When he conducts, Bedřich Smetana is in his element. He closes his eyes and lets himself be carried away by the interplay of instruments. Cuts to his joyous dance with his wife Betty reveal that he is feeling supreme happiness. At that moment, there is nothing but music, the pace and expression of which it determines itself. He becomes the master of the situation.
The full-length feature film Smetana, which airs this Sunday evening, begins with an almost ecstatic scene Czech television. It decently reminds him that this year marks 200 years since the birth and 140 years since the death of the famous composer. He is currently at the peak of his creative and physical powers. This will be followed by a descent into chaos and cut off from the outside world due to hearing loss.
Screenwriter Martin Šafránek and director Marek Najbrt focused on the last 15 years or so of the composer’s life, which enabled them to fit Bedřich Smetana into the popular scheme of biographical dramas. They generally portray him as a tragic, misunderstood and suffering genius who, due to big emotions, ideals and ego, has passed the times.
The time frame was provided by the parallel unfolding history of the National Theatre. The plot begins with the laying of the foundation stone in 1868 and ends with the reopening of the building in November 1883, when Smetana’s opera Libuše began operations. However, the creation of this or other works is not in the foreground. The authors of the melodramatic film are mainly interested in relationships.
Smetana is one of the peaks of an atypical relationship triangle. The others are the artist’s second wife Betty and the writer Eliška Krásnohorská. For him, practical Betty played by Sarah Haváčová is above all a muse ensuring home comfort, a solid point in a changing world. But she doesn’t go to his concerts, she doesn’t live by music.
With the more emancipated Krásnohorská, which mainly thanks to the actress Denisa Barešová, does not sound completely flat and naive, Smetana, on the other hand, can also share the intimacy of the work. But that’s not enough for him. He hopes that the literary woman will expand the numerous crowd of his lovers. The author of My Country cannot give up any of the women. Each fulfills different needs. But as a result, it hurts both.
Eliška Krásnohorská does not sound completely flat and naive mainly thanks to the actress Denisa Barešová. | Photo: Marie Baráková
Václav Neužil the younger plays Smetana as a man full of passion, which he cannot tame compared to the orchestra. He repeatedly flies into a rage and behaves rudely towards those closest to him, only to later apologize and reconcile just as fervently. The 45-year-old Czech actor looks too youthful and energetic even with a thick beard. But perhaps it was a way to capture the nature of the musicians.
Smetana’s impulsive actions and impetuous speech have the impetuousness of youth. When she dances in the middle of the hall during the New Year celebrations, there is speed, not elegance. The creators intersperse the most dynamic scenes with shots of a praxinoscope, an optical toy with a series of static images that, when rotated, create the illusion of fluid movement. The principle of the device describes Smetana’s manic energy, his inability to stand still, and later his sudden mood swings.
His hot-bloodedness is one of the reasons why he does not find agreement with František Rieger and the other national revivalists. He doesn’t treat them with the respect they automatically expect. They consider him too extravagant, an erratic figure. At least in this respect, she reminds Zdenka Havlíčková, as Antonie Formanová portrayed her in the recent miniseries Daughter of the Nation. In other ways, however, the creators of the film Smetana approach history more conventionally.
It would offer to stylize the long-haired composer as a rebellious pop star. In 1975, the British filmmaker Ken Russell allowed himself something similar in a film about the pianist Ferenc Liszt, who was Smetana’s role model in both music and fashion. Yours Lisztomanii conceived by the Englishman as a stream of consciousness, a wild collage of images in which a real historical figure merges with myth.
Director Marek Najbrt obviously enjoys breaking national myths and can be very imaginative while doing so, see his original films Masters or Protector. But apparently he had to keep it short when filming the custom Smetana.
The film Smetana is broadcast by ČT1 this Sunday, November 3 evening. | Video: Czech Television
In Najbrt’s filmography, the novelty is closest to the dull series Já, Mattoni from the same historical period. He does not seek revisionism. It tells linearly, not modernistically. And most of the hundred-minute plot is filled with dull dialogues by actors in costumes.
At the same time, Smetana is full of promise that he could be more than another rigid monument to a famous man. The opening pheasant hunting sequence, for example, presents the protagonist as a voracious predator. He later pounces on women with similar greed. However, this “animal” motif is not properly elaborated. The hero’s selfishness and egotism do not lead to punishment or enlightenment. At the end comes the enthusiastic applause of the audience, which dispels all Smetana’s darkness.
