Ecstasy

Ecstasy Famous for introducing the world to Hedy Lamarr and full frontal nudity, but it’s oh so much more. In fact, this is one of the pinnacles of cinematic poetry, up there with some of the seminal works of 1930s art cinema, in the same prestigious group as Under the Roofs of Paris, Tabu, Olympia, and even L’Atalante. It’s nearly a silent, relying mostly on its miraculous images, and also its fantastic, symphonic score by Giuseppe Becce. It’s a masterpiece of cinematography and music, yes, and also of editing, direction, writing, and acting. A good 90% of the film moves along perfectly. Machatý seems an expert at using motifs. Perhaps not as subtle as it could be, and perhaps a bit overused, but the appearances of objects like insects, lights, and horses carry the story forward beautifully. The small snatches of dialogue are, thankfully, unintrusive. They don’t jar as much as one would imagine. The final bit is odd, to say the least. Reminiscent of Russian silents, we have a montage of workers. This barely makes sense in the course of the narrative, but it’s so gorgeously done that I refuse to harp too much on that flaw. Ecstasy is a film that is desperately in need of rediscovery. It belongs amongst the best films ever made.