I can't explain what it is about Middle Ages films that have the stench and pain of the time that appeals to me. It seems like a no-brainer approach, to represent a barbarous time with barbarous film language, but Polanski's MACBETH, Aleksei German's HARD TO BE A GOD and this film tap into things I do not see anywhere else, and with a richly cinematic bent that more or less shows up something like GAME OF THRONES as more an affectation of "realism" than something truly alive in its historical and fantastical simulacrum.I've dug up some synopses and breakdowns of the film since I finished watching it, but I still have many questions I imagine won't be answered for many more viewings yet, but the overall mood of MARKETA LAZAROVÁ is what entranced me. It creates the feeling of being trapped in the moment of paganism's transition into Christianity, aesthetically reflected in the conflict between ordered formalism and a more primal, avant-garde style worthy of the last, most experimental days of the silent era. Its asynchronous sound almost feels like an extension of its silent throwback, much the way Eisenstein incorporated sound as another tangible (and dialectical) element of the frame.Not as nasty as HARD TO BE A GOD (what is?), MARKETA nonetheless has the feel of being half-sunk in mud, of finding release in blood-letting rituals or in the bestial urge for sex. And on that note, the trivial attitude Game of Thrones can take toward rape, and its defense as being a reflection of a more primitive, evil world, means nothing in the face of this film's view of it, in which a woman falls in love with her rapist because she has no life outside the few feet around her at any given time, and her "despoiling" only means she can no longer be forced into a nunnery as a living virgin sacrifice. Defenders of period-set things often say they must reflect their times, which is true only insofar as direct action reflects it while the present reality behind the camera should exert some interpretation or altered context. MARKETA does this: it does not present Marketa and Mikloas as true romantic partners, only people forced together by the man's horror who have nothing else to do as inevitable, unforgiving doom sets upon him, and her for being tainted by him in the eyes of others. It's more THE SEARCHERS than GoT.
There are times when the world presents itself not as matter, but as fable, and every stone, every body and gesture is inscribed in the secret writing of the centuries. In this archaic world, man is not master of nature but its prisoner and its sacrifice. The flesh, still wrapped in the breath of myth, knows the weight of sin and the cruel sweetness of redemption. And it’s there that the wounded soul rises, eyes lifted to a sky that never replies.The landscape is silent, sepulchral, harsh, a character in ancient designs. The snow, when it falls, does not purify. The wind does not blow by chance but prophesies. The trees, motionless as judges, witness the endless repetition of sacrifice. Nothing escapes judgment. Everything is marked by a sacred time, a time of cruel liturgy where blood becomes a speech, a moan, a prayer.In these lands of primordial exile, love is deviation and desire, heresy. The body bends to torment. The hands that touch, before they caress, interrogate. And woman appears as an ambiguous figure — between the Virgin and temptation, between the offering and the sword. The feminine is altar and wound, flesh destined for transubstantiation or damnation.Man, in turn, is condemned to the brute gesture, to the sword that never rests, to the guilt that precedes him. He lives split between obedience to the Father and the compulsion to kill the brother. His freedom is a deception, his rebellion is a rite already foreseen. Nothing is born by chance. The violence he sows is also the harvest of his past souls, which cry out for justice in echoes.And among spasms of light and closed shadows, the sacred hovers, not as consolation, but as enigma. A hidden God watches everything with blind eyes. A God who demands but does not explain. A God who is confused with destiny, who reveals himself in violence and the crying of mothers. Faith is not shelter; it's combat. It's a cross to be carried among screams and promises.Everything moves according to the logic of sacrifice. Evil is a constitutive element of order. Purity is not found in immaculate blood but in the acceptance of one’s own martyrdom. Redemption is indeed a sentence. And whoever receives it, does so not by merit, but by mystery.Behold, then, a world that still believes in omens, that fears angels, that knows the weight of blessings. A world where sin is part of who you are, and salvation is something beautiful born from pain.Existence is an endless litany. A testament of shadows dictated by ancestral mouths. And here I contemplate this final form of reverence, where the spirit, finally, kneels.
Oh Marketa Lazarová, how you take the words from my breath. This is one of those films that would certainly qualify as an experience for the viewer, instead of an ordinary movie to watch. This also makes the film incredibly difficult to put into sentences. One thing is for certain that the film is a technical marvel to behold and one of the most visually arresting films I have ever seen.The closest film comparison I can come up with, not only in style and tone but even in content, is to Tarkovsky's Andrei Rublev, made from the year prior. Despite being from a different country of origin, I guess both films contain a cold and brutal eastern European aesthetic. It is where the climate is as harsh as the character's motivations. Wintry and desolate in the era of bloodshed. The titular Marketa would barely be considered a protagonist or lead, as much of the film does not center on her character, with her instead acting more as a symbolic metaphor. She is perhaps the only symbol of peace and good in the film, with even the wandering monk Bernard wicked in his own ways.The film is vicious and barbaric with a sort of family feud at the center of the plot, a set of warring neighbors with the King's regiment infused into the mayhem. All of the characters besides Marketa were already in a state of moral turpitude at the beginning of the film, and in the end they were still left in a state of impoverishment no worse than before. Only Marketa, the symbol of peace, who is taken and receives unjust punishment, still comes out in the end with a sense of hopeful reprieve. It is really that brutal at times.The aspect that probably gives the film most of its acclaim and why it is still renowned today, is the lush and exquisite cinematography. It's the type of technical achievements that remains ageless, and just as innovative and masterfully effective as modern cinema. Even the abstract shots during the godly vision towards the beginning of the film felt reminiscent of Malick, and perhaps this is among his influences for where he developed his visual sense. The music as well provides majesty to the material, again enhancing the film above a film into a poetic experience.Marketa Lazarová is a challenging film and it is not devoid of a few flaws (narration turning into omniscient God figure interacting with characters), but it is certainly deserving of its classic status among international cinema.
