in focus: film industry - prague daily...

Czech news, business & l i fe .

In Focus: Film IndustryPages 11 -23

ČEZ CEO SpeaksPage 08

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Heavy rains did little to stifle the easy-going atmosphere of the 44th Karlovy Vary International Film

Festival (KVIFF) this year. Crowds braved downpours as they waited in hour-long ticket queues or rushed to get autographs from the likes of John Malkovich and Antonio Banderas. The economic recession seemingly had little impact on the event, which had one of its most extensive programmes yet. More than 200 feature films were screened, some 131,000 tickets sold, hundreds of litres of beer drunk and kilos upon kilos of sausages eaten. But will KVIFF be able to maintain its informal backpacker atmosphere as its prestige and popularity grow? Read about the festival’s past, present and future in our In Focus report, Movies for the Masses.

The future of the local film industry is looking less rosy, as you will read in Fading to Black, an in-depth look at the rise and fall of the Czech Republic’s role as a mecca for international film productions. The crisis, the falling US dollar and increasing competition all make it harder for Czech studios to land big projects. The lack of financial incentives for foreign filmmakers is only making the situation worse.

State support hasn’t dried up in all sectors, though. In late June, a group of squatters was evicted from Prague’s villa Milada, the last remaining squat in the country. By way of compensation, Human Rights and

Minorities Minister Michael Kocáb arranged for the squatters to move into a three flats in downtown Prague where the rent is a symbolic one crown per month. While many rent-paying Praguers are outraged about this arrangement, the squatters themselves are not happy in their new headquarters and are already on the lookout for new squatting opportunities. Is housing really a basic human right, as the squatters say? Is the state subsidising an illegal lifestyle or supporting an alternative culture? Read about the different sides of the story in Taking Shelter and take a peek inside the sealed-off Milada in our exclusive photo essay.

If the squatters have trouble finding suitable new headquarters, perhaps they should consider some of the country’s railway buildings. Crumbling old stations dot the country, and these once-grand structures are becoming public safety hazards, as you will read in New Chances for Train Stations, our translation from Respekt. Czech Railways is struggling to find ways to keep the buildings functional, but attracting investors is difficult.

What else? Take a stroll through the charming, complicated streetscape of Kosovo’s capital in Pristina Journal, our second instalment of a trilogy of travel pieces from the Balkans. Weigh some of the pros and cons of Prague’s latest tunnel projects. Discover the aromatic, hoppy pale lager at U Medvídků. Find out what it’s like to take a three-year-old for a test drive in a Lamborghini through the Czech countryside. And don’t forget to look through Don’t Miss for Prague Monitor-recommended cultural tips for the next few weeks.

For those already anticipating our next number, please be aware that it will be a double issue, published three weeks from now, 14 August. You can look forward to stories on Škoda’s new guerrilla advertising tactics; the slow, tentative attempts to reform the Czech Republic’s education system; and a multicultural library project that aims to help immigrants integrate in Czech society. Enjoy.

Kristina Alda

Correction: In the story Doing Dairy on the Down Low, which appeared in issue four, one of our photo captions incorrectly identified a farm where children learn how to make honey. The farm belongs to Vojtěch Veselý. Please accept our apology for the mistake.

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05 2009 | 24 July - 13 August

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ISSN 1803-9286

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Editorial

News & Politics

All Bets Are Off

Commentary

In the News

Roundup of the last two weeks

ČEZ Controls 200 MPs – and That’s OK

Q&A with CEO Martin Roman

In Focus

Fading to Black

What will it take to bring the film industry back?

The Art of Advertisements

Czechoslovak film posters on display

Movies for the Masses

That’s a wrap for this year’s Karlovy Vary festival

Films Need State Funding

Q&A with documentarian Martin Škop

Business & Real Estate

New Chances for Train Stations

What can be done to revitalise dilapidated depots

Tunnel Vision

Praguescape

Life & Culture

'Bleak Island'

Dissidents fell silent as communism ended

Taking Shelter

For squatters, it was never just about free rent

Going Homeless

Photo Essay

Pristina Journal

Travel

U Medvídků's 1466 Pale Lager

Beer Culture

Resilient, But not Fireproof

Looking Back

Don't Miss

Early music, and other happenings

Boy Meets Boy Toy

A kid and a car

04 prague monitor magazine | 05 2009 | 24 Ju ly - 13 August

Page 18 Doing KVIFFThis one’s not just for cineastes

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Page 24 Track WorksA ticket to the future for old railroad centres

0 Kosovo’s ComplexitiesThe new country’s capital city tries to jump-start its future

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commentary Translated from Respekt 13 - 18 July 09 | article by Adam Šůra

Prove there’s a problem with gambling. Then maybe we’ll do something about it. We might even ban the herna bars that

are breaking the law.This seems to be the latest response from the Finance Ministry

to local councils that don’t want gaming machines in their districts. It seems fairly absurd. However, in a country famous for its lenient stance on gambling, the situation in fact signals a breakthrough. The ministry’s actions in the coming weeks will determine whether its offer to help councils curb gambling can be taken seriously. If events so far are any guide, however, it looks like herna bars and casinos may themselves soon fall on unlucky times.

In the past, city councils that have mounted campaigns against gambling have tended to get stuck on the same sad course. The councillors place limits on the number of gaming machines allowed in their precincts. This works for a while, but then the gambling menace returns. Only this time it’s in an even more pernicious form. The old slot machines are replaced by video lottery terminals (VLTs). The VLTs work on similar principles, but now it costs more to play them, and councils may not regulate their use. A single example will suffice: The city of Bohunín started off with 144 slot machines. This number was culled to 33, but sure enough, over the next two years, 70 VLTs moved in.

This mess can be blamed on a special edict issued by the Finance Ministry in 2003 (and tailored to suit the Sazka lottery company), which put VLT operations outside the ambit of the local councils. The same rules held that these machines could only be approved or banned by the ministry.

To city mayors, it might seem like the public servants were having a joke at their expense. The reality is probably captured more closely in the words of Pavel Němec, a former chairman of the state office that regulates gaming and lotteries: “The people responsible for monitoring gambling in the Czech Republic are so overworked because of staff shortages that they have turned into ‘approval agencies’.” These watchdogs don’t have the energy to keep gambling in check.

Nevertheless, changes are afoot. The mayor of Litvínov has sent the Finance Ministry police records about three herna bars that have broken the law: The operators let minors gamble on the premises. Ministry officials have promised to remove their licences. The process should only take “a few weeks”.

It would, of course, be more sensible if the local councils could themselves take action against the herna bars, irrespective of whether they feature slot machines, VLTs or roulette. The state has sworn many times that it would introduce the necessary law. The reality, however, is that all attempts at strict regulation have fallen by the wayside. And the finance ministers have played along with gaming companies like Sazka.

Caretaker Finance Minister Eduard Janota, who is cultivating the image of a hardheaded technocrat, still holds out hope. If the state restricts gaming, it stands to lose hundreds of millions of crowns in taxes and fees. On the other hand, it will thwart tax

evasion that, according to estimates, involves the same amounts as gambling. It will also begin to clean up a realm now dominated by the mafia and tied to the drug trade and prostitution. Assuming Janota is true to his word, parliament will vote on the new gambling bill in September. The next few weeks should tell us how realistic this hope is. •

All Bets Are OffMunicipalities face long odds when regulating gambling, but that might change

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Canada imposes visasCanada announced on 13 July that it would require visas for Czech nationals starting the next day. The day before, Czech Foreign Affairs Minister Jan Kohout had said that there was no threat of Canada reintroducing visas in the near future, despite the surge in Czech asylum seekers reported by Citizenship and Immigration Canada at the end of June. As a retaliatory measure, the Czech Republic immediately responded by imposing a visa requirement for Canadian diplomats. The government also recalled its ambassador to Canada for consultations. The Canadian ambassador to the Czech Republic, Michael Calcott, told the Czech News Agency on 14 July that his country had announced to Czech representatives on 29 June that the decision to reintroduce visas could not be changed. Canadian authorities registered 1,720 Czech applications for asylum – filed mostly by members of the Romani community

– in the first half of this year, the second highest number behind Mexico. Canada’s immigration minister, Jason Kenney, told the Toronto Star that Czech Roma do not face state-sanctioned discrimination, but that their applications for asylum in Canada are often economically motivated. Czech citizens now have to apply for short-term visas at the Canadian embassy in Vienna, but can still file applications in Prague until mid-August.

