Some films succeed despite themselves. Kolya is one such
film. Despite its shameless sentiment and unabashed heart-tugging,
it has come from nowhere (well, Czechoslovakia actually) to capture
an Academy Award nomination for Best Foreign Language Film. From
the word go, you know that Kolya is the kind of film you're
going to fall for. There's no use trying to fight it. No matter
how hard you try to resist its grumpy-old-man-meets-cute-little-kid
plot, you know it's going to be a hopeless battle. No matter how
flinty your heart, no matter how iron your will, you're just doomed
to be grinning and weepy along with the rest of us by the time
the end credits roll.
The story of Kolya takes place in Prague in 1988 (for those
with short memories, that's just before the fall of the Soviet
Union). At the age of 55, our protagonist Frantisek Louka (Zdenek
Sverak) is hovering somewhere between happy lifelong bachelor
and grumpy old man. Louka was once a proud member of the Czech
symphony, but a little tiff with the local Communist government
led to Louka's blacklisting. Now Louka scrapes together what little
cash he can by restoring tombstones and playing the odd cello
gig at funerals. His nights are filled with a rondelet of entertaining
but meaningless sexual liaisons. When a friend suggests a way
for Louka to score some quick cash (by marrying a Russian immigrant
so she can get her citizenship papers), our protagonist jumps
at the opportunity. Soon after the sham marriage takes place,
however, the young bride skips the country leaving her five-year-old
son Kolya (Andrej Chalimon) in Louka's not-so-able care.
Can you guess what happens next? Of course you can. This wide-eyed
little waif soon melts our hard-hearted bachelor's heart. We're
all in store for some warm fuzzy feelings. Still, despite the
familiar trappings, Kolya works. Much of the film's success
comes from its ability to work on several levels. Louka, perhaps
justifiably, holds a grudge against the Russians who occupy his
country. Since Kolya is Russian, Louka initially has no love for
the foundling. The story may be simple, but the larger issues
of our contentious world loom.
Symbolism also abounds. At first, Kolya dreams of birds. Shy and
unable to even communicate with his new Czech step-father (they
both speak a different language), Kolya spends his days staring
out the window at the pigeons that perch on Louka's window ledge.
As Kolya hangs out with Louka on his daily rounds to the funeral
homes, the young boy starts to become obsessed with death. His
childhood doodles turn to images of coffins and crosses. Louka
soon begins to realize that his own life is too mired in the trappings
of death. He resolves to give the kid a real life. He takes the
boy on sightseeing trips, camping trips, and in the process, our
bachelor hero starts to come to life again.
Kolya may be one of the most enjoyable and accessible films
to drift our way from across the seas in quite some time (since
1995's Il Postino?). What could have been a sappy allegory
about world peace, is instead a clever, humorous heartwarmer.
Go see it. Even if it does have a cute little snot-nose for a
title character.