The White Dove, by Frantisek Vlacil is a film that deserves to be remembered in spite of its occasional sloppiness. It is about a young boy (Karel Smyczek) and his quest for his freedom and his identity. Here we have a triumph of images rather than of acting or story. The visual metaphors are blunt, but they are beautiful, so who cares? We have a head made of clay that has its face ripped off (the loss of one's identity), we have fingerprints that grow into flowers (the delicacy of identity), we have our main character climbing to the top of the fence surrounding his school, escaping his vicious classmates (the struggle for freedom). The Four Hundred Blows may be wonderful, but its many plot device characters take away the film's riveting effect after many viewings; The White Dove's purely emotional rapture takes the long road around conventional plot clichés and finds a place in a quiet little corner of our hearts.
Review of The White Dove
