While it is tempting to view it as a singular chronological entity (particularly since we are predisposed to preferring the orderly structure it contains), cinema is nothing more than a series of movements, occurring concurrently and often in slightly different ways when it comes to themes and overall artistic innovation. Breaking it up into smaller segments that exist as part of a larger whole does make it a lot easier to navigate the decades, particularly in terms of how we perceive the underlying subject matter and the methods to bring specific stories to life on screen. One of my favourite film movements is the Czech New Wave, which is widely considered one of the most influential, primarily because it was under this system that we saw some of the most impressive, daring works produced, many generation-defining filmmakers taking advantage of the fraught socio-cultural and political situation across Eastern Europe in order to reflect the absurdity and chaos of their day-to-day lives, exacerbated by the events now collectively referred to as the Prague Spring. This very important historical moment helps us understand the atmosphere at the time. One of the formative figures in this movement was Jaromil Jireš, who directed several very important works, primary among them being Valerie and Her Week of Wonders (Czech: Valerie a týden divů), an adaptation of the novel of the same title by Vítězslav Nezval, which follows the exploits of the titular character, a precocious young girl living in a mystical rural village, and who is consistently terrorised by various forces, in particular a sinister figure that clearly has ulterior motives when it comes to their interactions. A fascinating work that highlights the director’s skill (and coming just a year after his adaptation of Milan Kundera’s The Joke, it is clear that Jireš had a firm command over intimidating works of Czechoslovak literature) as well as representing everything that this particular cinematic movement set out to achieve, Valerie and Her Week of Wonders is an astonishing work, a defining moment in not only the growing cinematic culture of Eastern Europe, but of the entire medium as a whole.

From the start, we are quite clearly told that what is to follow in the ensuing 77 minutes is not going to follow any traditional plot structure, nor will it feature themes that are particularly resonant, at least not on the surface. Instead, it is implied that all logic should be left behind as we step into this unconventional version of reality, the director gently guiding us through a world defined by its ambiguities. The exact subject matter – or at least what it represents – is not made obvious, and while we may be tempted to imagine that there is a lot of context missing, which can only be remedied by having an in-depth understanding of the era depicted. This is certainly not the case, since the director was working from a text that was already extremely challenging, and which was not written with any particular historical context in mind, especially since it was published in the mid-1930s, long before the events we would expect this to be reflecting on occurred. Instead, its a complex exploration of some broader themes, ranging from femininity and the role of women in Eastern Europe during the 20th century (the fact that the film seems to take place in an indeterminate period only makes pinpointing it to a particular era even more challenging) to religious conflict, existential strife and the unbearable weight of societal expectations, all of which are resonant in their own way. Jireš leans quite heavily into the themes of maturing, and the closest Valerie and Her Week of Wonders comes to adhering to a particular genre is through its flirtations with the coming-of-age narrative approach, something that is very much definitive of this story and the primary reason it feels so incredibly captivating, even at its most challenging. Ultimately, trying to make sense of this film is a fool’s errand, since there are aspects of it that are not particularly easy to unpack, at least not in the traditional sense – we are led through this labyrinth of unsettling ideas, watching this fable unfold in a manner most unconventional, scrambling desperately to glean some meaning from its many unconventional, unnerving layers while also realising that there isn’t any deeper message, and that thisis a purely daring work of fiction, and one that is not designed to make any sense, being less about the destination and far more about the unhinged journey we take to reach that peculiar but nonetheless captivating point.

