KOLYA Movie Review

Set in Czechoslovakia in 1988—the final days of its Communist regime—Kolya alarmingly begins like yet another version of Green Card, with middle-aged violinist and confirmed bachelor Frantisek (Zdenek Sverak) agreeing to a sham marriage with a Russian woman. Instead of falling for her, though, he falls for the woman's 10-year-old son, Kolya (Andrej Chalimon), who Frantisek believes he's been stuck with in perpetuity when the woman disappears. For this grumpy and randy musician (for whom a Viagra prescription would be carrying coals to Newcastle) having a kid around is the last thing he needs, but soon the inevitable bonding takes place, as does the even more inevitable resurfacing of Kolya's mother. The remarkable thing about Kolya is that despite its loaded premise and its unavoidable tearjerker finale, the picture goes down easier than one might expect. Some of this has to do with the easygoing and generally non-manipulative direction of Jan Sverak, who refuses to bludgeon us with the political implications of his story of painful change. Credit must also be given to Sverak and young Chalimon for keeping the mugging in check and bringing out the humanity in characters who could have easily degenerated into insufferable stereotypes. Kolya offers proof that even “high concept” pictures can be affecting when their creators make an effort to respect their audience.

NEXT STOP … The Two of Us, Spirit of the Beehive, Tito and Me

1996 (PG-13) 105m/C CZ Zdenek Sverak, Andrej Chalimon, Libuse Safrankova; D: Jan Sverak; W: Zdenek Sverak; C: Vladimir Smutny; M: Ondrej Soukup. Academy Awards '96: Best Foreign Film; Golden Globe Awards '97: Best Foreign Film; Nominations: British Academy Awards '96: Best Foreign Film. VHS, LV, Closed Caption TOU