What a Revolution Should Look Like: The Power of the Powerless

Initially, the student-driven revolution against Czechoslovakia’s hardline Communist government seemed hopelessly naïve. In a mere eleven days, the humbled regime relinquished their dubious claim to power, clearing the way for the democratic elections. Unlike, the current Middle Eastern “Days of Rage,” it all transpired without demonstrators committing any sexually, ethnically, or religiously motivated acts of violence. In fact, whether Havel and the Velvet Revolution were too forgiving of their former oppressors is one of the questions raised in Cory Taylor’s documentary, The Power of the Powerless (trailer here), which opens this Friday in the Los Angeles area.

In 1989, Prague witnessed one of the most inspiring revolutions in world history. However, several college students interviewed throughout Powerless are unsure what to make of it. More specifically, they are unclear how their parents were or were not involved with either the Revolution or the former Communist secret police and its network of informers. In contrast, the Dana Němcová’s children knew only too well their mother was one of the 242 original signatories on the Charter ’77 declaration. Indeed, through a coordinated campaign of harassment, the government would not let them forget it.

For context, Powerless provides an authoritative overview of the Communist Coup of 1948, the brief period of liberalization known as “Prague Spring,” and the resulting Soviet invasion of 1968. According to historian and onetime Havel advisor Jacques Rupnik, during the Stalinist period of so-called “Normalization” approximately half a million party members were purged. Indeed, the extent to which the Velvet Revolutionaries reached out to those former Prague Springers in 1989 clearly illustrates the humanist spirit of the movement.

Not surprisingly, Havel emerges as the critical figure of the film’s narrative. Yet, one of the Powerless’ great merits is the wealth of former dissident voices it presents, including the relatively unheralded Němcová, as well as the likes of Jan Bubeník, a leader of the student demonstrators who became the youngest member to serve in the Czechoslovakian Parliament. Featuring the silky tones of narrator Jeremy Irons, it tells the real life human stories of average people, who rather than merely finding themselves caught up in great events, rose to the occasion, becoming leaders themselves.

The ultimate wisdom of Havel’s conciliatory tone to all but the worst offenders of the former regime remains an open question throughout Powerless. While most Czechs readily give him credit for unifying their country (though he was unable to hold together Czechoslovakia as a whole), many are plagued by nagging questions in the absence of a full accounting of the dark years of Communism. However, the peaceful “people power” Havel harnessed in face of a violent government repression speaks volumes. Indeed, Powerless is a timely reminder democratic revolution must be accompanied by a commitment to individual rights to be successful. Insightful and informative, Powerless opens this Friday (3/11) at the Laemmle Music Box in Beverly Hills, with a New York engagement to come sometime in the near future.

Gott Paint

I'm still out and computer problems may further delay a resumption of regular blogging. However, for those planning a Czech excursion, here is a quick review of the Gott Gallery Restaurant.

Karel Gott began his career as a jazz vocalist, performing with the likes of the Gustav Brom Orchestra, but eventually drifted into more pop vocal terrain. While he had the popularity of a Czech Sinatra, it would probably be more stylistically accurate accurate to describe him as a Czech Vic Damone. Popular he was though, and popular he remains with a segment of the population. Some however, judge him harshly for accepting the favors of the Communist regime. For a time in the early 1970's Gott refused to return from an international engagement, but Husak himself made a personal appeal. You might notice wiki and other online bios are strangely silent about the period from 1968-1977.

Gott is sort of like the Communist era Kofola soda, dividing Czechs. Some can enjoy them with a sense of nostalgia, whereas for others they simply leave a bad taste in their mouths. For expats though, he has high kitsch appeal, so the Gott Gallery Restaurant was a natural stop when BC set out to show me around the city again.

The deserts are rich—KG's personal recipes I'm sure, but the art was the main attraction. Gott seems to have a very healthy appreciation of the nude female form, with a bit of Sapphic eroticism thrown in for good measure. Yet, the middle-aged Czech women did not seem did not seem anymore scandalized than we were. His Gaugin and Toulouse-Lautrec influences are immediately obvious. They seem to be the expression of a man accustomed to enjoying life. As a painter, I would say he is no Tony Bennett. I certainly would not make it a priority for those on their first trip to Prague, but it is not over-run by foreign tourists, and for expats and regular visitors it has a bizarre fascination.

