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Today’s review is about the prequel to Lupus’ Old Friends movie, which I’ve reviewed last September. Red Reformatory: The Teddy Bear is another film from this communist post-war Czechoslovakia’s reformatory for dissident’s daughters.
Far away from glorifying that dark era of history, The Teddy Bear develops an interesting dynamics of very different characters: there’s the Deputy Headmistress Umlaufova, a square & unappealing spinster whose only joy is to get a special word of praise from the communist committee; wardress Kytrova who’s totally dependent on her; the obviously German-born warden Egon Scheitl, a genuine sadist leaving no opportunity to degrade & punish the poor inmates; the mentally retarded janitor Cizrny; and last but not least Doctor Humlik, the most human figure of this school, a desperate alcoholic (fantastically played by Lars Moebius) who has nothing than contempt for communism.
From the inmates we get to know three: Alzbeta, Sylvie (both in the institution for quite a time) and the beautiful innocent Helena who’s entering the institution at the beginning of the film and has to share a room with the other two girls. The only reason she’s there is that she had parents with the wrong political views, and as she is brought into her new room (the only furniture is three beds and a wardrobe), they take all her personal things away: even her teddy bear… as she refuses, she’s getting her first OTK spanking by wardress Kytrova who’s totally freaking out in that scene.
Just without her teddy, Helena cannot sleep, and so she’s crying all night long. The other girls can’t sleep anymore, and so they decide to retrieve the teddy – they steal the keys to the custody room and fetch back Helena’s bear. Finally they all get their sleep, but the happiness doesn’t last long: the next morning janitor Cizrny notifies that his keys have been stolen, so Umlaufova and Scheitl control the girls’ room and find the bear. To avoid being reported to the police, the girls finally confess… and Scheitl is more than happy to get an opportunity to thrash their butts…
The first one to be chastised is Helena who gets the cane by headmistress Umlaufova who’s (contradictory to her appearance) not beating that hard. But it’s enough to bring the cute blonde girl (fixed on a flogging block) to tears.
Alzbeta and Sylvie are caned by Scheitl who’s swinging the cane with far more force that Umlaufova, and after just a handful of strokes, the first black weals appear on the unfortunate girls’ asses… These two canings are truly remarkable: after about 40 strokes they won’t be able to sit for more than three days… but that’s what we love in Lupus movies, don’t we?
But a Lupus film wouldn’t be a Lupus film if it ended here. The last scene show Doctor Humlik, sleeping in his small office after having spent the day with way too much vodka with Helena’s Teddy Bear in his arms… Maybe such an image teaches more about an authoritarian system than a history schoolbook…
I’ve managed to get the 1st edition (1885) of this interesting antiquarian book.
In the 19th century, general-interest magazines became very popular. Usually there was a lot of space for letters to the editor where various topics were discussed, among them the question of corporal discipline: the pro’s, the contra’s, how & when to punish, what implements to use, and so on. Seems like in one magazine (The Englishwoman’s Domestic Journal) CP was discussed to a large extent, and Experiences of Flagellation features a really interesting selection of those letters. Of course readers used pseudonyms, and reading them I felt a bit like in a 21st century spanking forum or chatroom: “Pro-Rod”, “A Lover of Obedience”, “A Teacher of Troublesome Girls”, “A Rector”, “The husband of a Schoolmistress”, “An Old Boy”, “Miss C.”, and so on.
Here’s a passage from this book, by a 24 years old Lady who calls herself “Gratitude”. She’s telling about her experience in a “school for young ladies”:
“I own, as you see, one of the most honoured names in England, and call myself ‘Gratitude,’ because I am anxious to show my gratitude for the fact that I owe my present position as a useful happy English lady to the firm discipline I experienced at the very turningpoint of my life, I was brought up in a loving home, I had every possible advantage; but amidst it all I became sullen, self-willed, and disobedient and idle. I was the grief of my parents and a byword to my companions. However, soon after I was fifteen I most fortunately was sent to Mrs–––’s school for young Ladies, in Brighton, where I showed the same evil disposition which I had evinced elsewhere, but where, most fortunately and happily for me, it was checked and cured. 
