“And you — you look like a guitar, too, but one painted by Picasso.”
A young factory worker (Hana Brejchova) in Soviet-controlled Czechoslovakia sleeps with a sweet-talking musician (Vladimir Pucholt) at a company dance, then upsets his parents (Milada Jezkova and Josef Sebanek) the next weekend with a surprise visit.
Milos Forman’s second feature film is, along with its companion piece (1967’s The Firemen’s Ball), proof of his uniquely satirical brand of Czechoslovakian humor. While we can’t help feeling sorry for the dull, overly supervised lives Brejchova and her co-workers lead, it’s impossible not to laugh as Forman sets up scene after scene of darkly comedic devastation. Indeed, Forman is able to mine unexpected humor from the bleakest of corners: even as we watch Brejchova being seduced by someone who clearly has no intention of following through on any of his passion-driven commitments, we know that Pucholt will somehow be made to pay for his womanizing ways. The meticulously edited and scored opening dance sequence — in which a trio of sorry soldiers make a bungled attempt to buy the attentions of Brejchova and her friends — is by far the funniest; from there, the situation becomes increasingly dire, with the denouement at Pucholt’s house particularly harsh. Yet while Loves of a Blonde is undeniably difficult to watch at times, it’s equally impossible to turn away from.
Redeeming Qualities and Moments:
- The hilarious opening dance sequence
- Miroslav Ondracek’s black-and-white cinematography
- Creative editing
- Forman’s partly improvised script
Yes, as a most satisfying and original film. Listed as a Cult Movie in the back of Peary’s book.