Václav Neužil Jr. seems too youthful as Smetana. | Photo: Pavla Černá
In the end, Smetana’s dispute with uptight revivalists or Betty’s extramarital affair with an Austrian army officer fade into the void. The ambitious effort to show the composer in both public and private spheres, while not forgetting the perspective of his wife, lover and rivals, leads to fragmentaryness. The film lacks a unifying storyline and gradation.
At least in individual scenes, however, Najbrt succeeds in evocatively presenting the restlessness of the creative soul and the panic of a person facing his own helplessness. The strong emotions and mental tension that the protagonist experiences while conducting is expressed by the higher cadence of the cuts and the associative band of images, stacked behind each other in the rhythm of the music.
When Smetana stops hearing, the camera sways drunkenly and the screen is flooded with feverish visions underlined by harrowing ambient music.
Imaginative creative outbursts only last a moment, and then there are always several minutes like from a historical soap opera, when Betty is jealous, Bedřich screams and Eliška looks surprised. Although they take place in nicely lit interiors and exteriors, and the actors and actresses do their best to blend in with characters for which they are not very suitable. It would be enough to change the names of the actors and it could be any other Biedermeier drama produced by Czech Television.
When the first film about Bedřich Smetan premiered in 1955, the drama From my life by Václav Krška, contemporary criticism wrote about sentimentality, idealization and a smattering of ideas in which traditionalism meets experimental procedures.
Najbrt and Šafránek more or less avoided idealization and sentimentality, but the third also applies to their film. Perhaps in another 70 years someone will finally find the right key.
The Musical Misadventures of Bedřich Smetana: A Cheeky Review of ‘Smetana’
Ah, Bedřich Smetana, the man who put the ‘c’ in chaos and the ‘p’ in passionate! This newly released film, aptly titled Smetana, airs this Sunday, offering viewers a peek into the life of this tempestuous composer. Spoiler alert: it’s like watching a cat try to swim, full of flailing and more than a bit chaotic! From the opening scenes that capture Smetana’s ecstatic conducting to the moments when he’s swirling around the dance floor with his wife, Betty, it’s clear that the man lived for the music—at least until his ears decided to go on strike. Cue the tragic backstory!
Now, if you think you’re in for a treat with a wholesome portrayal of Smetana’s compositions, think again! The film jumps straight into melodrama, depicting Smetana as a tragic genius akin to a romantic lead out of a soap opera—complete with emotional breakdowns and love triangles that would make your typical daytime drama look like a pocket calculator. Screenwriter Martin Šafránek and director Marek Najbrt seem to take a rather Hollywood-ish approach with their vision of Smetana as an artist riddled with angst, letting us glimpse the darker depths of his psyche while he struggles to balance his obsession with music and tumultuous relationships.
The film’s timeline isn’t just a soothing sonata; it’s a complex fugue filled with a range of emotions, starting with monumental moments—the groundbreaking of the National Theatre, don’t forget the fancy foundation stone ceremony! But instead of focusing on Smetana’s operas—who wants to hear another aria anyway—we’re treated to what seems more like a Facebook relationship status update than a biographical drama. Relationships, relationships, relationships! So forget those soaring notes of his compositions; it’s more about the love lives of Smetana’s inner circle. I half expected a dramatic cliffhanger involving his evening plans with Betty and Eliška Krásnohorská, the writer who tries desperately to keep Smetana grounded yet somehow gets tangled in his mercurial web!
And let’s talk about Smetana himself! Played by the youthful Václav Neužil, whose energetic portrayal made me double-check the casting call—was this really a historical drama featuring a composer or a high-energy comedy about a flailing musician trying to rein in his chaotic impulses? Neužil captures Smetana’s impulsive essence—a man oscillating between brilliance and rage, often lurching from one emotional cliff to another. You might find yourself laughing one moment and staring in disbelief the next as Betty rolls her eyes and Eliška seems perennially bewildered. It’s like watching an episode of Fawlty Towers set in the world of classical music!
The film attempts to combine his creative genius with a rather cumbersome plot, like forcing a square peg into a round hole—full of enthusiasm, yet somewhat lacking in execution. There are vibrant scenes of Smetana dancing, a clear metaphor for his life’s energy, but interspersed are long, dull monologues reminiscent of historical reenactments. It raises the question: where’s the pep? Where’s the youth? If I wanted to watch depressing historical dialogues, I’d dawdle on a Sunday watching paint dry. In contrast, Ken Russell’s 1975 fantasy film Lisztomania reimagining Beethoven’s life as a riotous rock star celebration is what I call a cultural feast!
