The Firemen's Ball

THE FIREMEN'S BALL is a flick about nothing very much. It is about a firemen's ball in a Czech village, and during the ball there is a beauty contest and a raffle and a fire. But nothing happens: an oversized peasant granny wins the beauty contest crown, no one wins the raffle, and no one is hurt in the fire. But you won't be disappointed by the eventlessness of this film.

The director, Milos Forman, appears in a film clip at the beginning of the movie to give an idea of what his film is about. He says that when it came out in Czechoslovakia, forty thousand firemen resigned, and in order to appease them he had to say that the firemen in the film were actually symbolic representations of society. But then, in a real comment about himself, he undercuts everything he has said by stating that the film is just about firemen. Forman presents a simple story that might easily be loaded with meaning--but he denies that it is.

So one is led to watch the film just for itself, without any greater meaning, and that is easy to do. The characters in the movie are all the kind of people you would never think twice about to understand. None will even remotely remind you of Julie Christie; and there are at least a half a dozen characters who absorb the role that John Wayne plays on the American screen.

In fact, on a deeper level Forman's film and his previous release, Loves of a Blonde, are so relaxed and unimposing that they offer a real contrast to contemporary cinematography. With no hero, no violent or explosive action, and no plastic characters with expressions of angst molded into their features, this portrait of Czech life is singular in its impact. Instead of extraordinary experience or bigger than life tragedy, there are pathetic vignettes about totally unexplained but quite believeable people. In place of the complete involvement of constructed suspense, there is the uneventful yet amusing commonplace. It is reality in time, in character, and in event.

Forman deserves the credit he has been given for his work. Though reality has its appeal in honesty, there is nothing which makes it inherently interesting to watch. Only a fine craftsman can mold unexceptional reality with the style necessary to make it entertaining.

The short, Oratorio for Prague, also deserves notice. It is a compositon which, like a fine piece of music, flows in and out while it covers its subject--the nature of the Czechoslovakian character at the approach of the August invasion. The film is narrated with the simplicity of a Hemingway story, everything cut down to the essential facts. But the effect is tremendous because the camera work is excellent and the background music is good, while the mixing of the three elements--narration, film, and music--is perfect.

The short, along with Forman's longer feature, presents a complete set that, in a very delicate way, expresses something of the temper of the Czechoslovakian people.