Every now and then, I explore the history of world cinema and come to the same conclusion. I need to watch more films from The Czech New Wave. While France has had a phenomenal film revolution between the 60s and 80s, there’s something to be said for how Czechoslovakia did something that was even further into the abstract. If you watch a handful of their masterpieces, you’ll find films like Intimate Lighting (1965) and The Firemen’s Ball (1967) using comedy of everyday mundane life to create substantial political allegories. Even later films like Alice (1988) have this audacious quality that makes you realize how much greater cinema can be.
Outside of Miloš Forman who went on to have a great Hollywood career with two Best Picture Oscars, the other pioneer was undoubtedly Věra Chytilová. Most people would know her for Daisies (1966), which takes the art form to its most artificial extent, finding the very movement of two female characters full of sound effects. As they gain independence, the story becomes more chaotic, even ending in a food fight. Many essays will be quick to label it among the best of world cinema – and for good reason. It’s radical thought at its finest, pushing the perception of logic far beyond its capability. I would go so far as to argue there is a rite of passage for every cinephile to experience Daisies.
Though if I’m being honest, one of the more unfortunate things about Chytilová is that unlike many of her peers, she is almost exclusively known for Daisies. While it’s a good calling card, I want to suggest that her career is underrated in the same way that Agnes Varda was. Even if I’m less familiar with Chytilová, the further into her filmography you get the more you realize that she was pushing some very impressive boundaries. Films like Something Different (1963) blended storylines of two very different women (a housewife and a gymnast) and reflect the different ways that they navigate society. Without being overt about it, Chytilová was creating strong feminist texts that also pushed frank discussions of sexuality into more interesting directions, such as the confounding reimagining of Adam & Eve called Fruit of Paradise (1970). It’s the type of film that gives Europe its reputation for being more open in discussing female identity, of their longing for sex that even today in America feels more guarded.
Then there’s Wolf’s Hole (1988). While I wouldn’t consider it among her all-time greatest, there is something about the concept that immediately grabbed my attention on Criterion Channel. Imagine someone from Czechoslovakia watching Friday the 13th (1980) and deciding to make their own interpretation of it. I would never take Chytilová as someone to fully embrace the slasher ethos, even if she seems like a chameleon who jumps from genre to genre, looking for a subject that can draw out her best criticism. As one can guess, this isn’t a story full of Jason Vorhees knock-offs, but something that is more akin to the tension she believes is more authentic, once again deconstructing the idea of women as victims while setting the story in a very claustrophobic setting of a cabin in the wintery mountains.
I should clarify before going forward that anyone expecting this to be a vivacious slasher will be greatly disappointed. While there’s tension and horrendous death, it’s not presented in a manner meant for cheap scares. The opening maybe has the most misleading of the cinematic techniques, finding a camera looming over patches of snow as ominous music plays. It’s not entirely clear what Wolf’s Hole even means. Is it just in reference to a location, or is there some play on words going on where the murderer is a wolf or, in the direction I was predicting, a forbidden zone where a wolf is most likely to seek its vengeance? As the credits roll in a jangly font, it does feel like there’s something gnarly in store, and I’ll applaud Chytilová for really selling that from the beginning.
Even if this isn’t a slasher in the American tradition, there is something to be said for how she directs the film in a similar way. Every character is introduced in the familiar schlocky manner at the summit of Wolf’s Hole. Cliques are already forming and others are being downright bullied. Even as the adult suggests that everyone is treated equally here, others are quick to knock over the oafish nerd with the juvenile fashion and disagree. So much animosity happens before they even climb up the mountain, where even listening to the cautionary elder who knows better is given a nice spin. The lore is set into place of a landslide that cut off a cabin from outside contact, and the viewer is immediately on edge. What is going to happen from here?
