The 81st Venice International Film Festival is well underway with 21 films vying for the coveted Golden Lion. Among this year’s contenders is Déa Kulumbegashvili’s April, which offers an intimate glimpse into rural Georgian life while at the same time shining a spotlight on Central and Eastern European cinema. With this in mind here are 10 Central European cinematic treasures that will captivate and inspire.
Closely Observed Trains by Jiří Menzel (1966), Czechoslovakia
A bittersweet comedy set during World War II, this film marked the debut of director Jiří Menzel and won him international fame. The story follows the exploits of a young, naive man working at a railway station in German-occupied Czechoslovakia, who has mixed success with the opposite sex. A particularly famous scene, in which the hero rubber-stamps the thighs and buttocks of his buxom colleague, led to the movie's ban by the communist authorities on grounds of 'immorality’, though the true reason was political.
Knife in Water by Roman Polański (1962), Poland
A bittersweet comedy set during World War II, this film marked the debut of director Jiří Menzel and won him international fame. The story follows the exploits of a young, naive man working at a railway station in German-occupied Czechoslovakia, who has mixed success with the opposite sex. A particularly famous scene, in which the hero rubber-stamps the thighs and buttocks of his buxom colleague, led to the movie's ban by the communist authorities on grounds of 'immorality’, though the true reason was political.
Polański’s first feature film proved that Central European cinema has much more to offer than just processing the trauma of World War II. Shot in stylish black and white with a truly mesmerizing jazz soundtrack by Krzysztof Komeda, Knife in the Water tells the story of an affluent middle-aged couple who take a hitchhiker onto their private yacht. What follows is a tensely scripted psychological game between the mature, confident husband in the prime of his life and a jealous young man, both of whom try to prove their masculinity and impress the wife, who shifts her allegiances between the two.
20 Days in Mariupol by Mstyslav Chernov (2023), Ukraine
Grueling but necessary viewing for anyone seeking to understand the early months of Russia’s aggression against Ukraine, the documentary feature 20 Days in Mariupol won an Oscar in 2024. Focused on the besieged Ukrainian city and filmed by a team from the Associated Press, whose members risked their lives, the documentary captures the humanitarian disaster caused by the invasion and the war crimes committed by Russian forces. It contains harrowing footage captured by cameraman and director Mstyslav Chernov, including the evacuation of a gravely wounded pregnant woman from a maternity hospital. A testament to the power of journalism and the enduring human spirit.
Sátántangó by Béla Tarr (1994 ), Hungary
20 Days in Mariupol by Mstyslav Chernov (2023), Ukraine
Grueling but necessary viewing for anyone seeking to understand the early months of Russia’s aggression against Ukraine, the documentary feature 20 Days in Mariupol won an Oscar in 2024. Focused on the besieged Ukrainian city and filmed by a team from the Associated Press, whose members risked their lives, the documentary captures the humanitarian disaster caused by the invasion and the war crimes committed by Russian forces. It contains harrowing footage captured by cameraman and director Mstyslav Chernov, including the evacuation of a gravely wounded pregnant woman from a maternity hospital. A testament to the power of journalism and the enduring human spirit.
Sátántangó by Béla Tarr (1994 ), Hungary
Not for the faint-hearted, this seven-hour masterpiece by the Hungarian auteur Béla Tarr is often named one of the most influential movies of the '90s. Dream-like, languid, and disturbing, it tells a strange, elliptical tale set on a desolate, collapsed collective farm. The plot is secondary, as characters come and go to the ominous sound of church bells. Tarr, the grand doyen of the arthouse scene, is often accused of having a bleak worldview, but no one can deny that he had a singular vision in Sátántangó: poetic, sensuous, mysterious, and imbued with a strong sense of morality. In other words, for an arthouse aficionado, Sátántangó is a must-see movie.
4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days by Cristian Mungiu (2007), Romania
Under the heartless regime of the Romanian dictator, all forms of contraception were banned in a bid to increase the country’s declining birth rate. Performing an abortion was punishable as the secret police closely monitored maternity hospitals. Against this historical backdrop, Mungiu's film tells the story of two female friends, Găbița and Otilia as they attempt to procure an illegal procedure to terminate Găbița’s pregnancy. Minimalist and intense, this Romanian film not only sheds light on one of the most repressive countries in the Eastern Bloc but also serves as a testament to female friendship and endurance.
Black Cat, White Cat by Emir Kusturica (1998), Serbia
On the banks of the Danube, near disused cement factories and rubbish heaps, life is a grotesque carnival where the Serbian Romani know how to party. With a riotous gypsy turbo-folk soundtrack, Kusturica’s film follows fake Johnny Walker-swilling and cocaine-ingesting small-time crook Matko Destanov as he plans his various scams and schemes. Music and violence are a way of life in this hilarious and oddly uplifting romp, which has a frenetic pace similar to Quentin Tarantino’s movies and, arguably, an even better soundtrack.
The Lure by Agnieszka Smoczyńska (2015), Poland
An ode to the 80s, The Lure is a part queer musical, part mermaid-vampire horror, which compensates for the lack of a tight plot with an equality message: pay your employees a decent wage or they might go for the jugular. And don’t lose your tail for any men, they are simply not worth it in the patriarchal Polish society of three decades ago. Wacky, and silly at places, Smoczyńska’s first movie, added to the Central European queer oeuvre which tends to take itself very seriously. The Lure is a smashing late-night arthouse silliness.
