The Unbearable Lightness of Being

After the turgid excesses of considering the unbearable muck of Tinto Brass, let’s be sex-positive with a rave review for the super-sexy The Unbearable Lightness of Being, a film and novel in the spotlight today due to the death of the esteemed Czech author Milan Kundera. Kundera preferred to be known as French, having moved to France as part of his exile from the Communist regime in the mid 70’s; his books were banned in his homeland, although Jaromil Jires’ film of The Joke was released back in 1969, before being withdrawn for two decades.

Kundera’s deeply personal novel about the erotic exploits of a Czech brain surgeon and his struggle for spiritual freedom in and out of Prague was skilfully adapted to the screen by Bunuel’s regular collaborator Jean-Claude Carriere and writer/director Phillip Kaufman. In a career littered with striking performances, Daniel Day-Lewis brings his trademark intensity to bear on the role of good doctor Thomas, with Lena Olin and Juliette Binoche amongst his partners.

The idea of sexual expression as a political force against repressive government was and still is an unusual theme, and Kaufman explores it in detail, comfortable with rampaging tanks and skinny-dipping foreplay alike. 171 minutes is a long time for a simple drama about one man’s romances, but the scope of Tomas’ s life inside and outside Communist rule justifies the elaborate, yet always personal detail. Kundera lived long enough to see the bodies of his enemies float by in the river, then see their tyrannical cause resurrected under the guise of market capitalism.

For Tomas to be such a womaniser may be problematic for some readers and viewers today, but that’s firmly at the beating heart of the book; Kundera was an advisor on the film, but disassociated himself from the film after release. He was probably right to say that the film is different in many ways from the book, but if you’re looking for an accessible route into Kundera’s work, The Unbearable Lightness of Being is one of the great narratives about life, fate, poetry and fatality, with a stunning, ingenious ending. So let’s say our goodbyes and put Kundera to rest with a poem he contributed on the set of the film, a lullaby that Tomas delivers that reflects that even for a brilliant brain surgeon, there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in our philosophy… You can sleep. Sleep in my arms. Like a baby bird. Like a broom among brooms… in a broom closet. Like a tiny parrot. Like a whistle. Like a little song. A song sung by a forest… within a forest… a thousand years ago.