…And the Fifth Horseman is Fear (1964) A brutal portrait of fear under an occupying regime (Review)

Fear pries at the beautifully illustrated characters within this Zbyněk Brynych feature. …And the Fifth Horseman is Fear contemplates the agony and unilateral terror present in Nazi-occupied Czechoslovakia. There is no respite for the glum halls, the dark and brooding cinematography makes sure of that. This 1960s Brynych piece contemplates the impact of the ravaged countries that sick men forced their control over. It is over the course of …And the Fifth Horseman is Fear’s running time that audiences are brought into the brisk and horrid reality that so many suffered through. Instigating the abject misery that surrounds these characters is the aim of Brynych, and he fulfils the misery at the heart of occupied Czechoslovakia.  

…And the Fifth Horseman is Fear is that perfect blend of artistry colliding directly with agonising brutality. Brynych (and the subsequent transfer provided by Second Run) showcase the integral themes of his direction. His cluttered scenes, the faraway shots that focus on little blips off in the distance. They could be well-to-do citizens keeping their heads down, they could be members of the resistance, fighting for the country that they love and the freedom it once held. Either way, Brynych does well to conflate the two in clustered sets. Walls lined with musical instruments, books that are backed up in shelves behind the black-clad leading character. He clambers high to the top of a wall of clocks, walks his way through rooms full of pianos, and it is the realisation of what these rooms are filled with that is so destructive to witness. These moments are unconventional and disturbing, yet the necessity of these scenes makes them remarkable. 

To take just one meaning from Miroslav Macháček’s performance here as a doctor aiding the resistance, it is that the unity of his work is a driving force for the resistance. Unity and collectives are frequently featured here. Brynych is keen to show walls adorned with perverse symmetry. Keys of all shapes and sizes, but the collective is present. Papers line the walls behind Braun (Macháček). It is not the focus of his work, but the implication of what it means. The penny drops. Audiences who are keen to click onto this will be horrified, but Brynych shows it as just another part of the experience. A devastating one, nonetheless, but one that must be accepted as part of the period Brynych brings to life.  

Brynych does well to bring beauty out of this horror, and Second Run do well to polish his vision. Another marvellous transfer from the team at Second Run, whose work here brings a crisp quality to the delicate subjects within. Clean and sleek, …And the Fifth Horseman is Fear has all the technical merits salvaged. From its keen use of shadows and the camera angles that look up to Braun. We should idolise him, perhaps, but the camera looks down upon him too. What broad inferences can be made can be better understood with the extras included in this release, which include a marvellous documentary, Žalm, from filmmaker Evald Schorm. An excellent essay booklet from Jonathan Owen and Dominik Graf bring life to the theories and thoughts Brynych wishes to convey. 

But his conveyance lingers in that deep, understood notion of terror. It is the gut-punch of media that wishes to strike deep at the horror of the Nazi occupation. When audiences see the destruction and the distress so many were set to endure, the inevitable hounds of emotion rear their ugly heads. Brynych presents it well, and brutally so. His characters are miserable, and while they are draped in the throes of terror, the city and spectacle around them are beautiful. Their circumstances are torturous, and the binary opposite of that is a backdrop that holds within its beauty the rumblings of a bold and noble rebellion.  

THANKS FOR READING EWAN’S REVIEW OF … AND THE FIFTH HORSEMAN IS FEAR

Wash with new soap behind the collar and have yourself some sugary tea, it’s time for the latest Pop Screen Patreon exclusive. This month we’re looking back at Starshaped, simultaneously a fly-on-the-wall documentary about the early years of Blur and the bleakest chronicle of alcoholism since Long Day’s Journey Into Night. Reportedly drummer Dave Rowntree still finds this film unwatchable; Graham and Ewan are a little more generous. That said, the film’s main asset is the one director  Matthew Longfellow barely seems to notice: it depicts the band on the verge of releasing Modern Life is Rubbish, an album which saved them from one-hit wonder status and set the agenda for the next decade of British rock music.

PATREON POP SCREEN

For More Moves and Pop Music Chat, check out our Podcast, POP SCREEN