The construction of a new Czechoslovak state as a glorious example of industrialised progress is critiqued with fierce satirical aim and deep humanism (for those whose existence this nationalist project was designed to ignore) in We Have Never Been Modern. Premiering in the Crystal Globe Competition in Karlovy Vary, this highly ambitious and immaculately produced historical thriller with very up-to-date sensibilities around gender and fear of difference is the second feature of young director Matej Chlupacek (who made his debut with the 2013 Touchless 2013 as a teenager), working with writer Miro Sifra. It reveals the darker side of social exclusion hidden beneath nationalism’s shining facade in 1937, on the eve of a World War that would unleash the worst consequences of fascism across Europe.
Examining the stigmatisation and invisibility of intersex people through a frame of suspense that evokes the sinister atmosphere of a repressive surveillance state geared toward stamping out any ideological nonconformity, the film’s studied, stagey aestheticism offers its actors little air, but it’s all in keeping with a vision of rigidly imposed modernist order as an affront against a more fluid and free conception of the world (the title comes from a work by French philosopher and anthropologist Bruno Latour, who questioned the artificial distinction between nature and culture.) Boldly addressing themes head-on that are as controversial and politically topical as ever in a global climate of resurgent intolerance, the film brings fresh energy to Czech-Slovak period cinema, while slamming bourgeois hypocrisy and the cynical opportunism of powerful entrepreneurs.
A bustling artificial fibres factory at the foot of the mountains in Svit, modelled as a company town of the future, has been built up by its young director Alois (Miroslav Konig) from a research station with only a handful of employees. He’s deeply invested in the success of this venture and its slated expansion for his sense of self, even if it means compromising his marriage to Helena (Eliska Krenkova), who is in the last term of pregnancy with their first child, or endangering workers (the safety of factory chemicals are in question.) When a dead intersex baby is found abandoned in the yard of the factory, Alois is eager to cover up the macabre discovery, fearing that rumours might alarm shareholders, and fuel doubts about research on the premises. He welcomes shady counterintelligence agents from the city (Milan Ondrik and Marian Mitas) into the couple’s home, who in record time declare the baby a plant to discredit the business, and apprehend supposed communist saboteurs. The presence of these house guests and Hitler apologists is less than welcomed by Helena, who suspects a hoax and digs for proof.
Cracks quickly show in a marriage that had seemed as flawlessly idyllic as the sun-soaked landscapes and clean-lined architecture of their new hometown. Helena’s fiery independent streak and rigorous respect for facts trump any expectation Alois has of blind marital loyalty, and the more she finds out, the more she questions her cosseted life of privilege as a company bigwig’s wife (she abandoned her medicine studies for their life in Svit.) Her investigation leads to factory employee Alexander (trans actor Richard Langdon), who comes from a religious family in the countryside, identifies as a man and is biologically able to reproduce, and the heartbreaking story of how tragedy transpires. As a woman with a cutting wit and ethical backbone who refuses to toe the line in a patriarchal, status-driven society, Helena is the film’s beating heart, played by Krenkova with an appealing mix of sensitivity and grit. Alexander’s story is somewhat sidelined, but even though he plays second fiddle to Helena amid her heteronormative drama of self-actualisation and urge to play saviour, a twist sees him taking control of his own path.
Elegantly animated sequences set out the myth of Hermaphrodite, as Helena researches intersex people and their historical persecution. Music by post-classical composer Simon Goff (who worked with composer Hildur Gudnadottir on the Chernobyl soundtrack) brings the big sound of innovation. Chic font counts down the days until the boss’s arrival and her baby’s arrival, dividing the action into chapters, in one of many design flourishes that plays with a picture-perfect modern veneer where everything has its place, even as the drama dismantles its tenets. As Helena awaits childbirth in the shadow of a past miscarriage and her stifling marriage, and Alexander contemplates surgery, faith, belonging, and off-limits love, the machinations of the wealthy to edit the world into their own preferred image continue on.
Director: Matej Chlupacek
Screenwriter: Miro Sifra
Producers: Maja Hamplova, Matej Chlupacek
Editor: Pavel Hrdlicka
Cinematography: Martin Douba
Cast: Eliska Krenkova, Miroslav Konig, Milan Ondrik, Richard Langdon, Martha Issova, Lubos Vesely, Ladislav Hampl, Marian Mitas
Art direction: Henrich Boraros
Music: Simon Goff
Sound: Peter Hilcansky, Pavel Rejholec
Production companies: Barletta (Czech Republic), D.N.A. Production (Slovak Republic)
Sales: LevelK
Venue: Karlovy Vary International Film Festival (Crystal Globe competition)
In Czech
101 minutes
