Joachim, Put Him Into Machine!
Joachim, Throw Him in the Machine! (Jáchyme, hoď ho do stroje!) is a 1974 Czechoslovak comedy film that perfectly captures the trials and tribulations of an ordinary redneck navigating the absurdities of everyday life with the help of—wait for it—a personal horoscope machine. This groundbreaking device promises to predict his ideal daily routines, because who doesn’t want a computer telling them how to live? Naturally, hilarity ensues when, despite this high-tech solution, things spiral into chaos. A classic example of how technology totally never fails, especially when mixed with bureaucracy, superstition, and a healthy dose of bad luck.
Plot[edit | edit source]
Introduction[edit | edit source]
In Joachim,Throw Him in the Machine!, František Koudelka, the quintessential village man from Chvojkovice-Brod, lives a quiet life with his mother and works at the local State Tractor Station (because tractors clearly require government oversight). His main responsibility? Handling a Zetor 3011 tractor, lovingly dubbed Máňa. However, František, in a moment of absentminded genius, forgets to block the wheels. In what can only be described as an entirely predictable disaster, Máňa gracefully rolls down the hill and takes a dive into the village pond, as if auditioning for an underwater ballet. Naturally, this event inspires František to rethink his career path and head to the big city: Prague, where, of course, everything will go smoothly (or so he naively believes).
On his way to the train station, he's stopped by a some opportunistic engineers, who, in a marvel of pseudoscience and salesmanship, convince him to part with 15 Kčs to have a "kondiciogram" made. This state-of-the-art invention is basically a horoscope on steroids—it color-codes his future into good, neutral, bad, and, for maximum effect, critical days. Because obviously, if you're going to mess up your life, it helps to have a helpful chart to tell you when.
Armed with this invaluable new tool for navigating life, František hops on the train to Prague, completely unaware that no amount of colored charts or cosmic guidance can shield him from the misadventures that await. And thus, with his naïve optimism and a piece of paper that may as well be from a fortune cookie, he embarks on his big-city journey, fully expecting the kondiciogram to steer him clear of any further catastrophes. Spoiler: it doesn’t.
Arrival to Prague[edit | edit source]
When František finally arrives in Prague, things immediately take a turn for the absurd—though, at this point, he's almost used to it. His dear mother, ever the thoughtful one, packed his suitcase with fresh eggs from their village. Naturally, through a series of unfortunate mishaps and clumsy moments, almost all the eggs break during his journey. The final survivor, one lonely egg, somehow manages to endure the chaos, though its days seem numbered.
František is then welcomed into the home of his aunt, a spoiled old lady who lavishes all her affection on her beloved Boxer dog, Gregor. Gregor lives a life of luxury, complete with his own bed, which might lead one to believe he's royalty in disguise. František, on the other hand, is relegated to sleeping on a battered old Ottoman, the kind of couch that has clearly seen better days—much like his hopes for a smooth transition to city life.
His aunt, despite her questionable hospitality, helps him secure a job at a car repair shop run by a certain Mr. Karfík, a man whose main life philosophy appears to be hammering into František's head one golden rule: never take bribes. Mr. Karfík might be running a chaotic garage, but he's dead serious about this moral code. His second-in-command, a corporate psychologist named Klásek, offers a more ominous piece of advice. Every month, he warns, one unlucky employee leaves the shop in a sanitka (an ambulance), driven to madness by the high-pressure environment. The warning is simple but effective: "If you ever hear yourself saying, 'I’m going crazy', brace yourself— you probably are".
To make matters more complicated (and of course, they must), František soon becomes smitten with a local shop assistant named Blanka. She's charming, and František, ever the hopeless romantic, quickly falls head over heels. However, whether he can win her over while dodging a nervous breakdown at work and avoiding literal chaos on the streets of Prague remains to be seen.