EU threatens retaliation over Canadian visa requirementFollowing Canada’s reintroduction of visas, the Czech Republic called on the European Union to take a unified stand against the measure. According to undisclosed Czech and foreign diplomatic sources quoted by the daily Hospodářské noviny on 15 July, Canada and EU members had agreed earlier that the European Union would not introduce reciprocal visas for Canadians based on the Czech visa decision.

Although the EU ruled out any immediate measures, Sweden, which now holds the EU presidency, threatened on 15 July retaliation against Canada. Czech President Václav Klaus, a staunch opponent of the European Union, complained that EU rules prevent the Czech Republic from unilaterally banning visa-free travel for Canadians. “This is the big difference between Canada and the Czech Republic’s possibilities,” Klaus said.

“As you well know, Canada can decide and the Czech Republic cannot. It’s Brussels that has to decide for us.” On 16 July, EU Justice Commissioner Jacques Barrot said that the Czech Republic may have committed “grave errors” in its treatment of Roma, prompting them to seek asylum in Canada, and that the EU will “have to see that things are corrected where appropriate”, the German news agency DPA reported.

ČR wins two lengthy disputes An international arbitration court in London has ruled that the Czech government does not have to pay CZK 7 billion to the Italian-Dutch firm Invesmart over the 2003 liquidation of the Czech bank Union banka, Finance Ministry spokesman Ondřej Jakob said on 3 July. Invesmart, which had invested in Union banka, argued that the state had failed to provide it with the same

public support given to other banks. The country has also won an arbitration dispute with the Luxembourg-based European Media Ventures, which claimed CZK 2 billion in compensation for lost investments in the now-defunct television station TV3. The decisive stage of the arbitration, which started in August 2005, took place in 2008, Jakob said. “It has turned out that the trend set by [former] Finance Minister Miroslav Kalousek – meaning an aggressive approach in arbitration disputes against the Czech Republic – has paid off,” Jakob told the Czech News Agency. The country has had to pay some CZK 15 billion for lost arbitration disputes and is still facing roughly a dozen arbitrations worth nearly CZK 20 billion. Until the end of May of this year, the Finance Ministry has paid more than CZK 1.5 billion for legal services connected with arbitration proceedings. The arbitrations are mostly the result of agreements on investment protection concluded in the early 1990s.

Paroubek criticised for his June visit to Moscow ČSSD chairman Jiří Paroubek provoked an uproar by his June visit to Moscow, where he met Russian Prime Minister Vladimir Putin. Paroubek reportedly promised to improve


in the news

68 CZK 68 million were collected by humanitarian organisations to help people whose houses were damaged by floods.

10 out of 14 Czech Television board members re-elected Jiří Janeček as ČT head for another six years.

20% of Czech firms are considering moving their headquarters or part of their production abroad, according to a Czech Chamber of Commerce survey.

Photo: ČTK

relations with Russia and to fight the US plan to build an anti-missile radar base in the Czech Republic. On his return Paroubek announced that if the ČSSD wins the October parliamentary election, he would invite Putin for the first foreign visit. On 10 July Hospodářské noviny informed about an internal diplomatic report that is highly critical of the visit because Paroubek failed to invite Czech diplomats or send a report on the visit to the Foreign Affairs Ministry. For its part, the department announced on the same day that Paroubek’s visit did not undermine Czech policy. Foreign Affairs Minister Jan Kohout, however, said it was unfortunate that Paroubek did not communicate with the Czech embassy in Russia during his visit. Paroubek claims he informed the embassy of his visit and expressed pity that it had not offered him any help. Paroubek also criticised former Foreign Affairs Minister Karel Schwarzenberg for his statement that politicians should not “wash the dirty laundry” abroad.

Car producers launch bonuses in slipping industryAutomobile prices are at their lowest in the history of the Czech Republic, with a dozen models available for less than CZK 200,000 and another 50 going for under CZK 250,000,

Hospodářské noviny reported on 3 July. A week later President Václav Klaus vetoed a stimulus bill that included the car scrapping bonus. Klaus called the ČSSD proposal

“discriminatory” and “flawed”. The Finance Ministry and some economists welcomed the move. The bill was aimed at helping car producers suffering from the effects of the economic crisis. Czech branches of Citroën and Hyundai launched their own CZK 30,000 discounts for customers wishing to dispose of their old cars and buy new ones, thus following the large used-car dealers who started offering such incentives in spring. A new bill enabling VAT discounts on all new passenger car registrations caused an annual decrease in new light utility vehicles (LUV) due to changes in the registration of many N1 passenger cars, which have a grid separating the front seats from the back and can now be registered in that category. The Car Importers Association reported on 7 July that the sales of new passenger and light utility vehicles dropped 12.4% to 92,100 units in the first half of this year.

ČR in Davis Cup semis for the first time in 13 yearsThe Czech Republic advanced to the Davis Cup semifinals for the first time since 1996, as Radek Štěpánek defeated Juan Monaco on 12 July to complete the team’s 3-2 victory over Argentina. Štěpánek won 7-6, 6-3, 6-2 on the indoor hard court in Ostrava’s ČEZ Arena. Originally, Ivo Minář was to play in the final match against Monaco, but team captain Jaroslav Navrátil made a last minute change and replaced Minář with Štěpánek. On 18-20 September the Czech squad will face Croatia, which eliminated the United States in another quarterfinal.

“It’s unbelievable,” the No 21 Štěpánek told the Associated Press after the match. “And this is not the end. We’ll do all we can to get even further. I want to succeed in the Davis Cup so much. We’ll fight in Croatia to advance to the final.”


News WrapKennels to board dogs are as scarce in Prague as hen’s teeth, Pražský deník reported on 7 July. About 594,000 visitors went to the Prague Zoo in the first half of the year, the second highest number in the last five years. “Several sharks have now appeared in the ČSSD that are trying to attack Paroubek,” political scientist Jan Kubáček told Mf Dnes on 7 July, adding that leader’s power in the party is weakening.

Antonio Banderas impressed visitors on the last weekend of the Karlovy Vary Film Festival. John Malkovich and his partner drank as many as five cups of cappuccino for breakfast, Richard Lhoták, Grandhotel Pupp’s head of catering services told Novinky.cz. The owner of the Ambiente restaurant group, Tomáš Karpíšek, is planning to open a traditional restaurant called Lokal in September and offer dishes made from domestic ingredients. Czechs prefer butter to margarine during the crisis, Mf Dnes reported on 14 July. The popularity of peppermint liqueur and similar beverages has been rising rapidly, according to the same daily. About 3,200 packages of mouldy raisins were seized by the Czech Agriculture and Food Inspection Authority on 14 July. A lorry loaded with raspberries blocked a Prague road for hours on the very next day. One more tunnel will be built in Prague, Lidové noviny has reported.

The online portal babyweb.cz has launched a project that will list child-friendly places in the Czech Republic. “Mainly mothers and married women scored”, said an Mf Dnes headline on 14 July, referring to the women’s Prague Open tennis tournament, which had started on Štvanice the day before.

The singer Karel Gott, nicknamed the golden nightingale, held a grandiose celebration of his 70th birthday in the Hotel Ambassador on 13 July. “I don’t have time for stupid things,” said Vítězslav Jandák (ČSSD), a member of a the lower house education committee, reacting to protesting secondary-school students’ call that he take the standardised leaving exam, according to Lidové noviny.

compiled by Petra Pokorná

4 guests of U Českého lva restaurant in Prague were hurt by a hand grenade that was hidden in a suitcase brought in by one of the guests.

For more news go to: praguemonitor.com/breakfastbrief and praguemonitor.com/newswrap

70th Prague’s rank among the world’s most expensive cities. Last year Prague was in 29th place, according to the Mercer consulting company.

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o: Č

TK

He is regarded as the most powerful man in the country and is on friendly

terms with ministers and the leaders of the major political parties. He manages the richest firm in the country and can sway laws and government decisions in that company’s interest. State officials responsible for implementing policies worth billions of crowns take note of his opinions.

Nevertheless, Martin Roman insists he has no real power.

“Having influence and having power are two different things,” Roman says. “And I have influence rather than great power.” The difference is crucial, according to Roman. “Having influence means I’m trusted by those who really do have power. These people will hear you out – and sometimes they take your advice,” says the man who can alter business and politics like no one else can in this country.

