Still delivering messages

Director Forman to visit Boston for MFA retrospective

He has graced the Oscar podium twice and rendered stinging onscreen depictions of communism, organized religion, even Olympic competition. But at age 76, filmmaker Milos Forman is readying for a Boston debut.

Forman, known for biopics of erratic comedian Andy Kaufman ("Man on the Moon," 1999) and the free speech demagogue Larry Flynt ("The People vs. Larry Flynt," 1996), admits to stage fright. At least when he's in front of a camera.

But neither his onscreen turns - like the courtesy role in "Heartburn" for friend Mike Nichols - nor the outspoken heroes of his later films are the focus of the nine-film traveling retrospective of his work that opens Thursday at the Museum of Fine Arts. The complete retrospective screened at New York's Museum of Modern Art in February.

Instead the series offers the requisite Oscar winners, "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" (1975) and "Amadeus" (1984), along with the Javier Bardem showcase "Goya's Ghosts" (2007), and devotes a bulk of the time to Forman's early years in Czechoslovakia, when he was employed by the state-sponsored film studio.

Forman's short but significant run as a filmmaker within a communist regime started in documentary (in this series "Audition," 1963), quickly shifted to fictional features emblematic of the Czech New Wave ("Black Peter" 1964 and "The Loves of a Blonde" 1965), and ended in a blaze of controversy.

Czech authorities bristled at "The Firemen's Ball" (1967), in which small-town firemen organize a retirement party that spins comically out of control. Forman drew particular ire for a line by one fireman to his comrades: "The reputation of the brigade is much more important than some stupid honesty." The government tried to sue Forman for sabotaging the socialist economy. And when the Soviet tanks rolled in to Prague 40 years ago to the day of Forman's Boston appearance, his fate as an exile was sealed. "The Firemen's Ball" was banned and Forman immigrated to the United States.

"A long time ago I had a private visit with friends," Forman said about Boston. "I loved it and enjoyed the fish restaurants." But he has never appeared publicly with one of his films. And unlike his forays into acting, talking about his films is like talking about his children, he said recently by phone. In other words, hand him the microphone. He will be present for discussion after "Loves of a Blonde" and "Decathlon," screening on Thursday at 8 p.m.

We spoke recently by phone:

Q. Given that you originally hoped to direct theater, and attended film school as a last resort, why were your first few films documentaries?

A. It was my reaction to the stupidity and naivete of so-called socialist realism films made in communist countries in that time; [we] never saw normal human behavior on screen. Only then did I slowly develop a desire to use cinema verite to tell a coherent story.

Q. "Loves of a Blonde" is routinely called your first international success - did you imagine an international audience for this particular film?

A. No, not at all. I didn't have any idea it would go outside of Czechoslovakia. You always wish a lot of people to see your work, but your first ambition is to impress your friends, countrymen. I made it for people I knew, but the fact that it gained such a response showed me . . . you become cosmopolitan if you tell the truth about your home.

Q. Can you describe the level of intent you had, when writing the script for "The Firemen's Ball," of calling into question the communist party, or using the firemen as a metaphor?

A. My friends with whom I worked, we were aware that it was a politically charged metaphor, but we didn't talk about it. We didn't say a word. It was just comedy, because otherwise they wouldn't let us make the movie.

When you are writing the script you are very careful not to provoke condemnation from officials, but then you shoot the film how you want.

Q. Did you anticipate the need to emigrate as a result of "The Firemen's Ball"?

A. This was in '67 or '68, the so-called Alexander Dubcek era, and restrictions to travel were relaxed. I went legally outside of Czechoslovakia to make my first film in the West ["Taking Off"]. Because of criticism of "The Firemen's Ball" I hoped they would not revoke my exit visa but they did. I was more or less forced to stay outside. I knew if I went back I would not be able to work.

Q. Whom did you leave behind?

A. [Family members] stayed and they didn't have an easy life. They were immediately under suspicion for being associated with me. For example, my two sons stayed there because I wouldn't take them away from their mother - they weren't allowed to go to university. They allowed them to see me for the first time [in eight years], when I was nominated for an Academy Award. That's another paradox: Communists were so impressed by any success in capitalist countries.

Q. Why can't audiences see "Taking Off" on DVD?

A. There's this scene when girls are auditioning - they were all singing Beatles songs, the latest hits, we couldn't buy rights. So I asked the girls to come back and sing their own songs, of course they did, but now we can't track down those [women]. The film was shown recently during the retrospective [at MoMA in New York] and the reaction was so wonderful they decided to play the film the whole week.

Q. I know you've tried acting a few times. Did you learn anything new from being on the other side of the lens?

A. When I started and was only behind the camera, I went bananas - My God! It's so clear, so simple! Well, listen. Go in front of the camera and try, it's not easy. I didn't try to be an actor, I have a stage fright.

Q. In addition to "Loves of a Blonde," on Thursday the MFA screens the aptly timed "The Decathlon," a short in a series of eight films about the 1972 Olympics in Munich.

A. I am very proud of that film. I lived in the Olympic village and on the first day there was this wonderful atmosphere - everyone is smiling, everyone is happy, everyone is friendly. It was like a big country fair in the best sense. Well of course, because there is like 5,000 potential winners! But on the last day, the Olympic village was a disaster - everything was broken, bottles littered the ground, and this made sense. You had 200 winners and 4,800 losers. It was such a human situation.

Also, when the film was finished, the whole Olympic committee and government [attended] the premiere. They invited seven directors, but they didn't invite me. They saw that I am making fun. . . . The whole film is a metaphor where athletes are really for our excitement and pleasure, they are bleeding to death trying to be the best, and the whole world is watching and sitting on our fat asses.

Q. Did you laugh off this snub?

A. The producer David Wolper, a wonderful man, he called to tell me and he laughed so I laughed too, of course.

Q. Have you been to the Olympics since?

A. Yes, Atlanta and Barcelona. I love track and field.

Q. How are you spending your time now? Any projects in the works?

A. Just a screenplay. I am waiting to hear a reaction on whether or not I get money to make the film. I wrote it on my own with a little help from my friend Vaclav Havel. You know he was a writer before he was president.

Q. Can you describe the project or is it under wraps?

A. I am so superstitious that I don't want to talk about it.