Murdering the Devil
Written and Directed by Ester Krumbachová
Starring Jirina Bohdalová and Vladimír Mensík
Unrated
Runtime: 1 hours, 17 minutes
Streaming exclusively on Metrograph At Home on March 1st

by Allie Lembo, Staff Writer

The worst of men take and take and take. It’s a concept heightened to absolute delight in Murdering the Devil, a whimsical 1970 comedy that made its first ever U.S. theatrical release last Fall at Metrograph. The film was initially suppressed for its social commentary on gender politics and marriage.

This is the sole directorial feature of Ester Krumbachová, known as ‘The Queen of Czech Film Design’ for her illustrious career in the industry. Primarily working in the costume department, she notably did design and script work for Daisies (1966) dir. Věra Chytilová, Valerie and Her Week of Wonders (1970) dir. Jaromil Jireš, among other films at the height of the Czech New Wave. That movement combined dark, absurdist humor with social critique, of which Murdering the Devil belongs. For her film’s then-radical social implications, Krumbachová was blacklisted from ever directing again.

In the film, an unnamed Woman (Jirina Bohdalová), done up in casual ’60s glamour with a bit of a bouffant, blue eyeshadow, and sheer loungewear receives a phone call from an old crush, Mr. Theodore Devil (Vladimír Mensík). She grows giddy, a smile spreading across her age-lined face with the prospect of wooing him, the object of all the ladies’ desire from what she remembers. So handsome was he that she ignores the ominous, scheming quality of his voice, punctuated by what sound like the screams of the damned, and swallows her horror when he admits that all alone, he cannot cook for himself, and survives on raw oat flakes.

Merry with the prospect of marriage at her late age, she prepares him an elaborate dinner, all four burners on the stovetop in use to produce soups, pâtés, marinated vegetables, hard boiled egg salads, steaks, loaves of breads and desserts. It’s the first of many delectable spreads that make this a food movie.

Mr. Devil arrives, noting what he perceives to be a decline in her appearance, and goes to town on the spread with such effective, grating sound design that brings to mind the recent gross-out scene from The Substance (2024) dir. Coralie Fargeat of Dennis Quaid eating shrimp. Ravenous, he digs in, his shirt already unbuttoned, his blazer torn for lack of sewing skills, to her meal, the sounds of his suckling on bones, slurping, and belching slightly turned up. The Woman eyes this glutton sharply, but does not turn him away or attempt to modify his behavior for fear of losing her suitor. Stuffed, he leaves without a thank you or a reimbursement or a single kind thought, citing that the decadent feast was not quite enough.

It is only when she discovers that this man is not satisfied by her cooking, that he has been gnawing on the legs of her furniture to sate his hunger, destroying it that she begins to wonder if he may not be her key to happiness.

With the Woman’s cheeky inner monologue filtered through a mirror right to camera, and set mostly in her apartment, predominantly with just the two characters, the film has the quaint feeling of a stage play. Like with any good play, the energy comes from the push and pull between the duo; of how much she’s willing to put up with, and once she discovers his more devilish ways, how she’ll trick him.

Despite such a small range of sets, the apartment is a wonderful place to spend an hour and change. Krumbachová’s design sensibilities are on full display, with the creation of an apartment that is so very much a reflection of our protagonist, it’s almost a detriment to the storytelling. Her apartment is that gorgeous, why on Earth would she ever want a man in there to mess it up? The kitchen is color-drenched in dusty blue with inlaid shelving, colorful tile patterns, two ovens, her dried herbs and alliums on displays, a cushy chair dragged to the center for comfort; it’s magazine ready. The living room is balanced with warm and cool tones, wooden pieces that look to stand the test of time, floral motifs, and a divinely large plant, which Mr. Devil can’t help but criticize.

“Mr. Devil. A peculiar name. Though I know worse.”

The movie states that yes, he’s the devil, infesting her stunning apartment with bad noises and smells and a sense of entitlement, without lifting a finger to help, but is that so different from any other man? As someone who grew up in American society in the 1990s, I never felt the intense level of pressure to marry a man that I sometimes see onscreen. The Woman’s ability to put up with him, giving the sitcom smiles and head-shaking, may feel dated to some. However, within the same day of seeing the film, I saw a video on TikTok of a young woman who claimed she’d planned a meal for her boyfriend’s birthday on Valentine’s Day, along with giving him personalized handmade gifts, only for him to shrug off the dinner plans and not even say ‘Happy Valentine’s Day’ let alone give her a single flower or chocolate. She was heartbroken, and then she stayed with him for another year.

Krumbachová’s Woman, who believes even the abominable snowman to be better than no man, a nod to the fanciful song that plays in the opening credits, is echoed in so many films that aim for feminist satire on love and marriage. For fans of The Love Witch (2016) dir. Anna Biller, and even critics like me who can’t get a sense of its viewpoint, Murdering the Devil is a joy of a film, with scripted details that make the characters more than just fable stereotypes. Jirina Bohdalová’s Woman is so easy to root for, with her passion for cooking and art, and her readiness to love. Vladimír Mensík’s Devil is so easy to hate, with his piles of excuses, slovenly manners, and his cherry-picking of Freud and Nietzsche to assert his intelligence and demean the Woman. There are scenes with a psychic that telegraph the ending, making it a little less mysterious and satisfying when we get there. However, it’s still a magnificent piece of social commentary that dazzles the senses with its vintage food and interior design aesthetics.

Who knows how far the film would have reached other directors, and other Czech women chained in marriage to the Devil, if it had had the widespread release and fame it deserved. All in all, Murdering the Devil is a stunning, silly portrait of a food-fueled tale of a woman who deserves the world courting a man who deserves to be banished from it.

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