Film Review: One Song a Day Takes Mischief Away (Tko pjeva zlo ne misli, 1970)

Films are often mirrors reflecting the societies that produce them, but occasionally they transcend mere reflection to actively shape cultural identity. This rare phenomenon is exemplified in Croatia by One Song a Day Takes Mischief Away (1970), a musical comedy directed by Krešimir Golik. Set in 1930s Zagreb, the film’s enduring popularity and critical acclaim have cemented its status as a defining work of Croatian cinema. By blending nostalgia, satire, and social observation, One Song a Day paradoxically captures a bygone era while forging a collective cultural memory for generations of Croats. It stands as a rare example of a film that both embodies and redefines its nation’s cinematic legacy.

The film is adapted from Diary of Little Perica (Dnevnik malog Perice), a short story by Vjekoslav Majer, a celebrated Croatian writer known for his witty social critiques. Before Golik’s cinematic adaptation, the narrative was reimagined as a 1964 television play, Gospon Fulir.

The plot is set in 1935, centred on Perica Šafranek (Tomislav Žganec), a precocious six-year-old narrator living in Zagreb’s Gornji Grad district with his middle-class family. Perica’s father, Franjo (Franjo Majetić), an accountant obsessed with political debates in local taverns, neglects his wife Ana (Mirjana Bohanec), whose romantic aspirations remain unfulfilled. Their lives take a comedic turn when they encounter Ernest Fulir (Relja Bašić), a suave, bohemian photographer whose flirtatious interest in Ana ignites a series of misunderstandings. Franjo, oblivious to Fulir’s advances, views him as a potential match for Ana’s nagging spinster sister Mina (Mia Oremović). The resulting farce—rooted in suppressed desires and societal decorum—unfolds against the backdrop of Zagreb’s tightly knit middle class, where propriety masks underlying tensions.

One Song a Day’s legendary status is epitomised by its 1999 victory in a Croatian critics’ poll naming it the nation’s best film ever made—a verdict echoed by the public. This acclaim is remarkable given Croatia’s cinematic landscape, where comedies have historically struggled to gain critical respect. Unlike the politically charged or avant-garde works of the Yugoslav Black Wave, Golik’s film thrived as a lighthearted yet incisive social satire.

Golik, a director of the post-World War II generation, stood apart from his contemporaries who embraced art-house experimentation. A product of Croatia’s 1950s film scene, he prioritised narrative clarity and audience accessibility over abstract themes. His refusal to align with the Yugoslav Black Wave’s radicalism—marked by political subversion and existential angst—was both a limitation and a strength. For One Song a Day, Golik’s conservative approach proved ideal, as the film’s nostalgic reconstruction of pre-WWII Zagreb relied on period-accurate storytelling and character archetypes. His focus on craftsmanship over experimentation allowed the film to evoke a vanished world with authenticity, making it a bittersweet homage to a culturally homogeneous era.

While the plot hinges on a generic romantic farce—a trope common to 1930s operettas—the film’s humour derives from its sharp social commentary. The middle-class Šafraneks embody the contradictions of interwar Zagreb: a city aspiring to Central European refinement yet surrounded by rural Balkan “backwardness.” Characters like Marijana (Vida Jerman), the neighbours’ ironing-service provider with a double life, exemplify societal hypocrisy. Everyone knows her true profession but avoids acknowledging it, adhering to the illusion of propriety. Golik amplifies these tensions through situational comedy, though some jokes rely on regional dialect nuances, limiting universal appeal. The film’s charm, however, lies in its unapologetic embrace of its time and place.

The film’s success hinges on its ensemble cast. Franjo Majetić, as the oblivious father Franjo, delivers a masterclass in humour, his every gesture exuding paternal cluelessness. Relja Bašić’s Ernest Fulir became iconic, his suave charm defining the actor’s career and even influencing his later abortive foray into politics. Mia Oremović brings warmth to the initially irritating Mina, while Mirjana Bohanec, best known for her singing talents, shines as Ana, balancing vulnerability and latent desire. Though Bohanec’s acting career plateaued post-One Song, her performance remains unforgettable, grounding the film’s romantic tension.

The film’s soundtrack, featuring compositions by Vlaho Paljetak, a pre-war Croatian composer, enhances its nostalgic allure. Paljetak’s light, melodic tunes evoke the carefree spirit of interwar Zagreb, while also serving as narrative devices to underscore emotional beats. The music’s integration into key scenes (e.g., Ana’s longing) deepens the audience’s connection to the characters, making it a linchpin of the film’s emotional resonance.

Golik’s decision to film almost entirely on Zagreb’s authentic locations—from the Sava River’s swimming spots to the iconic “Samoborček” train—lends the film unparalleled period authenticity. These settings, now vanished due to urbanisation and war, render it a historical artifact. The film’s meticulous attention to detail—from architecture to local customs—allows viewers to experience 1930s Zagreb as a living museum. This duality of nostalgia and preservation ensures its cultural value transcends entertainment, offering a tangible link to Croatia’s pre-war identity.

Despite its meticulousness, the film occasionally reveals its 1960s–70s production context. Costumes, hairstyles (e.g., Fulir’s modern cut), and props betray anachronisms, though the script cleverly excuses Fulir’s look by describing him as a “bohemian artist.” These minor inconsistencies are forgivable given the film’s broader aims, yet they underscore the challenges of period reconstruction. Such details, however, pale against the film’s overall fidelity to its setting.

The film’s influence persists through stage adaptations, notably the 2017 Croatian National Theatre play. Its cultural staying power was further cemented in 2021 with Dnevnik velikog Perice, a TV sequel set in 1960s Zagreb, starring Živko Anočić as the now-adult Perica. These iterations prove the story’s adaptability, maintaining relevance across generations. Golik’s work also spurred a revival of regional dialects in Croatian media, as seen in his TV series Gruntovčani, which celebrated rural Kajkavian speech.

One Song a Day Takes Mischief Away endures as a rare Croatian film that has aged gracefully, its blend of humour, music, and social observation ensuring its appeal across decades. By capturing the contradictions of interwar Zagreb, the film transcends its comedic origins to become a mirror of cultural evolution. Its status as a national treasure is not merely sentimental; it reflects Croatia’s capacity to find joy and meaning in shared stories. In an era when cinema often prioritises shock or spectacle, Golik’s work reminds us that wit, heart, and authenticity can forge a legacy that outlasts time itself.

RATING: 7/10 (+++)

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