Servants

Visually gifted film-maker Ivan Ostrochovský's fascinatingly sombre, starkly unsentimental, and extraordinarily potent 'Servants' (2020) is a stark, beautifully performed agitprop drama concerning the increasingly precarious fate of two naive seminarians studying in an austere theological seminary who both fatefully decide take an extraordinarily heroic stand against their irreligious Soviet oppressors, with a greatly unsettling, gravitationally oppressive atmosphere, which all-too effectively evokes the stifling, paranoia-steeped angst of communist-era Czechoslovakia. A darkly-tinted, immaculately photographed, frequently moving, thematically bleak B/W feature that certainly doesn't flinch from exploring the harsher realities borne of courageously resisting a totalitarian government.

The scenes of morbidly meticulous, dispassionate efficiency of cruel, dough-faced StB stooge Dr. Ivan (Vlad Ivanov), pitilessly rooting out the dissident seminarians from their glum, august place of learning has an especially unpleasant gravitas. Hey! It's not exactly what you might call a soothing viewing experience, monochromatically invoking malevolent horror tones, but it's a hugely rewarding one, due to the unerring solemnity of the grimly unfolding events. 'Servants' is hypnotic, emotionally brutalist cinema, and I have to strongly praise bravura actor Vlad Ivanov who is quietly insidious as malign secret police hatchet man Doctor Ivan! And I was eerily entranced and perturbed in equal measure by the glacially efficient score by composers Cristian Lolea & Miroslav Toth, their blackened, foreboding themes anxiously drawing you uncomfortably deeper into the secret police's sordid, crepuscular world of state sanctioned evil.

A very nice B/W picture. The story describes an interesting aspect of Slovak history (catholic church under communists). However, the story feels unfinished.

The story in 'Servants', the film made in 2020 by the Slovak director Ivan Ostrochovsky takes place in Czechoslovakia in 1980. It had been 12 years since the 'Prague Spring', an attempt to peacefully reform the communist system that had been crushed by the Soviet tanks, and it would be nine years more before the Iron Curtain that divided Europe was crushed down by history. But nothing in what happens in the film seems to recall either the hope of a 'socialism with a human face' or the winds of freedom that would soon blow over Europe. On the contrary, the political atmosphere seems to resonate with the grey and glacial landscape in which the cinematography of the film is shrouded. Repression and corruption dominate the lives of the young people enrolled in the theological seminar in which the film takes place, and the courageous attempts of dissident priests along with some of their students to oppose the system involve enormous personal risks. 'Servants' is a dystopian story about a period that apparently belongs to history, but there are many elements in this film that make me believe that the screenwriters and the director intended to say something not only about the world of 1980 but also about the period when we live today.

The movie begins with a scene that reminds a 'film noir'. Radio talk between police cars. A road at night, a car stops under a bridge, a corpse is thrown from it. Everything is filmed in black and white, which is of course a cinematic fashion, but here this choice is not only aesthetic but also very suitable for the atmosphere of the film. What follows may be the story of the coming to age of two young men, perhaps friends, who are entering a Catholic theological seminary. Religion was only tolerated in the communist system and its institutions were closely monitored by the political police, so as not to become hotbeds of resistance. The religious seminary is itself a system of coercion, but placed within another system of coercion, a larger one that expands at the level of the whole society. Priests led by the dean of the school have a choice between resisting and collaborating with the system. Many choose the path of compromise, and thus violate some of the fundamental rules of the practice of faith, including the secrecy of confession. They do not necessarily do it out because they are evil, but rather out of the desire to continue the religious and pedagogical activity of the seminary that is permanently under threat of closure by the authorities. For students, young people just out of adolescence, the dilemma is even more difficult. Collaborating means violating the ideals for which they have chosen the hard path of the priesthood. Resisting involves physical dangers, they can be drafted to the army, arrested, investigated, or even worse.

I liked 'Servants'. Some elements of cinema are remarkable, beyond the gloomy and cold aesthetics of the image. Many scenes are almost completely static. Fixed frames, heroes in contemplation or confrontation, but most conflicts are expressed through silence and gazes. In the church or in the theological seminary, people move slowly if they move, they whisper if they speak. One of the teachers proposes to his students silence as a method of spiritual recovery. Only the policemen shout, and only the young people run, and that's only at the beginning of their road to priesthood. Movement returns only in the final scene, which has a symbolic meaning due to the background in which it takes place, but I will not say more so as not to commit the spoiler sin. I don't know most of the actors, but they all seemed excellently distributed and directed. The only one I know very well is, of course, Vlad Ivanov, who creates the role of a blackmailer and torturer secret police officer tasked with overseeing the seminar, adding another role to his international career and another foreign language in which he seems fluent, and fitting perfectly into the atmosphere. It is interesting to compare this film with 'Corpus Christi' by Polish director Jan Komasa. Both deal with the role of the Catholic religion in the societies of Central Europe and have as heroes young people on the path to priesthood, facing the realities of the world in which they will live. Both come to pessimistic conclusions, and perhaps this also tells something about how the involvement of church with the societies around it. Where are the boundaries between adaptability and compromise? What is the price beyond which the survival of the institution loses its meaning in the absence of the moral and spiritual compass? Not all of these questions are answered, but the fact that they are asked is a start.

The sound, score, cinematography, and lighting in this film are all executed to the highest standard, with the cumulative effect of an enjoyable cinematic experience. The grim subject matter is conveyed in an atmosphere of creeping paranoia and danger, although the stately pace undercuts any true suspense.

The dilemma of keeping a religious school in existence within a totalitarian police state is the heart of the narrative, with the ancillary issue of the corruscating effect of communism on interpersonal relationships and individual integrity.

In sum, a bit of a grim slog at points, but a rewarding effort for those with the patience to see it through to the end.

While watching this marvelous B/W arthouse film I could not shake the feeling that it is a perfect companion to polish director Pawel Pawlikowski's Ida, which deals with different topics but similarly features studying catholic clergy youth.

Servants is set in 80s Czechoslovakia, and outlines the grip of the regime as it encompasses a catholic seminary for upcoming priests. As with most arthouse films of this kind, story is secondary, hence not too complex. The strenght lies in the atmosphere of bleak hopelessness that pervades every frame right from the beginning, in a similar fashion to the HBO Chernobyl series.

The dehumanising and demoralising effects of totalitarianism and resistance to it are the main themes of the film. I cannot avoid mentioning the imposing presence of romanian actor Vlad Ivanov in the role of the secret police agent tasked with supervising the seminary.

The black & white aesthetic, borrowed from Pawlikowski's cinema is definitely worth mentioning. The framing, lighting, perspective of each shot was immaculate, a very conscious and successful use of monochrome, especially when compared to how several modern b/w films seem simply to put a black and white filter over the film without any attention to contrast or without exploiting the potentials of the style, almost as if it was just a gimmick to make the film more "artsy". This is not the case at all, luckily.

Being a slow-paced arthouse film about a topic seen in several east european films, that of the oppression of communist regimes through the secret police, it is not a "sunday afternoon flick", which would explain why this film went practically unnoticed after its premiere at berlinale last year, and why it yet has not had a wide distribution, not even in arthouse theaters worldwide, but that deserves more consideration.