While Friday the 13th is known for its violence, there is something to be said for how patiently a slasher can drag out its innocence. Once characters are brought into the world, there’s an establishment of the universe that often exists before things go off the wall. It’s a horror tradition, a calm before the storm that makes the eventual rattling all the more powerful. Again, this isn’t a story where kids are picked off meticulously in a quest for survival – at least in the pulpy American sense. This is something much more complicated, and one that is more interested in living in that quietness, where every tragic outcome is the result of mundanity overpowering these teenagers who want nothing but to enjoy their trip.
Another thing that makes Wolf’s Hole interesting is that where other horror is filled with hormonal exploitation, there is something quaint about Chytilová’s vision. Any nudity isn’t done for eroticism, but to reflect characters in natural positions like changing clothes. They are antagonistic and pick on each other, but there’s a whole hierarchy that exists within this world that overrides the sense that everyone is having sex 24/7. Sure there’s talk of forming relationships, but it quickly becomes secondary to the bigger picture, which is an effectively tense story about how teens can go crazy when robbed of rations and any sense of optimism.
It's the plunge into immorality that feels evident of antagonistic characters only growing worse. Even with parental supervision, they become downright homicidal by the end, taking sides and turning the disregard for humanity early on into a mission statement. It is tense, full of characters who on some level hate each other, finding themselves getting lost in the woods. Some of them will meet the fate of nature, but not without feeling like everyone is out to get them. Again, the build-up is slow and uncomfortable, making one wonder where the next attack will come from. In one of the few moments that feels lifted from horror, Chytilová makes clever use of a snowman that creates a shocking revelation.
At times I associate the film more with The Hateful Eight (2015) than Friday the 13th. It’s more of a character study that deconstructs what drives men mad without civilized order. Given that nobody was ever all that compassionate at the start, it’s easy to disregard certain lives more than others. Chytilová goes for the jugular, allowing everyone to meet their own fates with the haunting nature of a Czech film. Say what you will about American horror, but when a film feels grainy and removed of flourishes, it does make uncertainty flow a lot better. This isn’t playing conventions but more commenting on why audiences like them in the first place. What makes us want to turn on each other so easily for entertainment?
Wolf’s Hole is a film that despite its animosity shows a more compassionate side to horror, where the discomfort is in trying to find humanity somewhere inside. She even reflects on why the excessive nature of the genre is ultimately unnecessary by overlooking it. There is violence, but it’s almost more satisfying to wonder about what is unseen, where the real damage is done. A wolf’s hole sounds like an unwelcoming place, and given that one can lose their way in the snow, the nature of insanity is more than likely to take over, where a wolf could get you or just the elements. It’s difficult to escape this innocuous scenario, and that only adds to the fear.
I’ll be honest when I say that I’m not sure if Chytilová had any greater commentary. Is there something about Czechoslovakia during the late 80s that was worth deconstructing in horror? Maybe it’s just a genre exercise, not unlike anything Jean-Luc Godard would do. Everything is up for consideration. Even then, as an arthouse horror film that embraces enough weird imagery and philosophical meaning, there is something to be said for how she handles a premise so simple and makes it into something immersive, uncertain, and ready to watch the world collapse. Even if this means nothing at all, what an entertaining way to pass 90 minutes.
As I finished Wolf’s Hole I again find myself admiring what Chytilová was bringing to cinema throughout her career. She was much more than Daisies, proving that women could mold themselves into different facets of genre and subject, desiring to have their stamp on culture. In some way, that’s what makes this essential viewing. Her work may be at times too abstract and isolating to connect with wider audiences, but now and then diving headfirst into her work is to recognize what risks can achieve. It’s something profound, pushing the medium forward and suggesting that we’re not challenging ourselves enough. This isn’t the most innovative horror film imaginable, but with a feminine touch, it deconstructs slashers and finds something colder in a culture that can’t stand to be in the same room with each other. Sometimes you want out, but how can you when the only way is through a hellish frozen landscape? It’s a thrilling ride while it lasts, and one that makes me, again, want to dive further into Czech New Wave. It really is one of the most profoundly interesting classic cinematic movements I’ve seen so far.
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