`KOLYA' A CHARMING, BITTERSWEET TALE OF HUMAN NATURE.

Byline: Janet Maslin The New York Times

A charming Czech roue named Frantisek Louka (Zdenek Sverak) leads a life of quiet dissipation. His favorite pursuits are musicianship, skirt-chasing and looking after his elderly mother, not necessarily in that order. Louka's mother is very vocal in her political opinions. The year is 1988, and she thinks the Russian troops occupying her country are locusts.

Imagine how surprised Louka is, then, to find himself the custodian of an angelic little Russian boy. In the radiant ``Kolya,'' a gem of a Czech film directed by Jan Sverak, who is the leading man's son, Louka is wryly transformed by the experience of having to look after this child.

And in the distance he travels between, say, calling up a girlfriend for a tryst and asking the same woman to read a bedtime story in Russian, worlds are bridged with gentle pathos and disarming humor. ``Kolya,'' which is named for the child, is mercifully unsentimental in describing the subtle, bittersweet ways in which Louka's life is altered.

The senior Sverak, who previously has written screenplays for Jiri Menzel and others, envisions little Kolya with affection. But it is for himself that he has created the film's most beguiling role. Louka, a cellist, has fallen out of grace with the Czech Philharmonic Orchestra and is reduced to playing music at funerals, but his nonchalance remains intact. Gruff and sly, a born seducer, he finds work or women wherever they are available without considering the consequences.

The film enjoys his company in the glowing, sophisticated backdrop of an invitingly photographed Prague. Libuse Safrankova, who plays one of Louka's lovers, is quoted as saying in production notes, ``I was happy to accept the part of Klara because I get great pleasure from spending time with pleasant and intelligent people.'' That captures the attractive and civilized tone of this enterprise.

``Kolya,'' a Golden Globe winner and Academy Award nominee, is set in motion when Louka is coaxed into a marriage of convenience. After all, he's a man who seeks out extra work restoring gold-leaf paint on gravestones, so he's open to any reasonable offer. The bride is the niece of his friend, and she needs Czech papers, but there are some sticking points. For one thing, she's Russian; for another, she has a little son.

After staging the nuptials in the knowing, rueful style that makes ``Kolya'' so appealing, the younger Sverak leaves Louka with his new responsibilities. The wife vanishes almost immediately and the boy remains, an adorable little alien invader who brightens every time he sees a Russian soldier. It's hard to know which is more dismaying for Louka, trying to persuade his mother that the child is Yugoslav (she isn't fooled) or feeling a tiny hand clutching his as Kolya crosses the street. Louka appears proud to have no paternal instincts at all.

``Kolya'' indulges in light comedy when the little boy, played enchantingly by Andrej Chalimon, interrupts one of Louka's seductions, or when Louka denounces the child as an expansionist and scoundrel as he bends down to tie Kolya's shoes. In the midst of such mock hostility and blossoming affection, the film seems all set to celebrate a simplistic triumph of love over hard political realities. But ``Kolya,'' in its gentle way, is too wise for that.

THE FACTS

The film: ``Kolya'' (PG-13; sexual situations).

The stars: Zdenek Sverak, Andrej Chalimon, Libuse Safrankova.

Behind the scenes: Directed by Jan Sverak; written (in Czech, with English subtitles) by Zdenek Sverak, based on a story by Pavel Taussig. Produced by Eric Abraham and Jan Sverak; released by Miramax Films.

Running time: One hour, 50 minutes.

Playing: Westside Pavilion and Sunset 5.

Our rating: Four Stars.