Ultimately, Najbrt’s effort seems stuck somewhere between a museum exhibit and a soap opera. The ambitious effort to profile Smetana during such volatile times—thanks to his artistic fervor and love lives gone wrong—realizes the comedic potential but forgets to capitalize on it. Rather than presenting Smetana as the tortured artist punished by the gods of music, the film could have soared to new heights had it embraced the humor inherent in the chaos that was his life. Instead, we get delivered a rather bland dish of historical documentation over a rich, zesty experience with warmth, passion, and maybe a few belly laughs!
In conclusion, here’s hoping that in another 70 years, cultural historians can crack the code to really understand Smetana! For now, you might just want to strap in, grab some popcorn, and brace yourself for a rollercoaster designed by a committee of opera musicians with a penchant for melodrama!
When he conducts, Bedřich Smetana is truly in his element, embodying the spirit of the music around him. With his eyes gently closed, he surrenders himself to the vibrant interplay of instruments, each note resonating within him. Joyous glimpses of his spirited dance with his wife Betty highlight his profound contentment. In those moments, the world falls away, leaving only the pulsating rhythm and dynamic expression that he guides instinctively. He becomes the unequivocal master of the music, shaping its flow with his very essence.
The full-length feature film “Smetana,” set to premiere this Sunday evening on Czech television, transports audiences to an almost euphoric beginning. Significantly, this year marks the bicentennial of the composer’s birth and the 140th anniversary of his passing, a poignant reminder of the enduring impact of Smetana’s legacy. At this point in his life, he stands at the apex of his creative vigor and physical vitality, a stark contrast to the impending turmoil that follows—an inevitable descent into chaos and isolation due to his encroaching hearing loss.
Screenwriter Martin Šafránek and director Marek Najbrt deliberately chose to focus on the last 15 years of Smetana’s life. This approach allows them to effectively weave the composer into the classic narrative style of biographical dramas, portraying him as a tragic, misunderstood genius, whose passionate emotions, lofty ideals, and immense ego set him apart from his contemporaries and transcend the ages.
The timeline of Smetana’s life is intricately intertwined with the dramatic history of the National Theatre. The film opens with an evocative depiction of the laying of the foundation stone in 1868 and concludes with the celebratory reopening of the theatre in November 1883, coinciding with the debut of Smetana’s opera “Libuše.” Unlike traditional biopics, the film chooses not to prioritize the creation of musical masterpieces but, instead, delves deeply into the intricacies of Smetana’s relationships.
Central to the narrative is a complex relationship triangle involving Smetana’s second wife, Betty, and writer Eliška Krásnohorská. The practical Betty, portrayed by Sarah Haváčová, serves as a grounding muse for Smetana, providing comfort amidst the chaos of his artistic world. However, her disinterest in attending his concerts creates a palpable distance, as she does not share his passion for music.
In stark contrast, the more liberated Eliška Krásnohorská, vividly brought to life by actress Denisa Barešová, offers an intellectual companionship that Smetana craves. With her, he can explore the intimate depths of artistic expression. Yet, this connection leaves him longing for more, as he seeks to broaden his circle of romantic entanglements without severing ties to either woman. This multiplicity of relationships ultimately leads to emotional turmoil for all involved parties.
The restless Václav Neužil Jr. delivers a vibrant performance as Smetana, embodying a man overflowing with passion, yet unable to rein in that fervor even as he directs the orchestra. His character often oscillates between explosive temper and sincere apologies, a volatile cycle reflecting the artistic temperament. At 45, the youthful actor encapsulates the undying energy of a musician while navigating the turbulent waters of a genius’s emotional landscape.
Smetana’s impulsive demeanor and fervent expressions echo the exuberance of youth, particularly during exuberant New Year celebrations where speed takes precedence over grace. The film artfully intercuts these frenetic scenes with the mechanical charm of a praxinoscope—an optical toy that visualizes fluid movement, encapsulating the manic energy of Smetana’s life, his inability to remain still, and his unpredictable mood shifts.
His fiery spirit often brought him into conflict with figures like František Rieger and other national revivalists, whom he deemed too rigid. Their expectations for respect clashed with his extravagant persona, leading them to view him as an erratic force within their movement. This dynamic is reminiscent of characters in a recent miniseries about influential women of the era, illustrating Smetana’s position as a unique and rebellious artist in a traditional world.
In a stark departure from conventional portrayals, the film reveals hints of artistic rebellion, akin to the radical depiction of Liszt in Ken Russell’s 1975 film “Lisztomania,” where chaotic imagery blurs the lines between reality and myth. However, director Marek Najbrt, while known for his imaginative storytelling, opts for a more straightforward narrative approach in “Smetana,” which eschews historical revisionism.