Since your appointment as head of ČEZ, the company has become a powerful institution, affecting all spheres of public life. Including politics. Is that gratifying?The situation’s inevitable given ČEZ’s size. I’ll tell you a funny story. During the voting on emission allowances in parliament, somebody said: “Now we’ll see how many MPs ČEZ controls in parliament.” And someone else – I still don’t know who it was – replied: “Well, it’s obvious how many. Two hundred, right? After all, ČEZ is a state-run firm!” It’s normal for politicians to defend the interests of a state-run company. And I really don’t think this happens to a greater extent here here than in other countries. In Poland and France this kind of protection extends even further.

All right, but should a single state-run company have such enormous influence?

There’s a link between politics and the utilities sector in every country of the world! Everywhere, politicians ensure that their country is independent in energy terms, that there’s enough power supply, and that it’s affordable for citizens. So, in every country, there has to be a crossover between politics and the energy business.

But people here are starting to talk about “ČEZocracy” replacing democracy. Companies are supposed to do business, not politics, aren’t they?But in every country companies still need to ensure that the environment lets them do business.

ČEZ never would have grown so strong if politicians hadn’t decided years ago to form “super-ČEZ” by

merging electricity production and distribution. Wouldn’t it be fairer if there were more energy firms on the market instead of a single player this dominant?But time has proven that those who said this was the best step were right. Just as a comparison, Poland went in the opposite direction: It broke up its energy sector, and now it’s being combined again. I think it was even stated expressly in the government paper that led to the pooling of Polish production and distribution two years ago that the Czech ČEZ example illustrated the right approach.

What has really caused an increase in ČEZ’s power has been your incentive scheme for managers. It entitles you to shares, and the higher the stock price, the more you benefit. Thanks to this scheme, you’re the best paid


interv iew

Martin Roman: ČEZ Controls 200 MPs – and That’s OKThe energy head explains how to win deals and influence people

“Having influence and having power are two different things,” says Roman. “And I have influence.” | ČTK

Translated from Hospodářské noviny, 10 July 09 | article by Zuzana Kubátová

contracted manager, but also one of the most criticised.The parameters for the incentive scheme were laid before I came on board. I became associated with the scheme because of the number of shares I’m entitled to. But this number hasn’t changed one bit since I took up my position.

The scheme has changed several times under your leadership.Yes, but with the result that the number of beneficiaries, those entitled to the options, has fallen. And it’s become much fairer. Under my predecessor, the CEO benefited much more from the scheme than the other managers. Since I accepted my post, the option scheme has definitely not grown more generous. Instead, ceilings have been imposed on the incentives and we’ve cut down the number of individuals involved.

But the income that ČEZ managers get from the options is still really high compared with the situation in other domestic firms. Why are the incentives so huge?There was nothing strange about the option scheme per se. What was unusual was the skyrocketing in ČEZ’s value that came later. No other energy business in the world has shown such marked growth over that time frame.The increased share price is mainly due to the surge in electricity prices on the European market under your management. Or do you think other factors are at play?The jolt in the share price started in September 2004, around six months after the new management came in. And it wasn’t caused by a price increase to some unrealistic value, but by the fact that shareholders had never really appreciated ČEZ until then. ČEZ was the Cinderella that nobody knew about. Then we arrived on the scene and started showing investors its potential. The growth came after we started talking intently with investors, after we told them about our plans and the anticipated development of the market. We won their confidence.

Do you see raising the share price as your main goal?

I think that any manager of a company listed on the stock exchange should focus above all on the value of the business for shareholders. Of course, that’s the priority.

It’s well-known that you’d also like to take over the Most mines owned by the Czech Coal group, your chief rival in the energy business. If you acquire the mines, you’ll really be king of the market. Is this an essential move for ČEZ?The second we have a watertight long-term contract on coal prices at our power station in Počerady and the prices there are standard for the European market, we’ll be able to produce at competitive prices. In that case, owning the Most mines won’t be important.

How far do you want to push ČEZ? How big do you think it should get?The idea of ČEZ acquiring another power station or mine has little appeal to me. What I want is to keep boosting its value. It makes sense to buy energy assets in central Europe, but only at a decent price. The same goes for building up new sources: Temelín, Dukovany, gas-fired power stations, renewable resources. My other challenges are the ones we rolled out recently: investing in new technologies and so-called smart networks, electric cars and electric storage systems.

ČEZ is the third company where you’ve been CEO – and the largest one. Does the job get more rewarding when the company you manage is bigger and stronger?Well, when I drive through Radotín now and see Janka – renovated, dispatching trucks full of goods – I still feel some satisfaction. And Škoda. When I came to Škoda Plzeň, it had an accumulated loss of CZK 12 billion and blank order books for most segments. It had a turnover of CZK 10 billion and 15,000 staff. My objective was to achieve a CZK 10 billion turnover and a CZK 1 billion profit with 4,000 people. That’s the most difficult thing in this business. Managing ČEZ and keeping it in the black is much easier than preventing Janka Radotín or Škoda Plzeň from going bankrupt.


»

About ČEZHistoryThe company that controls all of the large Czech power stations was founded in 1992. The government sold off one-third of shares in a voucher privatisation scheme, and the rest remain in state hands. Since merging in 2002 with eight regional distribution companies, ČEZ has surfaced as the dominant force on the local market. In 2005, its position was bolstered even more when it took over leading Czech brown-coal producer Severočeské doly.

Present dayČEZ is the most profitable Czech company, and it is also active abroad. It owns power stations, mines, and trading companies in Bulgaria, Romania, Poland, Germany, Turkey and Albania, and is building nuclear units in Slovakia.

The company’s 2008 profit reached a record CZK 47 billion, but it will be exceeded this year when its earnings soar to around CZK 50 billion.

ČEZ paid almost CZK 80 billion in dividends, taxes and insurance to the state budget last year..

Photo: Petr Kotěšovec


interv iew

As head of Škoda, you also helped with its privatisation, which is still racked with controversy. It may have involved money that was withdrawn illegally beforehand from Mostecká uhelná společnost. Do you know how the buyer, Appian, financed the purchase?For God’s sake, how could I know where Appian got the money? At the time of the Škoda takeover, the company was being managed by World Bank ex-president Jacques de Groot. Appian had a strong reputation and solid plans.

That reputation was entirely manufactured. The Swiss public prosecutor now suspects de Groot and Appian’s associates of money laundering, fraud and other double-dealing related to the Mostecká uhelná společnost privatisation.

Let’s compare scenarios: The Škoda acquisition happened in the same year as the sale of Nová huť in Ostrava. The state got almost nothing for the steelworks; in fact it had to cough up around CZK 400 million. Now take a look at the way the current owner is behaving. And contrast the situation at Škoda right now. I think it’s clear which privatisation was better.

Many business people are convinced you have some type of ownership interest in Škoda. They claim that you and Appian entered into an ownership

arrangement. No one knows who the real investors in Appian are. Are you one of them?I’ve commented on this so many times! I’ve never had a stake in Škoda. That’s all there is to say.

How did you get on the supervisory board of Czech Railways, which is, by the way, the biggest customer of not just ČEZ but Škoda?Take a look at the supervisory boards in state railways in German and Austria. All over the world, the supervisory boards of railways are chaired by the managers of other companies.

Who came up with the idea of putting you on the Czech Railways supervisory board three years ago?It didn’t come from me. At that time, there was a decision that Czech Railways should be overhauled. ČEZ had already gone through a successful transformation, so it was suggested that I go there to give advice and share my experience. Why not?

Would you like to be the manager of another domestic company for which the tasks and problems are different from the ones you dealt with at ČEZ, Škoda and Janka?I worked for three firms, and two of those were on the verge of bankruptcy. I know

what it’s like when your stomach’s in knots because payday’s coming and you have no money. Or when your best people are on their way out the door because you can’t pay them. Or when a customer chooses a product from your rival because you don’t have a comparable item and it’d take you two years to develop one. I didn’t grow up wrapped in cotton wool!

Would you accept a job like that now?That’s hard to say. I haven’t thought about it.

It’s said that you run ČEZ more like a politician than a company manager. And you’d rather deal with outside negotiations than internal affairs.Maybe it’s because I don’t yell at people. ČEZ is a huge company, and it’s impossible to manage a giant like that by screaming orders from on high. In terms of external dealings, in a company like ČEZ, it’s just pointless for the general director to sit through every budget meeting and tally every crown. That’s why all big companies appoint both a CEO and COO. In our firm, this second position, the Chief Operating Officer, is held by Daniel Beneš, and the two of us divided the work this way some time ago. He looks at internal issues, while as the Chief Executive Officer, I handle external communication.

