Everybody knows about the French New Wave, but not so many are clued in to the simultaneous explosion of brilliant filmmaking that took place in what was then Communist Czechoslovakia. Something of a thaw occurred after the hard-line Stalinism of the 50s: censorship restrictions were loosened, Western influences seeped in (many recall listening to faint rock-and-roll transmissions on tinny radios), and the result was a cultural revolution strong enough that the Soviet loyalists in the Czechoslovak government felt compelled to call in the Russian tanks in August of 1969. If you talk to enough Czech film enthusiasts, you’ll hear the phrase “Czech film miracle” bandied about—I implore you, for once, to believe the hype. Obviously one should check out the films, but part of what makes these works so striking, especially for obsessive music fans, are the soundtracks. Czech and Slovak composers were at the top of their game, right alongside maverick directors like Vera Chytilova (whose Daisies is one of my absolute favorite films), Jaromil Jires, Evald Schorm, and Jan Svankmajer.

Loves of a Blonde (Lasky jedne plavovlasky)
Directed by Milos Forman. Music by Evzen Illín.

Americans know Forman better as the émigré director of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, Amadeus, and The Truman Show, but the trio of features he made in Czechoslovakia before departing for the States are truly remarkable. Loves of a Blonde is preceded by Black Peter (Cerny Petr) and followed by The Fireman’s Ball (Hori, ma panenko). All three manage that rare feat of being humorous and human, both stinging social satires and tender character studies. This quick rock ditty is literally the beginning of the film: an ample female sits against a blank wall with her guitar, accompanied by invisible off-screen backup singers. The style comes from one of Forman’s early experiments called Audition, in which he filmed hundreds of aspiring Czech rock stars (Czechoslovak Idol, anyone?) then grafted a story onto the performance footage. Americans will no doubt recognize the typical early rock-and-roll songwriting, but it’s sung in Czech and with such a charming, deadpan seriousness that it’s almost impossible to dislike.

Valerie and Her Week of Wonders (Valerie a tyden divu)
Directed by Jaromil Jires. Music by Lubos Fiser.

Yes, this is the film that inspired Broadcast’s “Valerie” (off 2003’s Haha Sound). A beautifully photographed erotic fairy tale about an innocent young girl’s coming of age, set in a small country village populated by vampires and angels; it’s easy to see what the retro-psychedelic obsessed Brits found to adore (she even looks like Trish!) Jires based this film on Czech Surrealist Vitezslav Nezval’s 1934 novel of the same name—though the material obviously made uptight censors queasy, Nezval was a staunch Communist, and adaptations of fairy tales, especially those written by Party members, were one route to creative freedom after the clampdown that began in 1970. The music is an inspired mélange of dreamy choirs, ominous pianos, spirited flutes, and folky strings, masterfully aligned with the various themes and characters of the film.

Bubenik Cerveneho kriza
Directed by Juraj Jakubisko. Music by Fedor Liska.

A lack of documentation and translation plagues English-speaking fans of Czech and Slovak films; this short, apparently created by Slovak director Jakubisko for the Czech Red Cross in 1977 to raise awareness about orphans (that’s the subject of the film, anyway) has precious little info available aside from difficult-to-read titles. Those titles list one Fedor Liska as composer, a name I’ve never heard, though Zdenek Liska is a prominent Czech film composer whose work can be found on dozens of titles. Anyway, the music is at turns ebullient and terrifying, as the film jumps from documentary-style war footage depicting a child losing his parents to amped-up 70s after-school special montages of orphanage life, which are punctuated by nightmares that slide into fantasy reunion sequences with idealized parents. It’s a breathtaking short, certainly sentimental but genuinely moving, and photographed with a psychedelic array of colored filters and smart, tight editing.