Despite its intention to be a vibrant exploration of Smetana’s life, the film, unfortunately, falls prey to familiar clichés of the genre, often leaning towards dull dialogue and stagnant plot segments, reminiscent of previous productions from the same historical context. While it contains moments that promise deeper engagement—a striking pheasant hunting scene introduces Smetana as a fervent predator—this thematic exploration remains underdeveloped. The complex layers of selfishness and desire culminate without consequence, leading to only fleeting moments of tension amidst applause that drowns out the darker realities of the composer’s journey.
As Smetana’s struggles against societal conformity and romance culminate in rising tensions, those conflicts lose significance amid a fragmented narrative that fails to unify character arcs. The film’s attempts to balance Smetana’s public persona with intimate glimpses of his private life ultimately lead to a disjointed experience. Yet, in scattered moments, Najbrt effectively captures the creative restlessness and panic of a genius confronting his own limitations, accentuated by rapid cuts and a montage of associative imagery that breathes life into his struggles.
When Smetana’s hearing begins to fail, the film cleverly employs disorienting camera work and haunting ambient scores, immersing viewers in the composer’s mental turmoil. However, following these evocative sequences, the film reverts to formulaic exchanges that dilute the emotional intensity. Despite commendable performances and visually stunning set pieces, the actors, though earnest in their portrayals, are not always a perfect match for their historical counterparts.
The beginning of Smetana’s cinematic journey revives nostalgia for the past, with the premiere of a film about him back in 1955, a work that received mixed reviews for its sentimental undertones. While Najbrt and Šafránek have largely succeeded in steering clear of idealization, the ultimate portrayal may still leave contemporary viewers with a sense of incompleteness—indicating the eternal quest for an authentic representation of Smetana may continue unanswered for years to come.
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The film “Smetana,” premiering this Sunday on Czech television, takes a bold approach to portraying the life of the renowned composer Bedřich Smetana. Setting its timeline against the backdrop of the National Theatre’s rich history, the movie opens with the foundation stone ceremony in 1868 and concludes with the triumphant reopening of the theatre in 1883, coinciding with the debut of Smetana’s opera “Libuše.” Despite the significance of these events, the narrative surprisingly pivots away from Smetana’s musical achievements, instead diving into the complexities of his personal relationships.
Screenwriter Martin Šafránek and director Marek Najbrt concentrate on the final 15 years of Smetana’s life, illuminating his emotional turmoil and artistic fervor in a manner reminiscent of biographical dramas. Central to this portrayal is a complicated relationship triangle involving Smetana’s second wife, Betty, and the writer Eliška Krásnohorská. While Betty, played by Sarah Haváčová, embodies practicality and offers a grounding presence, her lack of enthusiasm for Smetana’s music creates tension. In contrast, the free-spirited Krásnohorská, played by Denisa Barešová, provides Smetana with the intellectual companionship he craves, adding a layer of complexity to the composer’s already tumultuous emotional landscape.
Václav Neužil Jr. delivers a spirited performance as Smetana, capturing the dichotomy of passion and chaos that defined his life. His portrayal highlights the struggles Smetana faced as he oscillated between moments of brilliance and emotional outbursts, leaving both Betty and Eliška grappling with his volatile nature. Throughout the film, scenes of joyous music and frenetic celebrations are juxtaposed with heavier dialogues, often falling into familiar clichés that detract from the vibrancy of Smetana’s story.
The film ambitiously attempts to infuse the narrative with humor, potentially drawing comparisons to the chaotic depiction of Liszt in Ken Russell’s “Lisztomania,” but ultimately it plays it safe with a more traditional storytelling approach. Rather than unleashing the comedic potential inherent in Smetana’s tumultuous life, the film veers into the territory of historical documentation, leaving audiences yearning for a more dynamic exploration of his genius.
While “Smetana” promises an insightful glimpse into the composer’s life, it occasionally falters under the weight of genre conventions, delivering a narrative that at times feels sluggish and predictable. The artistic intricacies of Smetana’s world reflect a longing for deeper engagement, yet those moments are interspersed with dull dialogues that fail to captivate. The film does, however, manage to elicit curiosity about Smetana’s legacy, placing him within the context of national revival and artistic rebellion, while still missing an opportunity to fully embrace the vibrancy of his chaotic genius.
“Smetana” straddles the line between a heartfelt biographical drama and a muted historical account, leaving viewers with mixed impressions of a composer whose life was anything but ordinary. As the bicentennial of Smetana’s birth and the 140th anniversary of his passing draw near, one can only hope that future explorations of his life will capture the full spectrum of his spirit—complete with the warmth, humor, and passion that defined both the man and his music.