Do you plan to enter in real politics one day? You’re certainly cut out for it: You have negotiating talent and the ability to push proposals through.You have to want to go into politics. I’m a businessman. I love numbers. More to the point, I have zero political ambition, I don’t want to go into politics, and I won’t go. In business, I’m used to having both responsibility and power. In politics, you never have enough power.

But top politicians have enormous power. Don’t you share that lust?Power? I have influence rather than power. They’re not the same. When you have power, you make decisions independently, Having influence means the people in power confide in you. They listen and sometimes they heed your advice. I don’t have power, but a lot of people want to know my opinion, so that’s where my influence comes in. •

ČEZ plans the expansion of Dukovany, one of two Czech nuclear power plants. | Courtesy

MoviesIn Focus:

in focus

Fading to BlackDon’t expect to bring the industry without incentives

The Art of AdvertisementsCzechoslovak artists once created cinema posters by hand

Movies for the MassesThe Karlovy Vary International Film Festival

InterviewThis year’s Crystal Globe-winning documenatarian talks showbiz

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Prague’s run as a mecca for international film production has had its ups and

downs. Recent figures show the industry in bad decline, however, putting inward investment and jobs at risk. The Czech Republic’s reputation as a film location began to rise after the fall of communism. One of the first Hollywood producers on the scene was Rick McCallum, who arrived in early 1990 to shoot episodes of The Adventures of Young Indiana Jones. “It was a gold mine. It was the cheapest place with the greatest film culture, the most extraordinary locations,” McCallum said.

“I paid USD 500 a night to [shoot] in the National Museum.”

Rumours of greedy local contractors on Brian de Palma’s Mission: Impossible

blighted the Czech image briefly, but the country quickly cleaned up its act and developed a reputation for highly skilled crews, diverse locations and world-class infrastructure – all at a fraction of the costs of shooting elsewhere. A boom started in 2002 and brought in such big-budget productions as Blade II, The Bourne Identity and Hellboy. Soon to follow were Wanted, Casino Royale and The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe.

Now Czech crews and facilities are again in the doldrums. The industry was worth CZK 7.6 billion in 2003, but by 2008 it had shrunk to CZK 3.5 billion. What’s more, the sector has shed more than 1,500 jobs since 2003 – 1,200 of those in the last year alone. At Barrandov Studios, a production facility

synonymous with Czech filmmaking, year-on-year profit fell more than 50% to CZK 22 million in 2008. Sales were down CZK 40 million to CZK 600 million. “The figures are tragic,” said Pavel Strnad, president of the Audiovisual Producers Association (APA).

“They could hardly be any worse.”“It has been one of the hardest years I can

remember,” said Prague-based producer Kevan Van Thompson, whose credits include Babylon AD and the upcoming release Solomon Kane. “I have started work on several movies without any of them actually getting up and running.”

The cause of the problem is threefold. One, the global financial crisis has restricted lending in all industries, and filmmakers rely on outside financing. Two, the value of the


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Fading to Black Incentives are needed to keep foreign cameras rolling in the Czech Republic

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US dollar, the currency of the international film industry, has plummeted against the crown. On July 15, 2000, USD 1 bought about CZK 38; nine years later, it’s worth CZK 18.6. So while the rise in prices for film-related services in the Czech Republic have seldom outpaced inflation, foreign producers have the impression that prices have doubled. Three, the market for productions has become more competitive. Hollywood has always used offshore locations to save money: William Wyler, for example, shot Ben-Hur in Italy. More and more territories are seeking to attract these so-called runaway productions and the investment they bring. “Anything I bring here really helps the economy, because it is work and money that would not otherwise


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article by Theodore Schwinkecourtesy photos of the Czech Film Commission

come into the country,” Van Thompson said.

Until recently, the Czech Republic offered producers the best deal for their money. But in recent years, Australia, France, Germany, Hungary, Italy, and many other territories, including individual US states, have created financial incentives to lure runaway productions. Broadly speaking, there are two kinds of financial incentives: funds and rebates. Germany is among the territories that have funds that directly contribute to the budgets of selected productions. The German Federal Film Fund invested EUR 118.5 million in productions in its first two years. These funds have attracted such major movies as Valkyrie and Speed Racer to Germany, where they and other films have poured nearly EUR 1 billion into the economy.

Other territories offer producers tax rebates that entitle them to a refund of a portion of the money they spend. In 2005, Hungary introduced a rebate that allows producers to get up to 25% of production-related costs back. As a result, the annual spending by productions increased tenfold: from HUF 5.8 billion in 2004 to HUF 59 billion in 2007. Films that have benefited from Hungary’s rebate include Hellboy 2, The Secret of Moonacre and the upcoming Season of the Witch. These films might have been shot in Prague were it not for the Hungarian and German inducements. “In a world without incentives, the Czech Republic would still be the one of the top locations for international productions,” said Ludmila Claussová, of the Czech Film Commission, which promotes the country as a location for movies. “Our crews and facilities are among the best in the world. When we lose films to Germany, Hungary or the UK, it’s not because we’re not good enough. It’s because those countries have incentives and we don’t.”

Despite the success of incentives elsewhere, the idea has not been popular with Czech politicians until now. During the recent Karlovy Vary International Film Festival, former Prime Minister Mirek Topolánek (ODS) and former Culture Minister Vítězslav Jandák (ČSSD) acknowledged the need to help productions. “The Czech film industry needs some kind of stimulus,” Topolánek said on the political talk show Otázky Václava Moravce (Questions with Václav Moravec). “We should encourage cinema like we encourage business.”

Film industry professionals are now working with the finance and culture ministries to create a plan to be presented to the government after the summer break.

“What’s significant now is that leading politicians from both the left and right agreed on the need for incentives for the Czech film industry,” Claussová said. “They

know that there are billions of crowns and thousands of jobs at risk.”

The view from outside of the country is not always sentimental. London-based producer Paul Berrow, who worked with Van Thompson on Solomon Kane, shot at Barrandov Studios in 2008. He says it would be impossible to shoot the film in


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the Czech Republic under the current conditions. “I think incentives are absolutely essential in this marketplace,” Berrow said. “Any [politician] who’s blind or silly enough not to recognise that shouldn’t be in the job, frankly.”

The challenge for filmmakers has been to get broad support for their cause, and toward that end they are working with other sectors that benefit from productions. The Audiovisual Producers Association estimates that each crown spent directly on filmmaking means another crown spent elsewhere.

Hospitality is one such closely connected business. Roman R. Straub is general manager of Vienna International’s Prague hotels: Diplomat, Angelo, Anděl’s and Anděl’s Suites. “We all have the common goal of getting more movies to come to the Czech Republic,” Straub said. “Our biggest issue is to get incentives like they have in Hungary or Germany.” Straub said his hotels get considerable business from filmmakers, especially those locations in Smíchov, close to Barrandov Studios. “The second Narnia movie brought us more then EUR 3 million,” he said.

McCallum is sensitive to the plight of Czech filmmakers, some of whom he has worked with for nearly two decades and who can no longer find jobs locally. In Prague this spring to shoot Red Tails for Lucasfilm, he likened the industry to a midsize brewery. “If that were to shut down, it would be an unequivocal disaster. It would be on the front pages. There’d be protests,” he said. “But the three to five thousand people [in film] that are basically being squeezed to death here, that have for all intents and purposes no future whatsoever, won’t even make a little blip.”

The film professionals who lose their jobs in Prague have to look elsewhere for an opportunity to use their skills. “Every day I hear of crew members who are either leaving the industry, or the country,” Van Thompson said. “With the [Czech] currency so strong, and no legislation to bring in the foreign movies, there will be a much reduced workforce.”

Pavel Policar is a special effects expert who has worked on AvP:

Alien vs. Predator, Babylon AD and the Narnia films, among others. “This year and last have been very difficult,” he said. “Many of my colleagues and film experts had to quit their film careers and find work in a different business. Foreign productions are choosing other countries, and it is destroying our film infrastructure, which took decades to build.”

McCallum echoes many in the industry who do not see why the Czech government would continue to resist creating incentives. Lucasfilm wants to shoot a long-running production of a Star Wars TV series in Prague, but only if the government offers incentives.

“If I wanted to open a widget factory and I came to the Czech Republic and said, ‘I’m going to spend $150 million in the next four years, but I need some tax incentives to get me here. I will employ 250 people for the next four to seven years, guaranteed. I will dump $150 million in your economy,’ they would do anything in the world to get me – to stop me from going to Hungary, Germany or anywhere else,” McCallum said. “But when it has to do with the film business, absolutely nothing.”

