A bit of lack of culture is not discouraged. Apart from a few sharp music lovers, who knew Josef Myslivecek? The composer (1737-1781) had sunk into oblivion. It must be said that he has an unpronounceable name and that must not have helped him to be remembered. Petr Vaclav redresses this injustice with an ample, rich and classic biopic. From now on, it will be distressing to ignore the one who, because of his place of birth, was baptized “Il Boemo” (no need to bother simultaneous translators).
His mill father opposed his vocation. This Don Quixote of music theory set out to attack other mills. In Venice, he directs operas and does not refuse a few fine parts. The two areas are for him the same requirement. We don’t joke with scores or orgies. Choosing a singer is a feat. She must have “a voice that approaches the impossible”. In the alcoves, it is not a question of throwing oneself into the arms of ugly people. Wand in hand or under the sheets, it is not forbidden to call him maestro. A long affair with an aristocrat punctuates these journeys through Europe. Naples, Prague, Bologna, Padua, Munich, talent travels. The Gabrielli -that voice- will be the perfect diva. The crowded theaters applaud him. The nobility of time is at home there. The show is not only on stage. In the dressing rooms, there are beautiful things going on. We draw the curtain and different vocalizations rise. We witness a ballet of crowned heads, jealous husbands, patrons and courtesans. The auditions follow one another. Romanticism begins to gain ground. The reconstruction flows naturally. The era is here, alive. The flashbacks shed new light on the itinerary of this gifted man.
The very young Mozart admired him (we see him during a vibrant sequence where the kid at the harpsichord amazes his mentor). King Ferdinand I does not hesitate to defecate in a pot in front of the amazed, barely humiliated hero. At the end, Josef wears a carnival mask. It’s not for going incognito to libertine parties à la Eyes Wide Shut: his face is devoured to the bone by syphilis.
The film has breath, ambition, plus a certain modesty. He avoids outpourings of lyricism, which is a challenge given the subject. No more shrugging your shoulders while listening to Il Bellerofonte or Demetrio. Thirty operas, eighty-five symphonies, the repertoire is vast. Il Boemo is a success. It will delight amateurs, will delight moviegoers. The actor (Vojtek Dyk) is a tall, soft blonde, lookalike of Ryan O’Neal in Barry Lyndon (Kubrick is asked to leave these lines as soon as possible). Of course, critics, always lazy, compared it to Amadeus, a drumming model of the genre. At least there’s not the insufferable Tom Hulce in there. The real star here is the music.
