Tiny Lights

A subject for a short stretched out to a brief feature-length film (so far, so good) that is appealing primarily because of its cinematography and the great performance of the main child actress. She is the centrepiece of the film, which focuses on the child over the course of a single day, when all of the adults are dealing with a crisis situation and mostly ignore the girl or see her as a burden. Fortunately, this is something different from the promotional slogan promising to show the situation from a child’s perspective – that’s not what actually happens here (which isn’t a bad thing; again: so far, so good). Viewer’s see the girl’s reactions, but they do not perceive the situation from her perspective; on the contrary, they project their impressions onto her. After all, the film’s adult perspective reveals the occasional shift away from the child to views of the adults in crucial confrontational moments (which is a different concept than would suggest itself, but again: so far, so good). However, this framework is disrupted by the pseudo-vintage cutaways, which do not in any way lend depth to the work. In the better case, they don’t have any storytelling value; in the worse case, they are too telling, as they reveal the hollowness of the film’s concept and its superficiality. Unfortunately the sum of all of these aspects is neither a fragile look into the child’s soul nor a tenacious art-house film with a strict concept (though Tiny Lights comes close to both of these forms). Rather, it is merely a precisely crafted and nicely intelligent midcult film. On the other hand, if it had been different in any way, it’s perhaps unlikely that Prima would have put any money into it. ____ PS: If one wanted to make a joke, it could be said that Tiny Lights is Son of Saul from the world of children or a live-action Cow and Chicken from the Czech suburbs. However, both comparisons are completely inappropriate, because Tiny Lights doesn’t have such a consistently filled-out concept as the former, and it lacks the wildness and unrestrained creativity of the latter. But due to its true essence, it was never supposed to have any of those attributes. (07/02/2024)

I’m starting to develop a fondness for Beata Parkanov's films. I enjoy her style, and it adds a captivating mix of rawness and poetry to her work.  Tiny Lights has a relatively simple plot, and it’s approached with a slightly artistic touch, which is also emphasized by the ending. I really liked the idea with the camera and the creation of the illusion through a child’s eyes and the visual de-emphasizing of the adult actors. The sound and music are perfect, creating a sensitive atmosphere. The grandparents, played by Martin Finger and Veronika Žilková, are captivating, slightly fairy-tale-like, and at the same time brutally real. Their dialogues were believable and entertaining. The only and quite significant issue I see with this film is its excessive simplicity and the flat feeling it leaves. The plot is heavy, and because of this, it resolves in a way that just fizzles out. The unutilized potential is the only thing that bothers me. Otherwise, I enjoyed the film, and it is definitely an original piece in Czech cinema. (09/07/2024)

(KVIFF 2024) I saw the director's previous work, The Word, two years ago and despite its lukewarm reception, I liked it very much. Tiny Lights captivates – and puts off many people – by the fact it is largely seen and shot from the point of view of little Amálka (or Amoucha). I view this premise positively and I also loved the authentic acting of the young Mia Bankó. The humorous side of the film was mainly taken care of by Veronika Žilková and her sayings; the dramatic line didn't affect me that much. In a few places the film was quite evocative of Behold Homolka. As in The Word, Beata Parkanová played with images and tried to add a lyrical level to the narrative. An unpretentious, acceptably short and intimate film! (07/04/2024)

What can I say. We completely missed the mark with this picture. I couldn't wait for the screen lights to finally go out and the house lights to come on. The narrative emptiness, the affectation and the forcefully repetitive authorial handwriting of Beata Parkanová made the "only" 74 minutes feel incredibly long. I guess one has to feel it. And if one doesn't feel it, one sleeps. [KVIFF 2024] (07/03/2024)