Policar said his economic future is at risk if incentives are not created, but he remains optimistic. “I’m sure, APA will be successful with the new government in the autumn,” he said. “The politicians will approve the incentives, and I hope the next year will be one of the best years for the film industry in the Czech Republic.”

Others warn of the consequences if no action is taken. “Unless there is a drastic change, the industry will die a very quick death,” Van Thompson said. “That is something I truly want to help avoid.” •

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While the larger industry suffers, Czech-language film is booming; investment in production quadrupled in the past five years to reach CZK 880 million in 2008. Thirty Czech feature films were released in 2008, and 11 of those were among the top 20 earners at the box-office.

Industry professionals are proud of local film traditions, but say Czech-language film is only a small bright spot in a larger gloomier picture.

“Czech movies don’t offer many possibilities to experiment with creativity,” Policar said. “Budgets for Czech movies are calculated around CZK 15 million to CZK 25 million. Foreign projects spend this in one or two working days.”

“Czech films largely are made on money from the government, TV and local companies, so the money is already here,” Van Thompson said. “But long live the Czech movie, because it is so important culturally.”


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When you think of the film posters of today – plastered with credits

and dull shots of smiling superstars – it’s hard to imagine anything so beautiful that you’d actually want to hang it on your wall. But, from the late 1950s until 1989, Czechoslovakia was producing posters of this calibre. And since 2006, a series of exhibitions titled The Golden Era of Czechoslovak Film Posters has been giving the public the opportunity to learn more about an age when the advertisements were art.

“Big cities today are bursting at the seams with posters, and they all look the same,” says Pavel Rajčan, who curates the exhibition through Aerofilms, which manages the art house cinemas Aero and Světozor. “What we wanted to show in this exhibition was that these graphic artists were almost making original artwork. They’re all different. And they’re all beautiful in their own right.”

Currently in its eighth cycle, the exhibition series now features work from the era’s most prolific artist in the genre, Karel Vaca. Producing close to 300 film posters between 1959 and 1989, Vaca won numerous awards and is best known for his designs for The Cry, Adelheid, Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner and, most notably, Fellini’s La Dolce Vita. The latter shows the striking profile of a woman with a blue butterfly on her predominately white head, her red lips and ornate costume contrasting beautifully against the grey-green background.

As well as Vaca, the series has previously displayed the work of Olga Poláčková, whose design for the film A Gentle Creature is perhaps the most famous poster by a Czech artist. It has also showcased the talents of Milan Grygar and Zdeněk Ziegler,

The Art of AdvertisementsA series of exhibitions recalls the Czechoslovak tradition of film posters

article by Joann PlockováCourtesy photos


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who – along with Vaca, Josef Vyleťal and Karel Teissig – are considered the most important artists of the golden era, both for the influence of their work and the sheer number of their creations. What distinguishes the posters of this period is not just that the Czechoslovaks, like the Poles, were creating their own designs, but that they were still doing everything by hand. Unlike Western Europe, which was home to several film distribution companies, including studios from the West that made their own posters, Czechoslovakia had only one film distributor, and its posters came from commissioned artists, rather than a

team of in-house designers. “Everything was handmade,” Rajčan said. “Computers didn’t exist. It may look like the type is machine-printed, but it’s hand-drawn,”

The high point of the period came in the late 1950s and lasted almost until the end of the 1960s as Czechoslovak artists left even the Poles behind, invoking an impressive array of modern graphic techniques including collage, photomontage, cutouts and creative typography. Characterised by relatively little censorship and an influx of movies arriving from the west, the years up until 1968 allowed for more creative freedom and play.

Of course, it was the artists themselves who defined the era with their inimitable styles. As well as their flair for graphic art, it was their distinctive backgrounds – working as sculptors, painters or architects – that made their posters so exceptional.

Zdeněk Ziegler was a typographer as well as a designer, and his posters reflected his passion for typefaces. His 1973 poster for Fellini’s Roma showed the film’s title in large letters, all stacked on top of one another and coloured yellow with the exception of the

“o” – which was a glaring orange, red, yellow and pink bullseye. In contrast, the posters of surrealist artist Josef Vyleťal tended to incorporate paintings with a fantastical dreamlike quality. For the German film The Pedestrian, Vlyeťal interweaved cutouts and paint to create an eerie window view of the head of a blindfolded man floating above the ground. Both of these artists were also keenly aware of the changes imposed on film poster design after 1968 based on the normalisation programme. Vyleťal, who created the poster for Easy Rider, was made to obscure the American flag he drew on actor Dennis Hopper’s back. Ziegler was called in by the secret police to answer questions about the inspiration for the hundred-dollar bill shown in his poster for the American film 100 Rifles.

The emigration of a number of Czechoslovak poster artists after ‘68 also had a marked impact on the quality and quantity of local works. Among the émigrés was Zdeněk Kaplan, whose work is the subject of the next exhibition cycle, scheduled for September. Still living in Italy today, Kaplan is famous for his posters for My Fair Lady and The Seven Year Itch, which channel the spirit of Czechoslovak collage. Like Poláčková, Grygar and Ziegler, he plans to attend the exhibition opening.

“Because he emigrated, he created only 30 posters between 1964 and 1971,” Rajčan said. “But they were all extraordinary.”

It was in 1989, when Hollywood came to town, that high-quality local poster art really started to decline. With so many new releases arriving with ready-made advertising, designers created only a handful of original and important posters according to Rajčan.

Outside of Prague, the exhibition has already appeared in cities including Chicago and Madrid. In August, Rajčan will take the Milan Grygar exhibition to Tokyo. •

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article by Hana Gomolákováphotos by Martin Mráz

Movies for the

MassesIt’s prestige without pretentiousness at Europe’s

favourite spa-town film festival


Young people hold plastic cups of beer in one hand and paper plates

with sausages in the other while they chat about the films they just saw or last night’s parties. This exterior shot of the Hotel Thermal, built during the peak of communist-era panel construction, represents the first scene for visitors at the Karlovy Vary International Film Festival (KVIFF). Walk further into the hotel, past the main hall and up the stairs, and you find those who came with other motives. Up-and-coming filmmakers present new work to their cash-handling counterparts in the industry, who are there to scout new genius. Directors, producers and distributors talk shop, always surrounded by a herd of journalists straining ears to catch the latest on who’s doing what, where and when.

Jarosław Szoda, an award-winning Polish cinematographer, said that what makes Karlovy Vary so special is that it exists for the fans who are here to see the films, unlike Cannes or Berlin, which are festivals that mainly draw visitors interested in the cinema market. KVIFF manages to combine the best of both worlds: It’s a festival for the people, as well as a meeting point for filmmakers. Backpackers and celebrities rub shoulders as they pass each other in the halls, only to meet later for a chat at one of the afternoon discussions organised as part of the festival.

At a master class on 10 July, visitors had a chance to talk to one of the many big stars to have visited the spa town over the years, John Malkovich, who received the Crystal Globe for Outstanding Contribution to World Cinema. Around town, they were also able to catch glimpses of Antonio Banderas, who gave out smiles and autographs all around and was an indisputable favourite among the many female film fans. He received the Award of the Festival President. Other notable guests included two young talents of American independent cinema. Scott Sanders made the audience laugh so hard with Black Dynamite, his satirical take on 1970s blaxploitation films, that it seemed as though the creaky old Thermal might actually collapse. Cary Joji Fukunaga’s Sin Nombre was another highly praised work.

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Longer linesMore and more, crowds come here to fill the halls and wait in line each morning for their daily dose of movies. To stand a chance of getting tickets for the most popular films screened at the festival this year, fans had to wake up at the crack of dawn and wait for hours in front of the halls. Soliman Fanzi, a journalist from Cairo who has been coming to the festival for more than 40 years, told me that in the early days, the only hall where films were screened was at the luxurious Grandhotel Pupp, up the water from the Thermal. Today there are 14 halls, ranging from the posh atmosphere of the Municipal Theatre to Espace Dorleans, an inflated tent.

This year, a new multipurpose hall, the KV Arena, saw its premiere screening with the war drama Tobruk shown in 4K, the latest advance in digital film presentation. The hall, which has a capacity of 1,000, will become one of the regular venues next year. As this new screening venue opened, rumours spread about the fate of Hotel Thermal, a state-owned establishment that is reportedly severely cash-strapped and being considered for privatisation. “As long as the hotel is run by the state, the festival’s location will remain the same,” KVIFF president Jiří Bartoška told journalists. “We don’t know whether a private investor wouldn’t want to use it for some other purpose.”

