The Valley of the Bees (Frantisek Vlacil)
1967 Second Run Blu Ray
The opening of The Valley of the Bees is assured, startling and unforgettable. Set in 13th century Bohemia it records a violent and fateful incident. The lord of Vlkov has just married the much younger Leonora. His son Ondrej hands over a wedding gift of a ceremonial basket of petals in which lie bats. This infuriates father who throws his son’s body against a stone wall. He almost dies from a head injury. Ondrej lives and the lord promises God that he will hand over Ondrej to the knights of the Teutonic order.
The staging of all this is stark, concise and visually stunning: setting the storyline and tone of what’s to come. It’s not an obvious exposition but a rigorous prologue announcing the forced journey of Ondrej towards a fanatical, purist faith; then its rejection and a homecoming followed by his eventual return to the order.
Black and white widescreen was a popular form, for foreign language period films, in the 1960’s. I vividly remember seeing Grigori Kozintsev’s Russian Hamlet of 1964 and loving the framing that’s made possible. In The Valley of the Bees we have another painterly canvas. Vlacil brings great attention to wide screen detail – verging on poetic contemplation: but just enough, before he cuts, often startlingly so, to the next scene. The editing between Ondrej and the young bride already hinting at the sexual attraction and misfortune that will occur when they meet again many years later.
The Valley of the Bees is a medieval manhunt and revenge film. Ondrej’s former friend Armin is instructed by the Templar knights to return Ondrej to them (a quest made more ambivalent given the suggestion of a homo-erotic relationship). Armin is fiercely puritanical and determined to ‘save’ Ondrej from secular temptations. There’s a wonderful scene between Armin and a blind young woman were her instinctual tenderness and his stern determinism are revealed. Nothing sexual or fraternal occurs but the sense of failed communication is powerfully conveyed. Nothing will deter Armin in his quest to bring Ondrej back into the spiritual fold.
Vlacil himself has made a philosophical comparison with Bergman’s The Virgin Spring. The Valley of the Bees certainly shares themes of revenge, redemption and sacrifice and both films’ feeling for the harsh cruelty of life, in a medieval rural community, is very impressive. It’s hard not to think that Tarkovsky’s 1966 Andrei Rublev wasn’t an influence on Vlacil, yet the unique strangeness of The Valley of the Bees doesn’t veer into Rublev mysticism.
The Valley of the Bees is an austere epic: carefully paced and slow, sometimes a bit too slow and measured though never calculated. The film’s technical precision recalls Orson Welles’s Chimes at Midnight (196 ) though Bees density of image is more single minded than Welles’s and overall less ambiguous. With Vlacil’s The Devil’s Trap (1961) and Marketa Lazarova (1967) it’s part of his period film trilogy.
This new HD transfer is exceptionally good. It also contains two fascinating documentary shorts by Vlacil from 1972, film commentaries and an essay booklet by European cinema expert Peter Haines. One of the great pleasures of Second Run releases are their intelligent, scholarly and highly readable booklets and here they really excel with scrupulously researched information.
Alan Price © 2024.
The Valley of the Bees (Frantisek Vlacil)
1967 Second Run Blu Ray
The opening of The Valley of the Bees is assured, startling and unforgettable. Set in 13th century Bohemia it records a violent and fateful incident. The lord of Vlkov has just married the much younger Leonora. His son Ondrej hands over a wedding gift of a ceremonial basket of petals in which lie bats. This infuriates father who throws his son’s body against a stone wall. He almost dies from a head injury. Ondrej lives and the lord promises God that he will hand over Ondrej to the knights of the Teutonic order.
The staging of all this is stark, concise and visually stunning: setting the storyline and tone of what’s to come. It’s not an obvious exposition but a rigorous prologue announcing the forced journey of Ondrej towards a fanatical, purist faith; then its rejection and a homecoming followed by his eventual return to the order.
Black and white widescreen was a popular form, for foreign language period films, in the 1960’s. I vividly remember seeing Grigori Kozintsev’s Russian Hamlet of 1964 and loving the framing that’s made possible. In The Valley of the Bees we have another painterly canvas. Vlacil brings great attention to wide screen detail – verging on poetic contemplation: but just enough, before he cuts, often startlingly so, to the next scene. The editing between Ondrej and the young bride already hinting at the sexual attraction and misfortune that will occur when they meet again many years later.
The Valley of the Bees is a medieval manhunt and revenge film. Ondrej’s former friend Armin is instructed by the Templar knights to return Ondrej to them (a quest made more ambivalent given the suggestion of a homo-erotic relationship). Armin is fiercely puritanical and determined to ‘save’ Ondrej from secular temptations. There’s a wonderful scene between Armin and a blind young woman were her instinctual tenderness and his stern determinism are revealed. Nothing sexual or fraternal occurs but the sense of failed communication is powerfully conveyed. Nothing will deter Armin in his quest to bring Ondrej back into the spiritual fold.
Vlacil himself has made a philosophical comparison with Bergman’s The Virgin Spring. The Valley of the Bees certainly shares themes of revenge, redemption and sacrifice and both films’ feeling for the harsh cruelty of life, in a medieval rural community, is very impressive. It’s hard not to think that Tarkovsky’s 1966 Andrei Rublev wasn’t an influence on Vlacil, yet the unique strangeness of The Valley of the Bees doesn’t veer into Rublev mysticism.
The Valley of the Bees is an austere epic: carefully paced and slow, sometimes a bit too slow and measured though never calculated. The film’s technical precision recalls Orson Welles’s Chimes at Midnight (196 ) though Bees density of image is more single minded than Welles’s and overall less ambiguous. With Vlacil’s The Devil’s Trap (1961) and Marketa Lazarova (1967) it’s part of his period film trilogy.
This new HD transfer is exceptionally good. It also contains two fascinating documentary shorts by Vlacil from 1972, film commentaries and an essay booklet by European cinema expert Peter Haines. One of the great pleasures of Second Run releases are their intelligent, scholarly and highly readable booklets and here they really excel with scrupulously researched information.
Alan Price © 2024.
By Alan Price • film, year 2024 • Tags: Alan Price, film