The Unbearable Lightness of Being

I wanted to watch this film because of the title--it has the same draw for me that Flannery O'Connor's "Everything That Rises Must Converge" had.



That said, the film raises many intriguing themes: the meaning of and possibility of freedom (both sexually and politically with communism), the agrarian life (commitment to place and people and even to the dog), the role of women in relating to the concrete/particular (even Sabina, through her art, constantly attempts to connect to the particular, even though her connection is often incomplete, as she is a "leaver" [we have hope, though, that in the end she settles]), the possibility of tragedy and how people ought to respond to it (through Tomas's Oedipal theory of communism--they ought to poke out their eyes when they realize the evil they've done unknowingly), and the nature of love (whether or not it involves possessing).



There is something in addition to the beauty of the language in the title--that living lightly, un-tied down by place, politics, relationships can't actually be born. Tereza wishes that she could be as strong as Tomas, who seems like he can make love without being in love, but we see that this is impossible for her as a woman, and even for him--for he admits that he is jealous of her. And in the end, in their escape to a farming community where they can drink beer, eat, sleep and dance, there is no possibility for Tomas to womanize. He does commit--he commits to Tereza, he commits to Prague (through her), he commits to his principles and doesn't bow to communist demands. And it is through this commitment that he can enjoy the love of his wife and they can together participate in the unbearable lightness of being (which, we are given to understand, continues after their death). It is an almost Enoch-esque conclusion in which they walk with God and they are not--so great is their joy in their love for one another.