Festival buzzUsually, the youth from Karlovy Vary welcome the buzz the festival brings as well as the various club scenes that are built especially for the occasion. At the Captain Morgan tent, which stands right next to the Hotel Thermal, visitors dance to the latest radio hits until the early morning hours. Aeroport, a stage in the former Česká spořitelna building, is another popular venue. On the final night of the festival, I struck up a conversation with one of the young people on the dance floor. Jirka said he wasn’t very interested in films, but he enjoys the clubs. He regretted that it would all be packed up and closed down the next day. I asked what would be happening in the building for the rest of the year. “Here?” he asked,

looking around sadly. “There’s nothing here.”

Not everyone is pleased with the annual crush of visitors the festival brings. A local pensioner, for example, grumbled that the festival is mainly for Praguers, who bring everything they need, hire companies to build all the stages and then take everything back once the show is over. The locals, he said, don’t benefit from the festival at all.

Still, the thousands of visitors have to sleep and eat somewhere and they also party it up in the numerous clubs around town. “It’s like with the Russians,” said Jaroslav Šafránek, a school inspector who lives near the spa town. “Everybody says how bad it is that they come here, but actually they bring a lot of money to the town.”

The festival has come a long way since its foundation in 1946, surviving a history that includes the turbulent years of pro-regime screenings and normalisation that lasted until 1989. Some years, the festival didn’t even take place. In 1990, the festival introduced a series of Czechoslovak films that were banned during the communist era. Since Jiří Bartoška and Eva Zaoralová took over management in 1994, the festival has blossomed, attracting more and more people every year until 2008, when it sold a record 140,000 tickets. By comparison, this year saw 131,293 single screenings purchased, but accreditation sales were up, at 10,277 versus 9,054 for last year. The festival has hosted such film stars as Robert De Niro, Leonardo DiCaprio, Sharon Stone, Roman Polanski, Morgan Freeman, Whoopi Goldberg, Sean Connery, Michael Douglas, Robert Redford, Miloš Forman and Andy García. Last year it began screening festival trailers featuring stars awarded the Crystal Globe for Outstanding Contribution to World Cinema.

When the jury picked Amélie for the Crystal Globe in 2001, for example, and that film subsequently won over millions of people worldwide, no doubt remained that Karlovy Vary had taken its rightful place among the better-known European events such as Cannes, Berlin and Venice. •

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For daily reports of this year’s festival visit: www.praguemonitor.com/kviff


Marko Škop is one of the emerging talents of Slovak documentary

cinema. With his directorial debut Iné Svety (Other Worlds), he won over audiences at the Karlovy Vary International Film Festival in 2006. Last year the documentary Slepé lásky (Blind Loves), which he helped produce, returned from Cannes with the Art Cinema Award, and his newest production, Osadné, about a village in eastern Slovakia, won the Crystal Globe in its category at Vary this year.

You’ve said that Osadné is a “directed documentary”, meaning that you steered the story a bit. Can you explain how you influenced it? How important is it to you to maintain the purity of the documentary form? The most fascinating and beautiful thing about documentary is the creativity and freedom it gives you to use different styles. When it came to Osadné, I hope I stayed true to all ethical standards and factual authenticity.

The project was actually conceived one day when I was watching the news and happened to catch a European MP answering questions. I discovered that any of these guys can invite up to 100 guests to see the European Parliament.

At that time, Jarka Sabolová, who writes for a Ruthenian [ethnic minority] magazine told me about this village – Osadné, in the very east of Slovakia – that has a very good and active Orthodox priest, a decent mayor and a tourist trail funded by the EU.

I already knew Fedor Vico; we’d worked together on Iné Svety. He, in turn, knows the politician Milan Gaľa, and so we asked Milan to visit Osadné. He accepted and came, which I appreciated tremendously. And then, he invited everyone to Brussels. So, actually the only thing I set up was inviting Milan Gal’a. After that, we just filmed what happened.

I shot this documentary differently from Iné Svety, in which I, myself, spoke on camera. With Osadné, I wanted to try something new; we combined shots in a more classic documentary style, for example. Also, the characters don’t talk directly on camera. Instead I just gave them the topics I wanted them to cover. They went with it from there, and we captured that.

You’ve participated in several projects to support film distribution such as Doc Alliance and Docu Talents from the East. What do you think about these systems? Are they helpful for documentary makers, especially young people in the industry? I really appreciate what Czech institutions are doing to support documentaries, and especially what the Institute of Documentary Film and the Jihlava International Documentary Film Festival have done to help educate young filmmakers.

It’s generally much harder to finance a documentary than a feature film. What has your personal experience been with this, and what would you recommend?As in any endeavour, starting out is always tough. But I think the most important

thing is that the project get support from the state, or from some state institution. It’s also possible to finance films through international co-productions, but that’s very hard to do. I admire anyone who can finance their film like that. Also, I’d like to thank Hypermarket Film for helping us; their support was essential.

You’ve described yourself as a “local documentary filmmaker”. Do you have any plans to make films abroad? Yes, I can totally imagine filming abroad. I’ve already shot in Kosovo after the war. But it’s true that eastern Slovakia is a subject that interests me a lot, and there’s still plenty of inspiration for me there.

Your documentaries Iné Svety and Osadné, as well as Slepé lásky, which you co-produced, have been honoured with prizes. Which filmmakers have inspired you most? In terms of Czech film, I’d have to say Karel Vachek for his gifts as a philosopher and an instructor and Helena Třeštíková for her humanity and hard work. Looking at the filmmakers of my generation, I’d single out Miroslav Janek for his integrity and creative abilities. And then there’s Vít Klusák, Jan Gogola, Pavel Abrahám, Lucie Králová, Filip Remunda and Martin Mareček. I hope I didn’t forget anyone. •

Marko Škop: Films Need State FundingThe award-winning Slovak documentarian talks about his work and the industry

in focus article by Hana GomolákováCourtesy photo

Škop, centre, and his collaborators collected high honours at the Karlovy Vary International Film Festival this year.

What to do with old train stations? Cancel service and demolish them?

Keep them, complete with bored ticket sellers, though only a handful of passengers pass through? The ideal lies in between, and Europeans have sought the solution for years. Czechs seek this, too, but haven’t made much progress.

Some might say Petr Chaloupka suffers from train obsession. His girlfriend would say so. “Whenever we take a train, he forgets everything and only looks for signposts and track types,” Eva Zemanová said. Chaloupka, a 35-year-old operator at a gas plant, has admired trains since childhood. Now he spends holidays at a depot.

The couple’s accommodations lie in the dispatch building at the station in Střížovice, a half hour by rail from Jindřichův Hradec. It looks like a model train set: Trees grow so healthy it appears that a hobbyist exaggerated the green paint. A forest surrounds the station, and a polished train blows its horn several times daily. The 19th-century building fits the tradition of others built during the Austrian monarchy. The station once represented the gateway to the world. A century ago, terminals made for central spots in villages and towns.

Then, stations functioned as airports do today. Passengers arrived early, checked in luggage, showed tickets and awaited the bell in second- or third-class lounges.

Bigger terminals had post offices, storage areas, workshops and mechanics

– dozens of employees and metre upon metre of buildings and land. Today the whole operation runs much smaller and easier; most of what existed before would seem useless.

Střížovice’s station fell out of service for years. However, as a cosy little building in a travel destination, it easily became a hotel. What to do elsewhere?

To KaprounEven careful planners struggle to find solutions. Most stations in the country belong to Czech Railways (ČD), which has never earned the reputation of careful

planner. ČD owns some 1,000 stations and approximately 10,000 additional buildings. Thousands of other stations mostly belong to the Railway Infrastructure Administration (SŽDC). In 2002, when ČD and SŽDC split, some buildings were deemed unnecessary, but that decision is being examined. Should the railways not want the buildings, the structures will go up for sale. The money earned won’t go into repairs and reconstruction for buildings that need it but

will subsidise losses in passenger transport.The railways haven’t planned which lines

to preserve and support and, therefore, which stations to invest in and which to discontinue or demolish. So they all crumble.

Střížovice represents the oasis. The pension has no vacancies until autumn, and everything seems clean and repaired.

