Czech-born composer Josef Mysliveček (Vojtěch Dyk) was the most prolific and sought after figure in Italian opera. But in 1964, he was just Guiseppe, at the mercy of a Marchioness (Elena Radonicich) for his music networking. Eventually, that networking finally bears fruit, as he connects with two women who will help shape his burgeoning career. The first is Gabrielli. Barbara Ronchi plays the classical definition of a diva whose impostor syndrome sabotages Mysliveček’s first opera – that is, until he forces her to get her act together. She eventually becomes his muse only for her to threaten join a nunnery and quit music, or at least for a little while. The second is Anna (Lana Vlady), whose love of Guiseppe and music serves as an escape from her abusive husband.

I have some reservations about watching this biopic about this Czech composer mostly because of its source. Its source, allegedly, is a biography that gets most of its material from his epistolary correspondence with Mozart. The film, then, makes a lot of assumptions about his relationships among the three main female characters. I don’t know what it says about me if I believe that none of these assumptions matter. The other main criticism here is there’s too much sex and not enough music in this film. I’m more inclined to disagree with that line of criticism but, admittedly, for reasons that are dumb. There’s enough of Josef Mysliveček conducting in The Bohemian for it to convince that music is the priority here.

I’m equally half and half in how The Bohemian contextualizes Mysliveček and the opera scene in Italy. One of the hand, the Mozart scene is feels like an easy lob for those who know little about opera. But then again, including baby Mozart here is understandable because that encounter is what viewers wait for. Another part of me cast doubts on how it films the scenes when the divas are performing. From what I remember, Maria Callas is a generational talent – the only opera singer who can act. There are three opera singers here including La Gabrielli, all of them serving face during performances. Countering my argument, all these biopics exist for dramatic purposes, and those scene help with that.

Again, Mysliveček has three lovers, and despite some variations, all of them fit into archetypes, and I don’t know what it says about me if I forgive that because of how it depicts Anna. Of course, The Bohemian makes Anna go through a lot, and some scenes border on gratuitous exploitation. Her story line highlights, for worse and better, the way history obscures most people, and especially women. A woman becomes a footnote instead of flesh and blood, capable of escape even within a man’s world. One can deliberate one way or another whether or not these things happened to the real Anna. But it happened to someone like her, and those women deserves similar acknowledgement as their male lovers.

The Bohemian comes soon on OVID, uncut and commercial free, as part of its miniseries on European costume dramas.