Karlovy Vary 2025: Protest Anthems, Sexual Politics, and Rohmerian Charms Set in Lisbon

      As someone who has always admired the appearance of the Czech embassy in Berlin––a collection of nicotine-colored trapezoids located at the corner of Wilhelm Strasse––I was excited to learn that the Spa Hotel Thermal in Karlovy Vary was designed by the same architectural pair. When walking into town from the train station, it’s the first thing you notice: a solid slab of brutalist concrete that looms over the town’s otherwise pastel skyline––one of which, The Grand Hotel Pupp, was grand enough to inspire Wes Anderson’s Grand Budapest Hotel.

      The Thermal was built in the late 1960s and ’70s by Věra and Vladimír Machonin as a multi-screen cinema and central hub for the Karlovy Vary Film Festival, which then occurred biannually, alternating with Moscow as the spotlight for socialist cinema. This changed after the Velvet Revolution, and in 1994, with the arrival of Jiri Bartoška, a cherished festival director who oversaw the now-annual event until his passing last year. I fell in love with the Thermal the moment I first saw it in 2018: its perfectly sloped seating in the Velký sál (possibly my favorite cinema globally), its vague resemblance to a movie camera from above, and the charming way (similar to Venice’s Salle Grande) that the festival decorates the lower rim with national flags of the selected films.

      This year, this tradition led to an unusual sight with the stars and stripes (for multiple films) sharing space with the flag of Iraq (for Hasan Hadi’s The President’s Cake, a wonderful breakout from Cannes) like feuding in-laws at a wedding left to chance. Given the Czech Republic's disappointing support for Israel in recent years––voting against various UN resolutions and opposing EU efforts to label Israeli goods from illegal settlements in the West Bank and Golan Heights––it was not surprising to see neither Israel’s flag nor that of the Palestinians, despite both nations being significantly represented in the program. The latter was showcased by titles such as Partition, All That’s Left of You, and the heartbreaking Put Your Soul on Your Hand and Walk; the former by A Letter to David and Nadav Lapid’s Yes, which premiered at this year’s Berlinale and Cannes, respectively.

      With this backdrop, it was no surprise that most of this year’s Crystal Globe competitors leaned towards social and personal themes. The events concluded last Saturday in the Velký sál, where Miro Remo’s Better Go Mad in the Wild took home the main prize, marking just the third time a Czech filmmaker has done so this century. In my years attending, I have yet to see a more deserving title win than Radu Jude’s I Do Not Care If We Go Down in History as Barbarians, which received the award in 2018. I can’t say that Wild breaks this trend, but Remo’s expressionistic and cinematic documentary about twin farmers in the Czech countryside certainly has the qualities to make a mark on the documentary festival circuit in the months ahead.

      The focus of the film is Franta and Ondra––though it’s perhaps more fitting to refer to them as collaborators, given how frequently they perform for the camera. While they are occasionally shown tending to the farm, most of the film features them reciting poetry, helping the director craft visual scenes, and making fun of each other as opportunities arise. Narrated by a talking cow and set to lively orchestral music (including an effective use of Smetana) by Adam Mate, Wild generates a unique kind of energy. Humorous, surreal, and never patronizing, it feels shorter than its 83-minute runtime––always a pleasant surprise.

      The exceptions to the previously mentioned trend were Divia, Dmytro Hreshko’s evocative documentary about nature’s response to Russia’s war in Ukraine, and Soheil Beiraghi’s Bidad, a film about a young woman in Tehran who goes viral for singing on the streets––an act prohibited under Sharia law. Added late to the program––just under two weeks after Israeli bombs began falling on Beiraghi’s homeland––Bidad (which ultimately won the Special Jury prize) was understandably somewhat weaker than the other competing titles. Nonetheless, it features a riveting performance by Amir Jadidi (A Hero), who sweeps the protagonist Seti (Sarvin Zabetian) away one night following a police raid. It left me wishing for a movie solely focused on the two of them, where political tensions could emerge through dialogue rather than a sometimes blunt approach.

      A film with a more convincing tone was Ondrej Provaznik’s Broken Voices. Set in Czechoslovakia during the 1990s and loosely inspired by the Bambini di Praga scandal, it recounts the story of a predatory choirmaster from his students' perspective. Rather than being a true-crime exposé, it serves as