Streets
are named after him in Poland, Luxembourg, France, England, and the
Netherlands. The Old Town public square adjacent the Rudolfinum in Prague bears
his name, as does the oldest rock club in Croatia. The Czechoslovakian
Communist Party and their Soviet masters did not want anyone to remember his
sacrifice, so they did their best to erase him from the public record, but the
spark he lit would ignite a week of protests ten years later. Yet, despite his historical
significance, he was still just a twenty-year-old man. The life and death of
the Czech martyr re dramatized in Robert Sedlacek’s Jan Palach, which screens during Panorama Europe 2019.
Palach
was a serious history student, who was quite earnest in his opinions, particularly
when it came to supporting the Prague Spring reforms, but nobody would call him
a fanatic. However, when the Soviet invasion and occupation of Czechoslovakia
in 1968 put a stop to Dubcek’s liberalization program in 1968, Palach
subsequenty became somewhat depressed, but so did everyone else.
Most
likely, Palach’s personal history contributed to his disillusionment. His
father had been driven to his death by the Party’s harassment and the confiscation
of his business. The son had already established his own record of quietly
defying the Party, as we see in flashbacks to his youth Komsomol experiences.
Naturally, he joins the protests against the Soviet occupation, but many of his
fellow students join the protests, but they soon give into the inevitable—but not
Palach.
In
many ways (probably by design), Sedlacek’s Jan
Palach makes the perfect companion film to Agnieszka Holland’s Burning Bush, which concentrates on the
attempted cover-up of Palach’s sacrifice and the Party’s orchestrated campaign
to destroy his friends and family. In contrast, Sedlacek and screenwriter Eva
Kanturkova focus on the events leading up to his self-immolation and the event
itself.
Of
course, Jan Palach presents a dim view
of the privations the people suffered under socialism and the human rights
abuses committed by the invading Soviet military, but that is not the film’s reason
for being. Instead, Sedlacek and company are more interested in humanizing
Palach. In fact, they present a surprisingly balanced portrait. They do not try
to make him out to be a secular saint, but his flaws make him human and his
potential makes his loss even more tragic.
Viktor
Zavadil’s sensitive and nuanced lead performance perfectly suits Sedlacek’s
intimate approach to Palach’s story. Viewers really get a sense of the man and
grieve for him accordingly. He also has some poignant scenes with Zuzana
Bydzovska and Denisa Baresova, as his mother and girlfriend, respectively. Yet,
Zavadil’s Palach always seems to be an outsider, standing somewhat aloof.
The
media often associates the year 1969 with student protests, but they usually do
not mean the protests of Polish students against the Polish government’s participation
in the 1968 invasion and occupation. Nevertheless, it is probably far more relevant
to our contemporary discourse than kneejerk tantrums of the New Left. To their
credit, Sedlacek and Kanturkova mention it in passing. They also wholly and
deeply succeed in their efforts to reclaim Palach’s narrative and individuality,
on his behalf. Very highly recommended, Jan
Palach screens this Sunday (5/12) at the Museum of the Moving Image, as
part of this year’s Panorama Europe.
