Beyond the Controversy: Restraint and Resonance in Broken Voices
Critic Ariel Schweitzer examines the FIPRESCI-winning film Broken Voices, and finds its restraint and reserved tone a worthy treatment for the subject of sexual exploitation, despite controversy that emerged after its release in the Czech Republic.
Winner of the FIPRESCI Prize at the 2026 Sofia International Film Festival (as well as the festival official Grand Prix), Ondrej Provaznik’s Broken Voices (Sbormistra) premiered at Karlovy Vary in July 2025, where it received a Special Mention for the performance of its main actress. The film sparked controversy when it emerged that the producers had failed to obtain consent from some of the victims involved in the real-life sexual abuse case depicted in the story—an affair that shook the Czech Republic in the early 1990s. The fallout not only disqualified the film from being selected as the Czech entry for the Academy Awards, but also sent shockwaves through the national film industry.
Yet beyond the controversy, Broken Voices deserves to be assessed on its own merits. This historical drama resonates powerfully with the contemporary #MeToo movement, echoing ongoing feminist struggles against sexual harassment and, more broadly, against deeply entrenched patriarchal structures.
The story follows Karolina, a 13-year-old girl (outstanding Katerina Falbrova—a revelation), who joins a prestigious youth choir in Prague where her older sister already sings. The ensemble is led by Macha (Jurai Loj), a charismatic yet authoritarian conductor who manipulates the girls by fostering competition and rivalry, gradually establishing a form of psychological control that escalates into sexual exploitation.
Provaznik handles this descent into abuse with remarkable subtlety. Macha initially inspires admiration among the singers, only to later sow jealousy and division. By singling out Karolina, praising her excessively, and elevating her above the others, he isolates her—even straining her relationship with her sister—before turning her into his primary target. This process of control unfolds across a clear three-act structure: rehearsals in Prague, an intensive retreat in a remote mountain chalet, and finally an international tour in New York.
One of the film’s greatest strengths lies in its restraint and its reserved tone. Nothing is made explicit; instead, meaning emerges through gestures, silences, and glances. Scenes of abuse are never shown directly, yet their reality becomes unmistakably clear. In one particularly striking sequence set in New York, at the end of film, a rape scene is filmed from afar, through a window and behind a drawn curtain—an aesthetic choice that avoids voyeurism while preserving the emotional impact.
Equally compelling is Provaznik’s refusal to reduce his characters to mere victims. These young women are portrayed as complex, resilient individuals—defined as much by their musical passion and talent as by their vulnerability. Despite Macha’s attempts to divide them, bonds of solidarity and tenderness persist. Music itself plays a central role, with extended sequences that showcase the choir’s exceptional performances. Through music, the film restores agency to its protagonists, transforming them from passive subjects into a collective force of expression and resistance.
Ariel Schweitzer
© FIPRESCI 2026