There are many qualities associated with the fall of the Soviet Union that tend to be fascinating, that extend beyond the historical context and instead focus on other qualities not normally discussed when looking at this era. For decades, the art produced by the Soviet Union and its closest allies was mainly hidden from Western audiences, as part of the Cold War that attempted to suppress any kind of interaction between the two superpowers. However, since the fall of the regime and the movement towards what we can only hope is long-lasting peace between the Western world and the now-dissolved Soviet nations, we have seen more cultural contact between them, which includes more access to a lot of the excellent art they were producing at the time. Czechoslovakia has always occupied a fascinating position in this period, since it was never officially a member of the Soviet Union, but rather a close ally and satellite state, mainly due to the proximity to many of the other countries that made up the union, and because it was ruled by a communist regime at the same time, and therefore had some fascinating similarities. This preamble is necessary to situate us squarely at the heart of a conversation on The Girl on the Broomstick (Czech: ), a wonderfully eccentric and deeply captivating comedy produced in Czechoslovakia during this contentious period, and while it is as far from political at we can get in terms of its themes and underlying conversations, the film is still very much a product of its time, specifically in the underlying cues that make it such an enigmatic and compelling work. Quite simply, the film follows the character of Saxana, who resides within an alternate world governed by magic, but where she proves herself to be hopelessly inept at far as witchcraft goes – and to evade a three-century long detention, she decides to escape to the human world, where she is plunged into the lives of a down-on-his-luck teenager who was in desperate need of a new companion, which makes their pairing all the more serendipitous. Written and directed by Václav Vorlíček (whose masterpiece Who Wants to Kill Jessie? is one of the greatest works of science fiction ever made), The Girl on the Broomstick is a wholehearted delight, and a film that is as entertaining as it is deeply insightful, both of which prove to be the foundation for an unexpectedly brilliant comedy.

We tend to look at any work of art produced during a period of war or conflict as being inherently political – and while there is an argument that all art is in some way steeped in the culture of political discourse (even when it is not the driving factor behind its creation), it does feel somewhat convenient to just label any Soviet-era film as being either in favour of the communist regime, or actively fighting against it, a binary view that is easily disproven when we start to look beyond the most obvious titles and instead focus on the gems embedded deep within the culture. The Girl on the Broomstick is certainly a much more complex film than it seems on the surface, at least in terms of the thematic content, but this doesn’t necessarily correlate to it being either in favour of the regime or against it. Instead, it acts as a fascinating departure from logic altogether, and flourishes into an off-the-wall account of the trials and tribulations of a magical being who finds herself trapped in another world entirely, and forced to reconcile her own confusion with the need to accomplish a very important mission. This film is far from the first instance of the culture shock comedy, in which a protagonist is accidentally plunged into an entirely different environment and forced to use a combination of resourcefulness and luck to make their way out, but it is one of the most purely entertaining, solely because of how it presents its ideas. For anyone fascinated by social structure or how a culture functions, these mid-level comedies, targeted towards the locals rather than international audiences, prove to be exceptional resources for a number of reasons. Primarily, we find that there isn’t much need for the film to establish context, and it instead leaps directly into the heart of the narrative, which is an approach that could initially bewilder those not familiar with the cultural nuances, but considering this isn’t an overly complex story (in fact, there are more aspects that could be considered universal than we may imagine), it is easily justifiable here, with Vorlíček making exceptional use of his keen sense of social structure and ability to critique without being too heavy-handed, to weave this thrilling story that offers invaluable insights into the day-to-day routine of ordinary people and their rich, evocative histories that form the basis for the story.