Asimilation[edit | edit source]
František, now a week into his new life in Prague and still trying to find his footing, continues his streak of unfortunate mishaps at the car repair shop. One day, while working on a Fiat 600, he forgets to apply the handbrake. Naturally, the empty car rolls out of the shop and embarks on an unsupervised journey through the streets of Prague, eventually making its grand finale by diving off a bridge into the Vltava River. This little incident doesn’t go unnoticed by Mr. Karfík, and it hits František hard—particularly in the wallet. Instead of his expected paycheck of 305 Kčs, he receives a soul-crushing 5.50 Kčs (64 CZK or 2,75 USD in 2023), which doesn’t exactly make his new life easier.
Meanwhile, František is still attempting to woo Blanka, but his advances continue to get him into trouble with his rival, Karel. Not one to back down, Karel beats František up—twice—and on another occasion, douses him in beer just to drive the point home. Understandably, František grows increasingly frustrated and begins plotting his revenge. His strategy? Going to the movies to learn how to fight. Yes, he watches old action films, hoping to pick up brawling techniques. Unfortunately, his kondiciogram insists that he’s in a string of critical days, so his attempts at physical confrontation end up looking more like slapstick comedy than heroic battles.
However, one good day finally arrives when Blanka, clearly feeling sorry for him, suggests he take judo lessons. Enter the local judo trainer, Tulpach, who tests new students by trying to throw them to the mat. But in a bizarre stroke of luck (or more likely, klutziness), František accidentally gets his jacket caught in the door as he enters the dojo. Standing there immobile, he unknowingly thwarts all of Tulpach’s expert moves, leaving the trainer baffled and impressed. Tulpach can’t believe it—he simply can’t get František to budge, mistaking his stuck position for some advanced skill.
Main plot[edit | edit source]
František, true to form, wakes up like a man who has finally conquered the world—never mind that the only empire he rules over is a dingy one-bedroom flat shared with his eternally meddling Aunt Marie. This morning, though, he’s had enough. “Stay out of my business, woman!” he thinks, as if he’s got state secrets to guard. After all, what could she, with her sad little routine, possibly understand about the grand machinations of a man destined for greatness? Filled with a renewed sense of self-importance, František marches out of the house, ready to face his latest catastrophe.
At work, Béda Hudeček, the paragon of poor decision-making, hands František a wad of bribe money with all the nonchalance of a man giving his buddy a pack of gum. “Franta, keep this safe, will you?” Béda says, blissfully unaware that he’s handing a ticking time bomb to a man with both feet planted firmly in the quicksand of life. For Béda, it’s a critical day. For František, it’s just another downward spiral, greased with bureaucratic absurdity and petty chaos.
Meanwhile, in the Orwellian heart of Karfík’s office, surveillance cameras are running, because nothing says socialist utopia quite like the constant paranoia of being watched. Karfík, that dedicated cog in the state machine, spies something that makes his dead capitalist soul leap with joy—there’s František, awkwardly fumbling with Béda’s dirty cash, muttering the phrase that will soon doom him: “I’m losing my mind.” Like an eager prosecutor, Karfík picks up the phone. “Professor Chocholoušek? We’ve got a nutcase for you. Looks like he’s ready to snap.”
Enter Arnošt and Arnošt, the psychiatric equivalent of hired thugs in white coats, the kind of men who would tranquilize their own grandmothers if given half a reason. They burst into the workplace like they’re about to raid a criminal underworld den, except their target is... František Koudelka, a man whose greatest crime is just existing. Of course, being the tragicomic mess that they are, they grab Béda Hudeček instead—the man whose only real sin is crafting some truly awful poetry. And let’s not forget the poem: "A rose is love’s little stair, with affection, Béda Hudeček." Béda should be locked up just for writing that, but instead, he begs František to deliver it to Mrs. Nevyjelová, a woman blissfully unaware of the absurd disaster about to arrive on her doorstep.