Merry Christmas, Good King Wenceslas

The statue of King Wenceslas, the patron saint of the Czech people, is one of the dominant landmarks of Prague. Legend has it that at the Czechs’ greatest hour of need, the statue will come to life and lead his people to salvation. Other versions have St. Wenceslas rousing the slumbering Knights of Blanik entombed beneath Blanik Mountain under similar circumstances. However, many only know King Wenceslas as the subject of the Christmas carol, one of the few sacred-themed carols which do not mention the birth of Christ.

King Wenceslas only ruled then Bohemia for five years. As the carol suggests, he was known for his charity to the poor and to children. Also known to be hard on the nobility, his reign was marked by comfort for the afflicted, and affliction for the comforted. On his ascent to the throne, King Wenceslas ended his mother’s persecution of Christianity, becoming a staunch Defender of the Faith. He even considered abdication to pursue a life of the cloth. Ultimately, he was martyred by his brother, after ruling only five years.

The twentieth century was difficult for Czechs, yet King Wenceslas did not return during the German occupation or the Soviet invasion of 1968. However, some do not know Václav is the common Czech and Slovak derivative of Wenceslas, and one Václav definitely came to the fore.

The analogy between Václav Havel and King Wenceslas is certainly flawed. Though harassed and imprisoned, Havel happily was not permanently martyred. From 1977 to 1989 Havel regularly saw the inside of prison cells. Havel is the playwright and jazz fan who rallied to the cause of the persecuted rock band The Plastic People of the Universe. He became the natural leader of the Velvet Revolution, culminating in his election to the Presidency, heading the first free government since the Communist coup of 1948 from Prague Castle, where King Wenceslas ruled over 1,000 years earlier.

Havel neither sought power for himself, or to cling to it once he attained it. He is now content in his role as preeminent world citizen. In recent years he has taken the lead supporting the emerging democracy movement in Cuba, and advocating vigilance against. Fortunately, he is not a saint, but he is a hero.

If you are caroling this Christmas, give St. Wenceslas his due. Let us give thanks for his example and those of the great heroes of our time, like Václav Havel, Lech Walesa, and those risked their lives with them. Merry Christmas to all my Czech friends, and to all semi-regular readers of J.B. Spins, wherever you are.

Prague Rock City

For many of us, 1968 means only one thing: Soviet tanks rolling through the streets of Prague. Rock ‘n’ Roll, Tom Stoppard’s latest play, identifies another significant event with that year—the formation of The Plastic People of the Universe, the underground (by necessity) Czech rock band that would become a symbol of Communist oppression when arrested and imprisoned in 1976 (background info from Stoppard here). Spanning decades from the bleak days of Husák's hard-line regime to the heady promise of the Velvet Revolution, Rock ‘n’ Roll tells the Plastics’ story obliquely, through the eyes of an average Czech rock fan and his English friends.

Music and freedom are intertwined in Rock ‘n’ Roll, but the political implications of rock are initially lost on Jan, a young philosophy student and record collector who voluntarily returns to Czechoslovakia after the Soviet invasion, having studied in England with a prominent British Marxist professor, Max Morris. Though not political, Jan’s love for the music of the Plastics and other western bands forces him into a dissident’s life.

The first act moves through the years in a rapid-fire succession of scenes, as Jan is increasingly harassed by the state and reluctantly pushed into pro-democracy activism. Any record collector’s stomach would turn at the sight of Jan’s record collection smashed by the secret police. All the while, Morris remains faithful to his ideology, despite the evidence he sees with his own eyes when he visits Jan in Prague during a Marxist academic conference. He is a hard-case—after all, he weathered 1956 with his faith in tact.

After thoroughly damning Morris in the first act, Stoppard largely lets him off the hook in the second act. Morris is now a widower living with his daughter Esme and granddaughter Alice, both of whom have sentimental attachments to their neighbor, the reclusive former Floyd band-member Syd Barrett. The scenes are longer, but frankly, it is harder to care about the Morris family dramas. However, when Jan comes for a visit, things pick up steam, as Stoppard challenges preconceived notions of collaboration, emphasizing the difficulty of making moral judgments under an oppressive government.