Unsurprisingly, Vorlíček enlists quite an expansive cast to bring The Girl on the Broomstick – as one of the country’s most intriguing directors, he had a knack for creating ensembles that felt genuinely compelling and fit the specific roles well, oscillating between the broad archetypes and more intricately-woven character-based details, both of which are essential to this film and one of the many reasons it feels like such a major achievement. The titular character of Saxana is played by Petra Černocká, a veteran entertainer who was still relatively new to the craft at the time, but fits perfectly into the part, capturing the blend of enigmatic mystique and off-the-wall quirkiness needed for the character, and single-handedly creating quite a memorable protagonist that feels so much more nuanced than we would have initially expected based on a cursory glance. The entire film is an opportunity for the director to showcase an actor with whom he is clearly smitten, with the camera lingering on every expression and movement as if she were the most beguiling performer in history – and based on the work she does, it’s difficult not to be entirely enchanted by her performance. The supporting cast is just as good, even if they primarily exist to buttress Černocká and her wonderful performance – Vladimír Menšík is the long-suffering janitor sent to keep an eye on Saxana and ensure that she doesn’t get into any precarious situations, while Jana Drbohlavová is the offbeat schoolteacher who is the first victim of the protagonist’s bizarre handling of her powers, leading to a recurring joke that never once becomes stale, despite its simplicity. There’s even a wonderful performance by Jan Hrušínský (son of the famed Rudolf Hrušínský, arguably the greatest actor in the history of Czech art) that acts as the catalyst for most of the film’s events. It’s a fantastic cast that works well together, and much like the director, they’re united under a very simple premise that proves to be so much more engaging and captivating as a result of their wonderful work, which feels like they are entirely committed to the wacky premise and willing to take many leaps of logic, knowing that the final product will be nothing other than completely worthwhile as a result of their dedication to a bizarre but entertaining premise.

Most of the elements that anchor The Girl on the Broomstick have to do with the film’s willingness to challenge conventions while also not deviating too far from its central intentions, which were to be an accessible, charming comedy that could be entertaining to a vast portion of the audience, being as enthralling to younger viewers as it is to those who are much older. Considering this is a story essentially about witchcraft and magic, there was a slight hesitation in trying to figure out exactly what was being intended here, especially in a country often defined by its religious past. However, from the first moments – in which the opening credits are presented through a series of vivid drawings and accompanied by one of the most compelling earworms of the decade – it becomes quite clear that this was not a work that was supposed to be taken seriously at all. Instead, it was aiming to be as wildly inventive and innovative as possible – and it ultimately does achieve something quite special, which is essentially pushing the boundaries of a medium that was not yet fully receptive to some of these ideas, but which the director nonetheless establishes as being the cornerstone of his vision. In much the same way as it is attempting to be apolitical, the film suspends all logic and instead invites us to pay a visit to this more eccentric version of reality, one in which no harm seems to come to anyone, other than a few scratches and bruises, and where the laws of rational thought at not only suspended, but entirely dismantled in favour of something more eccentric and upbeat. Tonally, the film is an absolute delight – it is enshrouded in the most upbeat, hilarious and irreverent tone imaginable, and actually manages to be outrageously funny, utilizing a well-curated blend of slapstick humour and witty wordplay, allowing Vorlíček to get as many viewers onboard as possible, which is usually done through making them laugh – and there are certainly no shortage of outrageously funny moments throughout this film. The simplicity is always going to be the primary point of attraction for a film like The Girl on the Broomstick, which proves to be an absolute delight from the start, as well as one that is superbly well-crafted, with a colourful aesthetic and various choices that prove the incredible mettle of the director.

As I have often said, the best way to tell the story of a culture at a particular point in history is to seek out the comedies made during that period – there is a lot to be said about what makes a population laugh that reflects much more than any more traditional text or composition would, particularly since they tend to be produced not for outsiders, but rather for the consumption by the cultural group themselves. If we are lucky, the works are accessible enough for even those without an ounce of contextual knowledge to be entertained, and The Girl on the Broomstick achieves this brilliantly, being simultaneously insightful and hilarious, and extremely endearing to a much broader audience than we would expect. There is something so wonderfully playful about this film – it doesn’t take itself seriously, but it still leaves some space for some deeper readings, and while it is far from essential, looking at some of the themes of this film and contrasting them with real-world context (particularly in the idea of a “divided” pair of worlds where one chooses to take refuge in the one built on conformity rather than bespoke qualities, which are subtly implied to be quite stifling), we find a lot of fascinating commentary that feels genuinely earnest and captivating, a rare departure from a lot of what we would usually expect from such a simple premise. Featuring some wonderful performances, a strong sense of humour and enough compelling ideas that we wish it ran longer than its brief 78 minutes (and the brisk pace means it feels even shorter, since we are not bored for even a moment), which is always the sign of a truly great film.  Vorlíček is not well-known outside of his native country, but he directed some of the most important and innovative films in Czechoslovak history, so there is always an opportunity to praise his incredible skill and willingness to push the boundaries of his craft. Daring and captivating in equal measure, and truly just a pure bundle of entertainment from the very start, The Girl on the Broomstick is an absolute triumph, and one of the great films of the 1970s, an era where the entire genre was undergoing some significant changes, and which was only assisted by the bespoke vision of this film and its plethora of charming elements.