Meanwhile, František—the hero of this dark, existential comedy—is completely unaware that his life is teetering on the brink of madness. He jumps into a car that makes absolutely no sense in the world of communist Czechoslovakia: a 1966 Ford Mustang Convertible. Because, why not? It’s borrowed from some random Danish musician, who has apparently left his rock-and-roll convertible in the hands of a man who can barely navigate his own existence. But here’s the kicker—the Mustang’s air conditioning unit, for some incomprehensible reason, is located in the trunk. And, naturally, this isn’t just any air conditioning unit—it’s a sophisticated, bourgeois contraption that, upon ignition, automatically cues up a full orchestra. So, as František barrels down the highway at 200 km/h, defying both the laws of the land (where there inexplicably seems to be no speed limit) and common sense, he’s serenaded by the lush sounds of weird-ass orchestra. Because, of course, nothing says “calm, rational decision-making” like flying down a highway in a communist country in a capitalist muscle car while an orchestra plays in your ears.
With the Mustang’s engine roaring and the orchestra swelling, František heads to his next inevitable disaster: his judo match. In a shocking twist, he wins—which makes about as much sense as everything else in his life. Tumpach, his judo coach, can barely process the sight of Franta standing victorious. This is a man who can’t even find his way to the bathroom without causing a small crisis, and yet here he is, triumphant. Tumpach briefly wonders if this is some sort of cruel cosmic joke.
Franta, riding high on this undeserved wave of success, speeds off to the local buffet. He’s expecting to confront Karel, his rival for Blanka’s affection, but life throws him yet another curveball—Karel’s off slinging beer in Jesenice. Meanwhile, the two Arnošts, who are about as competent as a broken clock, are still scouring the countryside, desperately hunting for František. Their blunder? They manage to capture the real Uko Jeshita, a Japanese painter who was simply trying to attend his own exhibition at Konopiště Castle. The Arnošts, however, aren’t ones to let a little thing like reality get in the way of their mission—they slap a straitjacket on Ješita and cart him off, utterly convinced that he’s František in a clever disguise.
As for František, blissfully unaware that the world is spiraling into madness around him, he arrives at the castle dressed in his judo kimono, because why not? With his trendy Japanese wristband and the vacant expression of a man who’s wandered far beyond the edge of reason, he’s immediately mistaken for the famous artist Uko Jeshita. Before anyone can figure out what’s going on, František hands over Béda’s love note to Mrs. Nevyjelová and vanishes into the night, leaving behind a scene of utter confusion and bureaucratic chaos.
And then there’s Professor Chocholoušek, the man at the center of this swirling vortex of absurdity. He’s had it. His patience, his professionalism, his sanity—it’s all gone. After witnessing failure after failure from his psychiatric goons (last blunder was in Jesenice, when duo Arnošt and Arnošt nearly caught Koudelka in local's pub, when he was fighting with Karel and Arnošts accidentaly caught Karel), Chocholoušek snaps. His weapon of choice? An M20 "Super Bazooka," which he had confiscated from a patient at the Praha-Podolí psychiatric hospital. This patient, clearly a revolutionary spirit in the midst of a mental health crisis, had previously used the bazooka to obliterate three ambulance vehicles. The hospital, of course, decided to stash this imperialist relic in their armory, just in case. Now, Chocholoušek, a man pushed beyond his limits, takes up the bazooka like some deranged warrior in the war against incompetence.
With the Super Bazooka resting on his shoulder, Chocholoušek takes aim—not at František (who is still running around the countryside, causing mayhem) but at his own bumbling team of sanitarians. The final straw has broken him. In a climactic moment of dark, bureaucratic poetry, he pulls the trigger, sending a rocket-propelled grenade hurtling toward his assistants, blowing their ineptitude to pieces. And who’s feeding him the ammunition? Vedoucí Karfík and psychologist Klásek, because in this collapsing world of petty management and madness, even the most unhinged plans are carried out with the ruthless efficiency of a well-oiled machine.
As the smoke clears, František, untouched by the madness swirling around him, continues to stumble through life—one bizarre triumph at a time.
