Grand Appetite:
Daisies as Moral Failure and Feminist Celebration
Many critics champion Věra Chytilová’s Daisies as a triumph for Czech film. This revolutionary work of New Wave cinema challenged its socialist leaders to the point of censorship and captivated audiences with its biting satire and inventive form. Scholars across the world continue to mark Daisies as the pinnacle of feminist filmmaking, an articulate voice that critiques patriarchy at large while redefining womanhood. Ironically, Chytilová’s original vision for the film defies most interpretations. In her own words, she described the film’s protagonists Marie 1 and Marie 2 as “Parasites. Not only in relation to others, but also, and this is fundamental, in relation to themselves…We [the filmmakers] would like to unveil the futility of life in the erroneous circle of pseudo-relations and pseudo-values, which necessarily leads to the emptiness of vital forms, in the pose either of corruption, or of happiness” (Lim 41). Chytilová claims that Marie 1 and 2 represent futility and pseudo-relations, yet this intent is perhaps lost in a film with a plot and form as full and colorful as Daisies. Perhaps the Czech director meant to represent futility with excess and superficiality, yet there still remains the question of audience response. In The Czechoslovak New Wave, Peter Hames claims that contemporary Western screenings of Daisies “are often accompanied by exclusively feminine laughter,” while “male viewers frequently feel an antipathy toward the film’s ‘heroines’” (Hames 222). From Hames’ example and countless others, there remains a powerful feminist undercurrent to Daisies that seems unintended, if not opposed to Chytilová’s original intent. I argue that the destruction of the bourgeoisie and the intended condemnation of Marie 1 and 2 contributed to Daisies’ development from a film critiquing societal superficiality to one celebrating destructive femininity. My argument draws from my own critical evaluation of the film, as well as “Dolls in Fragments” by Bliss Cua Lim and “‘So We Will Go Bad’”: Cheekiness, Laughter, Film” by Anca Parvulescu.
In one of Daisies' most notorious scenes, the film’s two troublemakers claw, trample, and dance their way over a banquet table presumably set for the Czech socialist elite. Critics frequently cite this scene as reason for Daisies’ censorship and delay, yet I believe this sequence reveals exactly how the film gained its cult following. Various members of the Czech National Assembly attacked “Daisies’ depiction of food orgies at a time when our farmers with great difficulties are trying to overcome the problems of our agricultural production” (Lim 43). Though Czech farmers were facing difficulties, Daisies’ could not have been more of a relief to people suspicious of socialist bureaucracies and in the midst of agricultural problems. At the most basic level, a hungry audience is going to identify with hungry characters, especially ones like Marie II (Ivana Karbanová), who plainly states “I have a grand appetite. I love eating. It’s very good.” In addition, the female role is often one that embodies resilience and rebellion in Soviet cinema, as evidenced by the lead women in films such as Cranes Are Flying and Little Vera. In Daisies, the rebellious destruction perpetrated by its women goes beyond symbolism and carries to the film’s form. Chytilová herself asserted that “the form of the film was really derived from the conceptual basis of the film. Because the concept of the film was destruction, the form became destructive as well” (Lim 39). Indeed, as the women cut sausages, handkerchiefs, and other symbols of masculinity throughout the film, they too are cut up in a series of surreal collages. Lim posits that the vividness of Daisies’ destruction drew praise from feminist critics mostly because “the film’s use of cutting, collage, and bodily fragmentation are consistent with a feminist allegory intent on interrupting the seamlessness of gender fictions.” The visceral nature of these feminist allegories both resonated with female audiences and surprised them. In “So We Will Go Bad,” Parvulescu tracks Daisies reputation as a feminist masterpiece by exploring the role of laughter both on and off the screen. She points out that the absurd destruction against both bourgeoisie and masculine symbols “came like a burst of laughter, and Chytilová was not the only one to be taken by surprise”. (Parvulescu 163). Little did Chytilová know that Daisies’ cult following would transform a condemnation of feminine pseudo-values into a feminist subversion of patriarchal norms.
Czech censorship is partly responsible for Daisies’ widespread success. In fact, Lim claims that “the constraints of state-supervised film production in the Czech New Wave of the 1960s” caused Chytilová to compose a “‘properly revolutionary critique of the insipid bourgeois existence of the fashion model, a theme that she had pursued in a prior film.” (Lim 38) That is, since Chytilová was unable to create a straightforward narrative deconstructing masculinity, she instead chose to attempt a condemnation of frugal femininity. However, facing an audience primed to despise its state-sanctioned bourgeois oppressors, her film was accepted as both a satire of and celebration of Czech feminism. Through the evidence given, I have argued that through a vivid representation of destruction and an honest portrayal of human needs, Chytilová’s greatest failure was Czech cinema’s finest film.
In one of Daisies' most notorious scenes, the film’s two troublemakers claw, trample, and dance their way over a banquet table presumably set for the Czech socialist elite. Critics frequently cite this scene as reason for Daisies’ censorship and delay, yet I believe this sequence reveals exactly how the film gained its cult following. Various members of the Czech National Assembly attacked “Daisies’ depiction of food orgies at a time when our farmers with great difficulties are trying to overcome the problems of our agricultural production” (Lim 43). Though Czech farmers were facing difficulties, Daisies’ could not have been more of a relief to people suspicious of socialist bureaucracies and in the midst of agricultural problems. At the most basic level, a hungry audience is going to identify with hungry characters, especially ones like Marie II (Ivana Karbanová), who plainly states “I have a grand appetite. I love eating. It’s very good.” In addition, the female role is often one that embodies resilience and rebellion in Soviet cinema, as evidenced by the lead women in films such as Cranes Are Flying and Little Vera. In Daisies, the rebellious destruction perpetrated by its women goes beyond symbolism and carries to the film’s form. Chytilová herself asserted that “the form of the film was really derived from the conceptual basis of the film. Because the concept of the film was destruction, the form became destructive as well” (Lim 39). Indeed, as the women cut sausages, handkerchiefs, and other symbols of masculinity throughout the film, they too are cut up in a series of surreal collages. Lim posits that the vividness of Daisies’ destruction drew praise from feminist critics mostly because “the film’s use of cutting, collage, and bodily fragmentation are consistent with a feminist allegory intent on interrupting the seamlessness of gender fictions.” The visceral nature of these feminist allegories both resonated with female audiences and surprised them. In “So We Will Go Bad,” Parvulescu tracks Daisies reputation as a feminist masterpiece by exploring the role of laughter both on and off the screen. She points out that the absurd destruction against both bourgeoisie and masculine symbols “came like a burst of laughter, and Chytilová was not the only one to be taken by surprise”. (Parvulescu 163). Little did Chytilová know that Daisies’ cult following would transform a condemnation of feminine pseudo-values into a feminist subversion of patriarchal norms.
Czech censorship is partly responsible for Daisies’ widespread success. In fact, Lim claims that “the constraints of state-supervised film production in the Czech New Wave of the 1960s” caused Chytilová to compose a “‘properly revolutionary critique of the insipid bourgeois existence of the fashion model, a theme that she had pursued in a prior film.” (Lim 38) That is, since Chytilová was unable to create a straightforward narrative deconstructing masculinity, she instead chose to attempt a condemnation of frugal femininity. However, facing an audience primed to despise its state-sanctioned bourgeois oppressors, her film was accepted as both a satire of and celebration of Czech feminism. Through the evidence given, I have argued that through a vivid representation of destruction and an honest portrayal of human needs, Chytilová’s greatest failure was Czech cinema’s finest film.