Střížovice belongs to the private Jindřichův Hradec Local Railways (JHMD),


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New Chances for Train StationsGrand old structures still serve their travel functions, but could use revitalisation

Masarykovo nádraží: complicated, hostile …

which acquired the stretch of track that attracts tens of thousands of tourists annually for CZK 1 in a privatisation.

The train from Jindřichův Hradec to Nová Bystřice started operation in 1897. A century later ČD calculated annual losses on the line at CZK 30 million and announced it would discontinue service. Some 40,000 people signed petition to preserve the line. A privatisation project was endorsed. JHMD became the first private line, and Jan Šatava, previously a railway employee and nostalgic, became head and co-owner.

JHMD doesn’t depend on a few commuters, as other lines do. Some 200,000 people ride the line annually.

Šatava serves as proof that under favourable circumstances one can operate a profitable railway. Side revenue comes from the 45 beds in the station buildings.

“Such tourism potential is not available everywhere,” Šatava says. “However, there is always the possibility for ideas. You can create offices, some buildings would be suitable for sales or storage – entrepreneurs could then take advantage of train transport for the goods. There are many possibilities. The stations are 19th-century buildings: Demolition should be the last resort.”

The station was a destination for Chaloupka and Zemanová. “We went to Kaproun, where Cimrman had been,” she says. The Kaproun stop, in the middle of the forest, consists of a signpost and a mound commemorating when the most famous fictional Czech, Jára Cimrman, got banned from trains for travelling ticketless and faking sleep to avoid inspection. Dozens come just for this, and everyone brings a stone for the memorial that has reached the character’s supposed height. That mound further proves that the railway can remain attractive.

Mixed messages and segregated windowsFor curiosities such as Kaproun and the architectonic gems like big central stations, nobody questions preservation.

Most 19th-century stations have no special features. The value comes in heritage. “The dispatch buildings of state railways are, excepting a few, very simple in their exteriors throughout former Austria,” Mojmír Krejčiřík quoted the book Česká nádraží. The universal character of stations once identified Austrian railways, and few

things remind of the Habsburg empire’s continuity to such an extent.

“From Hostivař to Uhříněves, you can see stations built following the same plan used in the Austrian Alps,” says Miroslav Kunt, who runs railway history pages at Archiv.kvalitne.cz. “The station is irreplaceable: It serves as an orientation point in towns. I consider it as significant as the town hall, school and church.” He, like many others, criticises the fact that companies often build new buildings rather then repair old ones. Many stations can find new functions.

Still, in some cases, we shouldn’t romanticise. “In Switzerland, I have often seen a station demolished and replaced by a heated waiting room on the platform,” says Petr Šlégr, transport consultant and former Green Party deputy transport minister.

“There is a P+R parking lot instead of the station, where people can leave their cars. People would not use the train without it.”

Stations need to lose their odours, unfriendliness and other disgusting aspects. Otherwise no one will take the train.

“Unless the stations get fixed, passengers will not come at all, no matter how modern they are,” says Karel Tabery, who handles ČD’s properties. “I want to have a nice restaurant at the station, a place to buy newspaper – somewhere to wait.”

“Somebody has to pay for it, “ he adds. Most of ČD’s funds subsidise money-losing operations. Tabery would like to rely more on public and private financing: “The money should come from combined sources,” he says. “From state, regional and municipal budgets because stations serve towns and

inhabitants. Investment can also come from private sources because stations have commercial potential.”

Ideally, regions or towns would cover something, ČD would pay a portion, and another chunk would come from private sources. This would create centres full of services, shops and meeting rooms where transport would still play the main role. That solution proves successful elsewhere. Deutsche Bahn even made a slogan: “The station is not only a place for getting on and off.”

Five years of stampsMaking that a reality here won’t happen so easily, especially if we expect the state’s SŽDC and ČD – both famous for lacking concepts, assigning commissions without transparency, and running up prices – to co-operate.

Take a trip through the first railway corridor in this region, for example, the modernisation of which cost CZK 36.5 billion, though the original estimate came in at CZK 24 billion.

7:30am, Prague, Masarykovo nádraží. Like so many Czech stations, this one comes across as crumbling and even hostile. Those travelling to Děčín can buy tickets at the window. Those continuing to Dresden or Leipzig have to wait another half hour for the international window to open. Why can’t you buy an international ticket from the same window? “Because it is a different window,” the cashier explains.

“But why aren’t the tickets sold at the same window?”

translated from Respekt 7 - 12 July 2009 | article by Karolína Vitvarová-Vránkováphotos by Petr Kotěšovec


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… and crumbling.

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“One more question like that and I’ll go crazy,” she shouts and closes the window.

10:33am, Děčín, main station. Even at the oldest international transit station in the country, separate windows sell international and domestic tickets. On 6 April 1851, two trains from Prague and Dresden set out from opposite points to ceremoniously meet here, thus connecting Austria and Germany by rail. More lines were built, and in 1874 the first train from Vienna arrived. Děčín became one of the biggest Austro-Hungarian junctions; today five railroads meet here and the town has 15 stations and stops and dozens of unused railway buildings.

The dispatch building at the main station, built from pinkish Elbe sandstone, has protected status and received careful

reconstruction as part of the corridor modernisation. Two years ago it won the competition for prettiest Czech station.

Besides the station building, some 80 structures stand. You can see them from the train, which passes through 3 kilometres of workshops, stores and tracks. Most buildings have withered, crumbled and ceased function. They remind of better times. The railways need to look after these buildings, too.

7:10pm, Prague, Hlavní nádraží. This station comes closest to the solution. Everything looks better since mid-June, a result of an attempt to revive the station through private resources. The Italian company Grandi Stazioni should invest CZK 1 billion here based on its contract with ČD. In return it will get a golden egg: the right to

rent station space to retailers for 30 years.The first impression has improved, thanks

to a nice restaurant and newspaper and flower stands. Despite initial disputes the redesign preserves the hall’s architectonic character. Still, the private planner failed to accommodate at least one operation. The passenger gets to the train by passing a Burger King, but tickets and information hide half a storey below, off the most direct route.

Luggage storage did not seem very important either – just lockers. Can one leave a bicycle here? “The company operates luggage storage,” ČD spokesman Petr Šťáhlavský wrote. “Ask Grandi Stazioni.”

“I checked and found out that ČD will operate luggage storage,” Grandi Stazioni spokesman Martin Hamšík said.

Dead stationsThe main station should serve as an example of the ČD project Živá nádraží (living stations), which attempts to attract investors. The most important rule of such co-operation fails here. “The main function of the terminal has to come first,” Petr Šlégr says. He uses the Munich station as an example, where the ground floor functions exclusively for transport services, and shops sit in the first floor gallery. Leipzig’s station has two parts: shops in one, depot in the other. Termini Station in Rome, also revived by Grandi Stazioni, proves similarly functional. Czech Railways failed to ensure this at Hlavní nádraží.

The Živá nádraží project has 120 stations. About 20 have found private investors. Grandi Stazioni should finish up

at Mariánské Lázně this year. The Italian company acquired Karlovy Vary in the package with Prague and Mariánské Lázně, but announced that it will pull out of that portion of the contract.

Some partners selected to convert stations into centres have no experience, and so results remain uncertain. Conceptual co-operation with municipalities has come to a dead end. Partner companies have good contacts at ČD. AŽD, which supplies ČD with interlocking devices, will renovate stations in Kralupy nad Vltavou, Nymburk, Kolín and Havlíčkův Brod. Bostas, a ČD building contractor, acquired stations in Sokolov, Chomutov and Teplice. Viamont, well-known for a previous co-owner, former Transport Minister Aleš Řebíček – who claimed to have sold his shares, though the company gets billions in commissions from ČD – has invested in Ústí nad Labem.

Some suspect that, in addition to saving the stations, the project might serve a contrary function for companies connected to ČD. No renovation has reached the stage at which we can draw conclusions.

Just one so farStill, you can sometimes come across the ideal of the railway organisations and municipalities working together. Take Ostrava-Svinov: Reconstruction cost CZK 550 million, of which the town covered CZK 230 million. Both passengers and architects have praised the result, and the building won several awards. Architect Václav Filandr attached a modern glass hall to a neo-Renaissance building. The structures complement each other, water fountains sit out front, local buses stop, and nothing spoils the success of the station. ČD portray Ostrava as a striking example. Still, that all finished in 2006, and no other exemplary reconstruction has happened since.