End[edit | edit source]
Blanka proposes to František. In the final scene, František Koudelka is reading through a kondiciogram and planning the construction of a barn next to a picturesque country house, where he and Blanka have recently moved in. Pregnant Blanka brings a plate full of toast to the table, and František takes one. Their three children, dressed in sailor uniforms, are playing around.
A trio of men arrives in a black Tatra 603. The spokesman from the South Computing Center apologizes, explaining that for years they’ve been sending František the wrong kondiciograms, which actually belonged to his namesake – a retiree named František Koudelka from Příbram. A representative from the Katoda Olomouc company also joins in the apology. The men leave, and as compensation for the damage caused by their incorrect kondiciograms, they leave the family a Tatra 603 car (experimentally equipped by Pertinax carburetor and radial oil circulation). František and Blanka wave them goodbye, while the unbraked car rolls into the pond and sinks.
Reception[edit | edit source]
Joachim, Put Him into the Machine! was such a smash hit upon its release that audiences might have thought they'd receive their own personalized "kondiciogram" after watching it, allowing them to finally navigate life’s mishaps as smoothly as František Koudelka (well, almost).
The film’s absurd premise, where the protagonist relies on a pseudo-scientific chart to make every life decision, struck such a chord that it’s a wonder people weren’t lining up to order their own life-determining devices. Luděk Sobota’s portrayal of the bumbling everyman became an instant cult favorite, proving that if you follow a machine’s advice, you too can narrowly avoid disaster… most of the time.
Audiences loved it, perhaps because, deep down, they too dreamed of escaping the chaos of daily life by blindly trusting a chart. And as the film's success spiraled, it was clear: if you can’t beat fate, at least laugh at it. The film became a comedy staple, showing that, even in the age of technology, nothing beats good old-fashioned human clumsiness.
In the U.S.[edit | edit source]
Despite the cultural differences and language barrier, Americans have embraced the absurd humor of František Koudelka’s misadventures (mostly 8/10 on IMDb). Luděk Sobota’s portrayal of a bumbling everyman, blindly following a pseudoscientific "kondiciogram," resonates with viewers even today. It’s a wonderful testament to the strength of Czech cinema that a film like this, full of clever satire and local flavor, can entertain and connect with people across the globe.
The high ratings from American audiences confirm that Czech filmmaking had — and still has — a special place on the world stage, with its unique ability to blend wit, heart, and a touch of absurdity into timeless classics.
Folklore impact[edit | edit source]
The film Joachim, Put Him into the Machine! has become such a cult classic in the Czech Republic that it’s practically woven into the national fabric. If you spend more than five minutes in the country, you’ll likely hear someone quoting one of its many iconic lines. In fact, there’s a good chance a Czech might casually throw out "Neber úplatky, neber úplatky, nebo se z toho zblázníš! Ale je to marný, je to marný, je to marný...." ("Don’t take bribes, don’t take bribes, or you’ll go mad from it. But it’s hopeless, it’s hopeless, it’s hopeless.") or "Kdepak je ten prďola co čepuje to pivo!" ("Where’s that little guy who’s pouring the beer?") and "Slezte z toho lustru Donalde. Vidím vás." ("Get down from that chandelier, Donald. I can see you.")while deciding between two brands of yogurt at the supermarket. Yes, it’s that deeply ingrained.
The film has transcended mere popularity to the point where its characters, scenes, and especially its quotes are part of everyday life. The absurdity of František Koudelka's misadventures speaks to the Czech soul—someone who, despite best efforts, can’t help but stumble through life with a sense of resigned humor. It’s no wonder the movie has become a permanent fixture in Czech pop culture.
And don’t be surprised if, after a few beers, someone yells, “Joachim, throw him into the machine!” for absolutely no reason at all. Because, really, why not? It's as if quoting this film is a rite of passage, a national pastime, and the ultimate in-joke.
This is a movie that’s not just loved, it’s lived.