors who served their country to some extent, yet they also managed to convey their personal artistic expressions, according to Hanakova.

“Even under totalitarianism, art is and can be created.”

Under any authoritarian regime, there’s often an emphasis on history, as expected. This is why it’s not surprising that at least one Slovak film from its troubled past focuses on the character of Janosik, a 15th-century figure resembling Robin Hood and a renowned outlaw who targeted the wealthy and powerful.

The 1942 movie “Disappearing Romance” by Bielik is among the first of numerous films from the region to center around the character of Janosik, with this specific rendition being a documentary that follows artists as they create and embellish shepherds’ axes – an emblematic symbol of the outlaw hero.

According to Hanakova, the modern portrayal of Janosik was complex. On one side, he was viewed as a national hero, a dashing man in costume. However, there was also an underlying communist sentiment about him, as he stood up against the ‘masters’ and oppression. Interestingly, this film found relevance during the Slovak National Uprising. It’s important to note that this period, immediately after World War I when former colonies were separating from the remnants of the Habsburg Empire, was a time that championed democratic values. During this time, Janosik was, in fact, advocating against fascism.

Hanakova explains that she titled the sidebar about Slovak fascist-era cinema as “We Have Our Film!” as a form of borrowing. Originally, this phrase was a headline in Slovak or Gardista state newspapers during that period, where compliant journalists acclaimed the debut of the first full-length Slovak state film (“From the Tatras to the Sea of Azov”).

Speaking as a cinephile, I’m thrilled to announce that the same title graces my latest literary endeavor. This book, born from inspiration, will be showcased at Ji.hlava, a section I’m honored to be part of.

2024-11-05 00:18

Slovak State Film Grew Out of a Dark Place, Ji.hlava Festival Historian Says

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