Three Colors: Red by Krzysztof Kieślowski (1994), Poland/France
The last film in Krzysztof Kieślowski's illustrious career is synonymous with the Polish movement known as ‘The Cinema of Moral Anxiety.’ Three Colors: Red, part of Kieślowski's triptych, refers to the Enlightenment ideals of liberté, égalité, and fraternité, as symbolized by the French flag. The plot revolves around Valentine, a student and part-time model, who encounters a cast of enigmatic misfits during her wanderings around Paris. This brooding, melancholic, but ultimately uplifting meditation on coincidence and the essence of humanity is a fitting conclusion to Kieślowski's career. If these themes don't appeal, the mesmerising soundtrack by Zbigniew Preisner and the luminous performance by Irène Jacob, whose beauty lights up every scene, certainly will.
How I Unleashed World War II by Tadeusz Chmielewski (1969), Poland
A Polish comedy that contributed many iconic scenes to the national joke repertoire, this film tells the story of a hapless soldier, Franciszek Dolas, who, through a series of hilarious misunderstandings, becomes convinced that the greatest conflict of the 20th century is his own fault. The movie is filled with scenes brimming with wit and humor, many of them language based. The legendary conversation between Sergeant Dolas and a German Gestapo officer, where the soldier introduces himself as Grzegorz Brzęczyszczykiewicz from a place called Chrząszczyżewoszyce, is pure comedy gold.
Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors by Sergei Parajanov (1965), Ukraine/Soviet Union
4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days by Cristian Mungiu (2007), Romania
Under the heartless regime of the Romanian dictator, all forms of contraception were banned in a bid to increase the country’s declining birth rate. Performing an abortion was punishable as the secret police closely monitored maternity hospitals. Against this historical backdrop, Mungiu's film tells the story of two female friends, Găbița and Otilia as they attempt to procure an illegal procedure to terminate Găbița’s pregnancy. Minimalist and intense, this Romanian film not only sheds light on one of the most repressive countries in the Eastern Bloc but also serves as a testament to female friendship and endurance.
Black Cat, White Cat by Emir Kusturica (1998), Serbia
On the banks of the Danube, near disused cement factories and rubbish heaps, life is a grotesque carnival where the Serbian Romani know how to party. With a riotous gypsy turbo-folk soundtrack, Kusturica’s film follows fake Johnny Walker-swilling and cocaine-ingesting small-time crook Matko Destanov as he plans his various scams and schemes. Music and violence are a way of life in this hilarious and oddly uplifting romp, which has a frenetic pace similar to Quentin Tarantino’s movies and, arguably, an even better soundtrack.
The Lure by Agnieszka Smoczyńska (2015), Poland
An ode to the 80s, The Lure is a part queer musical, part mermaid-vampire horror, which compensates for the lack of a tight plot with an equality message: pay your employees a decent wage or they might go for the jugular. And don’t lose your tail for any men, they are simply not worth it in the patriarchal Polish society of three decades ago. Wacky, and silly at places, Smoczyńska’s first movie, added to the Central European queer oeuvre which tends to take itself very seriously. The Lure is a smashing late-night arthouse silliness.
Three Colors: Red by Krzysztof Kieślowski (1994), Poland/France
The last film in Krzysztof Kieślowski's illustrious career is synonymous with the Polish movement known as ‘The Cinema of Moral Anxiety.’ Three Colors: Red, part of Kieślowski's triptych, refers to the Enlightenment ideals of liberté, égalité, and fraternité, as symbolized by the French flag. The plot revolves around Valentine, a student and part-time model, who encounters a cast of enigmatic misfits during her wanderings around Paris. This brooding, melancholic, but ultimately uplifting meditation on coincidence and the essence of humanity is a fitting conclusion to Kieślowski's career. If these themes don't appeal, the mesmerising soundtrack by Zbigniew Preisner and the luminous performance by Irène Jacob, whose beauty lights up every scene, certainly will.
How I Unleashed World War II by Tadeusz Chmielewski (1969), Poland
A Polish comedy that contributed many iconic scenes to the national joke repertoire, this film tells the story of a hapless soldier, Franciszek Dolas, who, through a series of hilarious misunderstandings, becomes convinced that the greatest conflict of the 20th century is his own fault. The movie is filled with scenes brimming with wit and humor, many of them language based. The legendary conversation between Sergeant Dolas and a German Gestapo officer, where the soldier introduces himself as Grzegorz Brzęczyszczykiewicz from a place called Chrząszczyżewoszyce, is pure comedy gold.
Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors by Sergei Parajanov (1965), Ukraine/Soviet Union
Who would expect magical realism from Ukraine in a visual style that seems worthy of Márquez? The film portrays Carpathian Hutsul culture in a manner so distinct from the Soviet-era movies approved by the 1960s communist regime that it drew unwanted attention to its director, Sergei Parajanov, from the KGB, leading to a subsequent five-year sentence in a hard labor camp for homosexuality, sodomy, and propagation of pornography. The movie itself is a sumptuous feast for the eyes, filmed in a gloriously saturated palette of colors, telling a Carpathian version of the story of doomed young lovers.
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