Movies / TV
Smarksterpiece Theatre: Little Otik
By Edward Robins
Aug 5, 2004, 09:47

Allow me to reintroduce myself, my name is 'Flow, 'Flow, Ed to the War D...ummm, right. It's been a while, and for those used to my older columns, I apologize for two things: the lack of images (I absent-mindedly returned the disc before grabbing some), and the dry text/format. I'm still writing in a pseudo-academic style, so if you don't like it, please drop me a line at [email protected] (make sure the subject is "Article Feedback" or something to that effect so it goes through my spam filter) or through a PM on the board. If you do like it, drop me a line as well...does wonders for my esteem. Let's continue, shall we?

Little Otik (Otes�nek) (2000, dir. Jan Svankmajer)

From a biological standpoint, it can be argued that the only "meaning of life" is to reproduce. Socially, pregnancy is a "blessed event" heralded by praise and admiration, for it insures a new generation and (theoretically) a continuation of beliefs and practices. But what of the infertile? With reproduction being a central focus of biology and most social structures, they are the perpetual outsider - a genetic mistake that can will never rectify itself. While many cult-horror films (such as It's Alive, Eraserhead, and Rosemary's Baby) have utilized "evil" babies to explore fears of pregnancy and parenthood, few have even addressed the other side of the coin. If for no other reason, Jan Svankmajer's Little Otik is unique because its story, an update of the Czech folk-tale of the Otes�nek, does so in spades. Yet, those who find that to be the only thing unique about Little Otik must have rather unusual tastes.

Karel and Bozena are an otherwise-happy married couple haunted by their infertility; Karel sees babies everywhere (and not just in the usual places), as Bozena coddles empty outfits in obsessive fits. While renovating a cabin on vacation, Karel uncovers a tree stump and, in good humor, carves it into a baby and presents it to Bozena as their "child". To his surprise and dismay, this only furthers her obsession, as she refuses to part with the stump, unable to see it as anything other than her baby. Attempting to deter gossip and embarrassment from his community, Karel tries to convince his wife to leave the stump behind, his logic being that their neighbors will assume the "child" was stolen. Bozena's logical course of action, then, is to fake a pregnancy, after which the stump becomes a real boy (of sorts). But Little Otik is no Pinocchio; increasingly unsatisfied with mother's milk, then stews, then meat, its unnatural appetite threatens to consume all in its path.

In an interesting twist, although Otik is literally responsible for the deaths presented, in Little Otik it is the "parents", rather than their "child", that are presented as monstrous abnormalities. Otik, as a hungry "infant", strikes quickly and blindly through survival instinct, whereas his "parents'" (Bozena's and Karel's) actions have much more deliberate reasons and forms behind them. Unlike his wife, Karel remains unattached to Otik (knowing full well of his unnatural origins), yet his feelings are muddled after his community offers preferential treatment on hearing of his impending "fatherhood". To save face and his wife's sanity, he plays along with the game, even when animals and people start to disappear. As more and more fall to Otik's hunger, he resolves to destroy the creature, if his wife will let him. Although it is bizarre and, ultimately, pathetic to see Bozena beg and plead her husband to spare a wooden doll, these actions truly disturb because of her awareness of the situation. Audience knowledge of her position as "abnormal" leads to initial distrust, but ultimately pity; her knowledge of her position is what transforms her into "monster", her desperate actions into those to be feared. However destructive Otik becomes, she cannot stop it, for the mock maternity it grants heronly way for her to overcome the defects that keeps her from social acceptance. She must destroy us to become one of us.

Otik's endless consumption, then, is nothing more than a symbol of its parents' desire for something they can never fill. This reading works because of Otik's believability as killer "non-baby" (for nothing about Otik can be equated to a real child), able to squirm and move as a real child while remaining clearly artificial. This is accomplished through stop-motion animation, which works beautifully through the imperfections of the medium; Otik bursts with vitality even as its jerky, awkward movements constantly remind the audience of its constructed nature. Traditional two-dimensional animation is used as well, relaying the tale of the Otes�nek as told by a neighbor's child reading from her storybook trying to make sense of the curious current affairs. Particularly for those unfamiliar with the original folklore, this device emphasizes the contrast between the real community and the very unreal Otik; the Otes�nek can only belong to the realm of make-believe, born of ancestors' imagination and living in their storybooks. The fact that the story ends with a peasant farmer felling the huge beast with a single blow from a crude iron hoe displays its sensibility in the modern world, and yet, there it is.

The other necessary element for the film's success is the human factor, particularly Veronika Zilkova whose manic, desperate performance as Bozena elicits a strange sympathy. It's disturbing to see a pathetic Bozena go into fits over a wooden effigy, yet also very sad because of the firmness of her belief that this is how she can fit herself into society. Jan Hartl similarly nails the awkwardness of a man who'd rather just be done with the ordeal, yet finds himself drawn in deeper and deeper by his wife's madness and his own mad creation. The supporting cast rises to the challenge set by the leads, which brings us to the film's crippling flaw: it's just too long. Although whimsically animated and acted, too much time is spent developing personalities and side-stories (particularly an unsettling one involving an old man's perverted leerings at a child's panties) for characters whose only purpose is consumption; the film drags needlessly. Once the story of Bozena, Karel, and Otik seems resolved, another story begins, and it's simply too much. Like the Otes�nek's stomach, the film is overloaded with these people, and it threatens to destroy the carefully constructed story. Director Jan Svankmajer admits this in an interview with Sight & Sound (included on the disc) - having produced mainly surrealist shorts, he's simply inexperienced with a more traditional feature and story.

Although this is definitely a case of too much of a good thing, the unique subject matter and skill behind the production definitely merit checking out, and the DVD from Zeitgeist Films is a wonderful way to do such. The transfer is clean, and the optional subtitles quite clear (both visually and grammatically). Text/static image bonuses include an interview with Sight & Sound from October 2001, Svankmajer's production diary, a series of production stills, as well as one of Svankmajer's earlier shorts, The Flat. Filmed in 1969, the 12-minute piece is on a man whose morning routine one day decides to be less routine, and everyday objects such as food and furniture fight with him every step of the way. Although the animation is much less smooth due to 30 years of technology, the short is much tighter than Little Otik, with the black-and-white photography only adding to the nightmarish surreality. A wonderful sample of Svankmajer in his prime element, the short is also available, along with several other Svankmajer shorts, in two volumes.

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