In school and out of it, during the first month, Mrs.— and the other teachers reproved me, wet me tasks, and ‘kept me in.’ But I only grew worse; and one night after I had refused to do an ‘imposition,’ as boys call a punishment lesson, Mrs.––– came and sat in my room after I was in bed and talked to me most impressively. The next day, however, the impression of what she had said wore off, and I was as bad as ever. But a change was at hand, for in the evening, when we had just gone to our bedrooms, Mrs.––– again came to me, and said, ‘Miss W., you will tonight occupy the dressing-room adjoining my room. I will show you the way.’ I was half inclined to disobey. However, I followed my governess through her bedroom and across a small sitting-room, which opened out of it into a room comfortably furnished, in which was a small low bed, and telling me to undress and go to bed, Mrs.––– left me, locking the door after her. I had been in bed about a quarter of an hour when Mrs. came to me, holding in her hand a long birch-rod. Placing the candlestick and the rod an the table, she told me that but one course was now open to her after my behaviour, and that she was going to flog me, and I was to get up. But though the twigs of the birch-rod stood out in ominous shadow in front of the candlestick, and while I noted the thin, closely wrapped handle of that rod, and its fanlike-spreading top, I never attempted to obey. Three times Mrs––– told me to get up, but I stirred not. She then very deliberately turned down the bedclothes, and again told me to get out of bed. I began to feel that I was going to be conquered, but I stirred not. Mrs––– returned to her own room, and came back with a small, thin riding-whip, and said, ‘must I use this?’ 
There was something about her which quite awed me – it was more her manner than her tall powerful figure – and as she swung that whip about in her hand I at once stepped out of bed and stand before her. ‘Give me your hands,’ she said, but I put them behind me, when slash across my shoulders came six or seven smart strokes of her whip, and screaming I put out my hands, which she fastened together with a cord by the wrists. Then making me lie down across the foot of the bed face downwards, she very quietly and deliberately, putting her left hand round my waist, gave me a shower of smart slaps with her open right hand – a proceeding which so surprised and humiliated my proud self that I could hardly believe in my own identity, and as I screamed and struggled, she merely said, ‘This is for not doing now as I told you, and it will not only punish you for that, but will increase the pain of the birching I am now going to give you.’ Mrs. ––– then, as I lay, spoke to me for a few minutes with great kindness and earnestness. She then rose, took the birch in her right hand, and stooping over me, pressed her left hand tightly on my shoulder so as to hold me as if I were in a vice; then raising the birch, I could hear it whizz in the air, and oh, how terrible it felt as it came down, and as its repeated strokes came swish, swish, swish, on me! yet I felt, spite of the terrible stinging pain, that I deserved it all – and it was painful. I was a stout fair girl, and very sensitive to pain. I screamed, I protested, I implored, but it was of no avail; Mrs. ––– heeded not my cries, but held me down and birched on till she had finished a whipping which seemed to have lasted an age, but which quite changed my character. 
At last it was over. I was permitted to rise, my hands were unbound, and, burning and smarting, I raised my tear-stained face to my true friend’s, on whose face no sign was visible, of the slightest anger or passion. Calm and serene, she wished me ‘Good-night’ and left me conquered. Henceforward I was a different girl; and though a few weeks afterwards, I relapsed, yet another night spent in Mrs.–––’s dressing-room and another similar application by her of that wonder working birch – I did exactly as she told me this time – sufficed finally to cure me. I became cheerful, obedient, unselfish. My parents and friends the next holidays could hardly believe that I was the same girl. I stayed three years with Mrs.––– at Brighton, leaving her when I was nineteen with much regret. I am now twenty-four, and hope to be married at Easter to the best man in the world who never could have loved me had not sensible, wholesome discipline changed my evil nature, as the means under Higher Power of doing so. I am thankful to publish my experience, and so to express not only my gratitude, but confirm what others have so well said and told on this subject.”
The whole book has 80 pages and ends with a poem by George Coleman (from The Rodiad) whose last two verses I shall quote here:
Altair, the executive producer from Lupus Pictures (I’ve interviewed him HERE a year ago) has his own blog now: LUPUS PICTURES BLOG. Go and have a look. And in a few days there’s a new Lupus review coming here on Punished Butts, so come back soon!
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