The Devil's Mistress

When I went to the cinema to see the most anticipated Czech film of the year, I had both options in mind - that it would either be a hit or a dud, and Lída Baarová hovers precariously between both extremes. The life of one of the most beautiful Czech actresses of the 1930s offers some very dense material for a film, so there was, is and will be some potential here. I have to say that more could have been made of it, but I also have to admit that the film has some captivating and imaginative scenes. The desire for worldliness is often a stumbling block in Czech productions, even though success can be achieved in a nice Czech way, and that is why some sequences look too artificial and mechanical. A big plus for me was the intertwining of two timelines, which complemented each other well – I was also impressed by the voice-over of old Baarová, which was one of those moments when ripping off foreign films paid off. Personally, I was more taken with the second half, as the first, though nicely shot, was more protracted, while the second had more momentum and the tragic nature did its part as well. I won't comment on the use of German in the film, as it would be a long story, perhaps I can only add that in many American films foreigners mostly speak English, so why make such a big fuss over a Czech-speaking Hitler. Lída Baarová will probably not go down in the history of Czech cinema as a spectacular big film, but I don't want to unfairly cast aspersions, because there effort was there. (01/22/2016)

Let's leave aside the fact that the name "Lída Baarová" is no longer the name of an actress who lived from 1914 to 2000 and worked in Czechoslovakian, German, Austrian, Italian, and Spanish cinema, lived through all sorts of things, and then kept only theater at the end of her career. "Lída Baarová" has been an affair since Standa Motl entered her life and a social event since Filip Renč entered her fate. Renč's The Devil's Mistress is something of an intersection between Requiem for a Maiden and Guard No. 47, two moments in his career when Renč realized the power of film as a social event and the power of the period piece. This film amounts to cellophane tinsel that doesn't work, unfortunately. The artistic license is beyond believability and one searches in vain for qualities in certain aspects. On the other hand, personally, I don't really care. Films have been made about the likes of Anny Ondra since the 1970s, and thankfully no such hysteria has developed around either. (01/24/2016)

I can't help but like this film. It's not a clear statement about the fate of Lída Baarová; overall, it's conceived more as something that could have happened, but it could be distorted in itself. The Nazis are portrayed excellently here, and so the only thing that bothered me was that Táňa didn't fit with Lída Baarová at all. (01/09/2017)

An empty bubble, perfectly crafted tabloid PR and a desperate report on the state of domestic cinema all in one. I went into it with a preconceived notion, but I was still surprised at how terribly shallow it ended up being. There’s not even a hint of an attempt to get under the skin of any of the characters. Hubač and Renč ride a primitive wave that follows Goebbels' slimy stares and Lída's guileless naivety as a simpleton, with clouds of declamatory side characters around them that are completely useless for moving the plot along. Renč's incompetence as a director is fully manifested in all the meaninglessness as he masks all the primitiveness with camera kitsch, dubious editing, and a strange pleasure in exploitation, which allows relieved volleys of laughter to come out. Sometimes it amazes me how far creative ambitions actually go. (07/16/2016)

Seriously? How is it even possible that Filip Renč dared to release this? A question for him to ponder. The audience might, in turn, wonder if supporting such dreck by visiting the cinema even makes sense. The scene with the faces in flames perfectly highlights the direction in which Czech cinema is heading. Terrible. (04/23/2018)