Stoppard is often knocked for the intellectualism of his plays and characters who talk in academic jargon. Morris would be a prime example of this, a man who needs to exist on a philosophical level to disconnect from uncomfortable realities. However, in a tough, challenging scene, his cancer-stricken wife Eleanor calls him out, demanding he respond to her on an emotional level, with ambiguous results.

As Jan, Rufus Sewell is pitch-perfect. It was not just the accent and mannerisms, but something indefinable in his performance was totally Czech. He actually reminded me of Czechs I have met. As Morris, Brian Cox blusters and bellows, chewing up scenery and dialogue with gusto. In a dual role, Sinead Cusack turns in some of the play’s most electric moments as Eleanor, but her grown Esme comes across a bit milk-toast.

Sewell’s Jan though is the heart of the play. Not really an intellectual because he never finished his degree, and not really a dissident because he was never political, Jan is simply a rock ‘n’ roll fan. However, that in itself was political in Communist Czechoslovakia. He was just one of many dreamers who never had chance under a corrupt system of government. In a telling exchange late in the second act, Jan contemplates immigrating to England, but a former Czech countryman tells him words to the effect of: “you finally have a chance to rebuild your own country, why leave now for an England that only apologizes for itself now.”

Stoppard, born in Czechoslovakia, British by way of Singapore, had often spoken out on human rights concerns behind the Iron Curtain, particularly in his collaboration with André Previn, Every Good Boy Deserves Favour, and his television film, Professional Foul. Here his words crackle with meaning, deftly integrating Czech history into his story and wrapping things up nicely with a perfectly fitting conclusion.

Veteran stage and film director Trevor Nunn keeps the pacing brisk. Rock ‘n’ Roll is effectively staged, particularly in its use of classic rock songs to introduce each individual scene, like U2’s “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For,” an arresting preface to the second act, particularly in light of what preceded. Ultimately that is what Rock ‘n’ Roll the play is about—the power of music. After runs in London and Prague’s National Theater, Rock ‘n’ Roll opened last night on Broadway at the Bernard B. Jacobs Theatre, and it well worth seeing, provided the stagehands don’t strike.

(Note: this review is based on a preview performance, coincidentally on the night before I left for Prague.)

Where Are the Rebels?

If you ever wondered what Petula Clark’s “Downtown” sounds like in Czech, Rebelové (The Rebels) is the film for you. Check out this youtube clip of dubious providence to satisfy your curiosity, because this 2001 Czech movie musical is not currently available on DVD in North America.

Rebelové begins as a colorful, splashy teenaged love-story movie musical. It translates a number of familiar English-language 1960’s pop tunes, like “Downtown” and Nancy Sinatra’s “Sugar Town,” into Czech for some breezy, if slightly goofy, musical numbers. However, as the story advances, the mood gets progressively darker. After all, it is set in 1968 Czechoslovakia.

Perhaps that is why Rebelové has never reached the audience it deserves in America (yes, this is an if-you-release-it-I-will-review-it post). It starts out as Hairspray (without cross-dressing) and concludes like The Lives of Others, except gloomier. Spoiler (if you think you will ever see it): In fact, as Rebelové ends the young lovers are separated, with the young army deserter cooling his heels in solitary, as his true love and her family make a break for the border.

Downer endings do not usually cut it with American musical audiences, but Rebelové was a big hit with Czechs when it was released. Clearly, the story of young lovers literally separated by Soviet tanks touched a nerve with viewers old enough to remember the dark days of the invasion. It was even adapted as a Czech stage musical two years after its screen release (Broadway has certainly adapted weirder fare).

I saw the film on a Czech Air flight, and totally fell for it. Call me sentimental, but it is unusual to see a film evolve in tone the way Rebelové does. Prague is on my mind as I will be back there soon for a family function (of which I’m an honorary member). At a time when my friends tell me the memories of life under Communist oppression are starting to dim in the younger generations, New York theater goers will get a fresh reminder when Rock ‘n’ Roll, Tom Stoppard’s new play about the Prague Spring, opens on Broadway, assuming the stagehands do not strike. That would be a fitting irony if a questionable union action postponed a production about the struggle for free expression in Eastern Europe.