Valerie and Her Week of Wonders is perhaps most appropriately described as a film that exists in that narrow, ambiguous space in between a dreamlike utopia and a nightmarish hellscape, making it a truly unorthodox work in both structure and execution. Like many of his contemporaries that set the foundation for the Czech New Wave, Jireš was driven by a complete incredulity towards logic, and while some may have allowed this to manifest exclusively in the tone (such as in the works of the likes of Miloš Forman and Jiří Menzel, two other very formative names in the movement), he was just as motivated by the aesthetic of absurdity. This emerges through a series of deeply surreal images in which the madness of the world as written by Nezval comes into focus. Some have acknowledged that the most suitable categorisation for this film would be as a deeply perverted fairytale, one in which the visuals and tone are still very much what we would expect, but where everything is slightly off-centre, nothing functioning in quite the way we would expect. In order to create this image of a world suspended in time, the director employs a few very common techniques – Valerie and Her Week of Wonders is filled to the brim with uncanny imagery, where all the characters look and act slightly differently to what we would consider normal, so that they exude a sense of familiarity, but only enough for us to recognise what they represent without being able to form a particular connection with them. The production design (which emphasised the existing beauty of the small Czech town in which the film was filmed) and costuming is impeccable, featuring simple but evocative aesthetic decisions that situate us in this very peculiar time and place, where the vague nature of the narrative is perfectly reflected in the construction of the film. Jireš was an incredibly gifted filmmaker, but his approach is certainly not going to appeal to everyone, who will nonetheless be equally repulsed and enticed by the promise of a dark, insidious exploration of themes such as desire, femininity and identity, all of which are vital to the foundation of this film and the primary reason it feels like such an immense achievement.

However, despite all of our attempts to assert deeper meaning onto the film, it becomes clear that Valerie and Her Week of Wonders is a film that does not strive to be intentionally confusing, and once we set aside our expectations and look at the film for what it is, we can see the true ideas emerging quite clearly and without any ambiguity. To see this, we have to focus on the characterisation, which is where the film is at its most profoundly compelling. There’s something very beguiling about this narrative, which has been mostly discussed through the lens of being a story about a young girl navigating that awkward space between adolescence and adulthood – it is a more symbolic work, since while a lot of the story centres on desire (which can be quite uncomfortable, considering both the character and the actor portraying her was only thirteen at the time in which the film was made), it is not about the process of deflowering someone in the carnal, sexual sense, but rather the challenges that come when being forced into a world where certain people are objectified, being viewed as nothing but prey by those who believe that it is their right to take advantage of anyone who satiates their cravings, whether this is visceral or more philosophical. Credit has to to go the actors, with Jaroslava Schallerováin particular being absolutely spellbinding as the titular character. Valerie is a complex protagonist, a young woman trying to make sense of a world which has only just started to reveal its ugliest and most daunting features to her, forcing her to realise that her sheltered, protected life is only temporary, particularly as she approaches adulthood. Conversely, we find that both Helena Anýžová and Jiří Prýmek are very effective villains, playing her oddly youthful grandmother (the decision to cast someone far too young for the role does become clear as the story progresses) and the mysterious, shape-shifting entity that terrorises the protagonist respectively. Everyone other than the protagonist in Valerie and Her Week of Wonders is designed to be grotesque and unsettling in their own way, both in terms of their design (sallow, pale skin and ill-fitting, disturbing costuming) and their personality traits, both of which contribute to the uncanny nature of the narrative and the gradual, methodical deconstruction of its core ideas, which unfurl exceptionally well.

Valerie and Her Week of Wonders is a film in which the more we try to understand, the less we actually come to know, since the effort it takes to interpret these strange and nightmarish images is far more than simply allowing the director to take us on this existential journey into a chaotic, warped version of reality, which was the entire purpose of this film. Some may describe this as less of a film and more an experiment in seeing how far the audience is willing to be pushed before it loses its collective grasp on sanity, which is certainly not a difficult concept to understand when we peer beneath the surface and attempt to understand the director’s very bold but profoundly inexplicable approach to this narrative. There isn’t much to be said about logic in terms of this film, which exists outside of recognisable time and space, being a blend of poetic coming-of-age drama, dreamy, demented fairytale and existential horror, all of which come together to form the foundation for this unnerving, complex examination of the human condition, as seen through the eyes of a writer and a director who were separated by a couple of generations, but whose own curiosities do play a significant role in the development of this film and its core ideas, being as unquestionably challenging as it is beautifully hypnotic. Valerie and Her Week of Wonders is usually cited alongside Forman’s The Loves of a Blonde and Věra Chytilová’s Daisies as the defining landmarks of the Czech New Wave, and while it is just as challenging, there is something even more compelling about this film and its specific approach to exploring certain themes that make us truly appreciate it, attempting to unpack its countless mysteries, but not being at all disappointed when we realise that there isn’t actually all that much that needs to be explained in a film where the focus is less on the narrative and more on the experience.