Philip Kaufman/USA/1988; R4, 2-disc SE
Warner Bros, $19.95 | Reviewed by Brannavan Gnanalingam

CZECHOSLOVAKIA 1968. The Prague Spring had brought to the Czechs unparalleled freedom despite the Soviet eye, but it was soon to be crushed by the upcoming Soviet invasion. Czechoslovakia was an exception in the 1960s – it was the only Western country (France perhaps, excepted) where the liberalisation of the arts and society led to an actual revolution. And, like the others, it collapsed into itself again, this time forcibly so.

Again, as seems to be the common method of depicting the idealism of the “revolution” of the 60s, The Unbearable Lightness of Being depicts it through a love triangle. Based on Czech writer Milan Kundera’s enigmatic and a-linear novel (apparently the character of Tomas has very strong parallels to Kundera himself), the film depicts the events of Prague 1968 through the rather self-centred eyes of his protagonist Tomas. Tomas (Daniel Day-Lewis) is a brilliant brain-surgeon and a womaniser without a conscience. In particular, his friend Sabina (Lena Olin) and Tomas manage to maintain an intimate relationship without any pretensions to monogamy. However he meets Tereza (Juliette Binoche), and finds himself drawn to her naivety, her child-like nature and her elfish beauty.

Philip Kaufman is a rather interesting director. One of the few remaining Hollywood directors who doesn’t mind a bit of eroticism (and needless to say, a bit of heavy-handed voyeurism) The Unbearable Lightness of Being certainly feels erotic, especially given the frigidity of current Hollywood. It lays the way for his more notorious Henry and June (the film which is responsible for the NC-17 rating in the US) and his later Quills – two films which attempt to link sex into societal politics. And, unlike the other two films, Unbearable Lightness features a lightness of touch, a whimsical and nostalgiac feel, almost reminiscent of his wonderful The Right Stuff.

This film could be described as an insular epic. Sex is meant to signify liberation, an escape from the control and conformity of Communism. But despite this freedom, this “lightness of being”, Tomas finds himself unable to cope with it (hence the “unbearable” of the title). In fact, only Sabina is able to fully keep herself free, but that doesn’t guarantee happiness. The sexual relationships are well drawn, and the female characters are wholly believable. Perhaps the political element has lost its bite given the end of the Cold War (note this film did come out at the tail end of Hollywood’s Reagan-influenced fear of the Soviets) – though the film for the most part manages not to get drawn into a two-dimensional depiction. Tomas’ analogy however with Oedipus Rex still makes for interesting viewing.

The film is also well-crafted. The editing (Walter Murch) and acting is excellent – this was the film which helped establish both Binoche’s and Day-Lewis’ international reputations – Binoche in particular is fantastic. The art direction is also notable, where France (mainly Lyon and Paris) is transformed into an entirely believable Prague. Ingmar Bergman’s cinematographer Sven Nykvist creates some beautiful images and his interiors are wonderfully shot with chiaroscuro lighting. The Soviet invasion is done particularly well too, expertly incorporating real footage from 1968 that was smuggled out, with re-created footage. The pace is leisurely – at times a little repetitive, and too drawn out – but nevertheless, the film remains, bafflingly so, as one of the rare Hollywood films that tackles sex maturely and evocatively.


THE DVD extras to be fair are pretty scant. There’s a documentary featuring Kaufman, script-writer Jean-Claude Carriere, producer Saul Zaentz and Murch. The documentary brings in the novel well, and explains the rationale, though it would have been nice to have seen some actors’ comments or comments from someone external – the film’s not the masterpiece the documentary wants us to believe. The commentary is similar, but features Olin too, which is a nice touch. In particular, the extras are recommended to people wanting to become editors – Walter Murch is an amazing man to learn off – his commentary and comments in the documentary are essential titbits of information for wannabe editors. In fact, it is rare to find this level of sophisticated and helpful advice from a technician, especially from someone with pedigree of Murch – if you ever see his name in the extras of a film, take note.