Czeching in

Taking the waters—and the movies—at the 43rd Karlovy Vary International Film Festival

by MARK SLUTSKY

The Hotel Thermal is a ’70s-era incongruity in the genteel Western Bohemian town of Karlovy Vary. Around it, life goes on much as it did in the 19th century, when the Czech town (also known as Carlsbad) was a favourite vacation haunt for the fashionable, when the likes of Goethe and Beethoven strutted their stuff on the promenades and drank sulfurous spring water out of the little ceramic sippy cups sold at stands along the river.

Now, it’s mostly Russian and Arab visitors who come to the town’s many spas, salons and sanitariums, though they’re joined at this time of year by throngs of film lovers, industry types and the press, who crowd the town for the Karlovy Vary International Film Festival.

The Thermal is the nerve centre of the fest and a true relic. Construction took place (or was “waged,” according to the English sign out front) through the ’60s and ’70s, and it’s a strange and rambling tribute to the under-appreciated art of Communist resort design.

Opening night at the festival is a grand and crowded affair. After a drink among tuxedo-ed men and statuesque women in a smoky subterranean bar adjoining the Thermal’s Grand Screening Room, we’re ushered into the theatre for the opening ceremonies, which include a clever “live movie,” simultaneously made onstage and projected on a large screen and involving actors, miniatures, props and even a couple of explosions.

Then we’re introduced to the guests of honour, the most honoured of them being Robert De Niro, here to accept an award and present his newest film, the Barry Levinson-directed Hollywood comedy What Just Happened? De Niro gives a little speech, half of it in halting Czech, and the crowd loves it, though once he’s offstage, literally everyone leaves for the opening night party at the Grand Hotel Pupp (where the casino scenes in the most recent Casino Royale were shot, and which, I’m delighted to report, is pronounced “Grand Hotel Poop”), leaving nobody to actually see the film. Including me.

NO-SHOW: Nick Nolte in No Exit

Mafia shocks and dreamy docs

The first movie I see at the fest is Cannes Jury Prize winner Il Divo, by Italian writer/director Paolo Sorrentino. The film tells the story of former Prime Minister Giulio Andreotti, and it’s made in a flashy style befitting the flamboyant and violent world of Italian politics. Andreotti was the calm centre of decades of upheaval, Mafia involvement, assassinations and bribery, though none of it seemed to touch him. It’s politics told as a thriller, wildly stylized, audacious and entertaining.

In temperament it’s pretty much the exact opposite of Manoel de Oliveira’s Cristóvão Colombo -O Enigma. The crowd is visibly restless during this slow and doddering film about Christopher Columbus’s possible Portuguese origins, and by the end, the young Czechs around me are chatting, text messaging and planning their next screenings, and the worst part is I can hardly blame them.

Terence Davies’s Of Time and the City could as easily have been called My Liverpool, as it’s a true companion to Guy Maddin’s My Winnipeg. Constructed largely from archival footage, it’s the director’s affectionate, if caustic, tribute to his hometown. It’s intriguing and reflective, but a little pompous.

Another doc I’d been looking forward to was easily one of the highlights of the fest: Wild Combination: A Portrait of Arthur Russell. Directed by Matt Wolf, it’s a brief (about 75 minutes), direct and touching look at the life of the avant-garde cellist, composer and disco producer, who died of AIDS in 1992 and is only now getting the popular and critical attention he deserves.

I loved his parents in particular, an Oskaloosa, Iowa couple whose world is so far from Russell’s ’80s New York haunts, but who clearly harbour much love and pride for their late son. Here’s hoping this comes to Montreal—Film Pop, I’m looking at you.

The fest’s biggest disappointment is its lack of Nick Nolte, who was supposed to be here to introduce the doc Nick Nolte: No Exit and who I was hoping/fearing to end up next to at a party. No luck; he cancelled, leaving us with just this very strange movie, where the ragged-voiced actor and force of nature interviews himself about his crazy career. To be honest, once it was over, I felt like I’d already spent enough time with him.

My favourite film so far, though, has been Man on Wire, the doc by James Marsh (Wisconsin Death Trip) that was a big Sundance hit this year. The movie tells the wonderful story of Philippe Petit, the tightrope walker who in 1974 crossed between the towers of the World Trade Center. It’s absolutely thrilling, and let’s hope it, too, comes to Montreal soon.

>> Movie Listings