Modern stations represent a complicated task. Still, they can happen when town representatives, railway executives, private developers, architects, urbanists and economists meet and reach agreements without side interests interfering. Then we might achieve the ideal: “The station grows into the town and the town into the station,” says Petr Moos, dean of Transportation Sciences at the Czech Technical University and former transport minister. “It is a beautiful living organism.” •

Hlávní nádraží is a work in progress, which is, at the very least, progress.

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The verb “to tunnel” in the Czech language acquired a nasty ring to

it in the 1990s, when the term became synonymous with corrupt business practices. “To tunnel” came to mean to covertly siphon – under the guise of legality – the assets of one company to another.

As a noun “tunnel” rarely inspires the same degree of controversy. Tunnels are trendy in Prague these days. A new railway corridor now passes under Vítkov hill, allowing a greater number of passenger trains in and out of the main train station. At Letná in Prague 7, the Blanka tunnel, which is still under construction, promises to speed up the flow of traffic, allowing more efficient transit through the city. And the long-planned tunnel below Wenceslas Square

– to be created by submerging a section of the magistrála motorway underground and moving it behind the National Museum – promises to reduce noise levels and reconnect parts of historical Pragues 1 and 2. Joining this tunnel trinity, could be yet another structure that would essentially be a continuation of Blanka from where it ends in Troja. According to a study by the architectural studio VHE, which introduced the project to city hall in mid-July, the tunnel would further help ease traffic flow in Prague 7. The cost is estimated at CZK 500 million. The date of construction has yet to be set.

But can tunnels really serve as a panacea for all of the city’s traffic problems? Good urban planning shouldn’t bring intercity traffic into residential areas, which is what some locals fear will happen with the tunnel under Letná. Once completed in 2011, the nearly CZK 26 billion structure will be the longest tunnel in Prague, connecting Špejchar in Letná, Prague 7, to the Pelc-Tyrolka intersection in Troja, Prague 8.

In theory the 5.5 km tunnel should serve some of the traffic passing from Letná to the city centre, easing up congestion. But some worry that the tunnel will also bring

Tunnel VisionWill Prague’s multiple passage projects really solve its traffic problems?

praguescape


The Blanka tunnel promises to ease up congestion.

But locals fear the project will bring intercity traffic into residential areas.

by Kristina Aldavisualisations from www.tunelblanka.cz


in new intercity traffic, some of which today passes around Prague rather than going through it.

In the case of the magistrála, the tunnel seems the most benign and the plan has not been attracting as much criticism as some of the other projects. That could be partly because the magistrála is so bad to begin with that any change will

seem like an improvement. Since its completion in 1978, the magistrála has brought volumes upon volumes of transit traffic into Prague’s historical downtown, and, along with it, exhaust fumes, daily bottlenecks and noise. It severed the National Museum from Wenceslas Square, obliterated the main train station’s original front entrance and, perhaps worst of all,

cut off the neighbourhoods of Vinohrady and Žižkov from the centre. City hall has been promising to reduce the impact of the magistrála since 1989.

But although the planned CZK 10 billion project, which is scheduled for launch in 2011, would benefit Wenceslas Square, it will not do much for Žižkov or the I.P. Pavlova area, at opposite ends of the tunnel. One could even argue that those who will benefit most from the tunnel will be the drivers: no more traffic lights to slow them down near the National Museum section of the motorway. Perhaps it’s too early to be cynical, though. And city hall is promising to reduce the number of cars that use the magistrála each day from 85,000 to 50,000.

In all instances, the intentions behind the tunneling are basically good: to make driving through Prague faster and more efficient. But why should car travel through the city be sped up? Prague is a city to live in, after all, not a thoroughfare. •

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The famous dissident petition Několik vět (Several Sentences) was launched

20 years ago. In retrospect, it might seem that the death knell for the Czechoslovak communist regime sounded back then in the summer of 1989. But this is not quite true. Long after Několik vět, Radio Free Europe (RFE) was still airing mocking accounts of Czechoslovakia as an “island of slightly reformed Stalinism” and a

“bleak island”.Over the next three months, we will

be presenting a series of reports on the inhabitants of this “island” in the year leading up to the big bang of 1989. The first instalment will take a look at the reasons for Czechoslovakia’s “bleak island” reputation.

Only a fool would have stated in early 1989 that there was nothing going on. Dissidents had already held their first authorised rally in the Žižkov neighbourhood. In December 1988, the regime stopped blocking broadcasts of RFE and Voice of America (VoA), probably on orders from perestroika-embracing officials in Moscow. In January 1989, Polish communist leader Wojciech Jaruzelski came to Prague in an effort to convince his bewildered Czech comrades to meet with the opposition movement Solidarność. Around the same time, thousands of demonstrators were intently focused on their dream of toppling the regime in a week of rallies marking the 20th anniversary of Jan Palach’s self-immolation. These rallies, consisting mainly of young people, were put down decisively, except on one day when the regime failed to intervene. When the weekend arrived, they wound up without much impact or public support.

Czechoslovakia was then headed by Miloš Jakeš, a man of limited intelligence and a rather pathetic leader and ideological hardliner who had been the compromise choice two years earlier of staunch local Stalinists and halfhearted Gorbachev supporters. Jakeš and those behind him had no plans to change to their style

of government – particularly after the Russians promised their little perestroika game wouldn’t substantially affect power arrangements inside the Czechoslovak regime, which had remained largely unchanged since the 1968 Soviet invasion. Yet it was also clear that local Stalinists could no longer rely on the fallback of more interventions by Russian tanks.

Who were the opposition? In his remarkable book Labyrintem revoluce (Through the Labyrinth of Revolution), historian Jiří Suk notes that in early 1989 there were around 500 active opponents to the regime and another 5,000 or so sympathisers who attended rallies and signed occasional petitions for the release of political prisoners and the like. While opposition was coming into its own in Poland and Hungary, the movement in Czechoslovakia was clearly taking a slower course. The cornerstone of the opposition remained Charter 77, a 12-year-old initiative drafted by intellectuals and later signed by 1,800 people that called on the regime to honour its commitments to protecting human rights. By 1989, the dissidents were claiming that the apolitical Charter 77 was insufficient to counter new developments and that they needed to move on. The only question was how. Most of the appeals winning widespread support were little more than sociological critiques and calls on regime chieftains to enter into dialogue with the opposition.

The winter and spring saw the launch of a petition for the release of Václav Havel, who had been jailed for nine months after placing flowers at the site of Jan Palach’s self-immolation. An additional petition backing Havel’s nomination for a Nobel Peace Prize was signed by many artists and academics – groups previously reluctant to register their support, fearing the ruin of their careers. Even so, these appeals on behalf of the well-known Havel each received only a few thousand signatures. Suk writes: “The regime leaders greatly overestimated the power and impact of these civic initiatives. They mistook them

for a purposeful and well-organised political opposition (which in essence they were not) that sought to achieve a political coup (which in fact they had no plans to carry out).”

‘Strange and pervasive apathy’After many appeals from the west, the ailing Havel was released on parole in mid-May. “Outside jail, he encountered a different reality,” Suk writes. “The public had failed to unite in a spirit of civic disobedience in contrast to the situation in January; instead, there was a strange and pervasive apathy and unclear expectations about the turnover of power.” In a comment broadcast by RFE, the exiled Czech academic Antonín Měšťan described this situation as “equilibrium rooted in fear”: The opposition worried that any protest for freedom might be suppressed in a massacre (as had occurred in China), while the communists feared a surge of public discontent and protests.


history

‘Bleak Island’As the Iron Curtain collapsed, the Czechoslovak opposition was nowhere to be found

Two Václavs: The future president Havel, left, and the priest Malý represented a couple of the dissident movement’s loudest voices. | ČTK

The Několik vět petition came in the midst of this stupor. The appeal, led once again by Havel, was unexpectedly successful, attracting 40,000 signatures, including those of several TV celebrities. The signatories’ names were read on RFE

and VoA, and anyone caught up in the whirlpool of events might have felt for a while that this was a breakthrough. In the meantime, the Hungarian communists chose voluntarily to end their power monopoly, and – in what must have seemed like a bad joke to Jakeš & Co

– an official state delegation from Poland included former Polish dissidents, by this time already respected members of the nascent Polish democratic establishment.

But no similarly striking developments took place in Czechoslovakia. Několik vět had little impact on other anti-regime activities: Rallies held on 21 August and 28 October drew only a few thousand daredevils. Aside from these traditional anniversaries, no one even tried to call a rally, and the dissidents themselves were split on the matter of how useful these actions were. Rumours before the 21 August rally (based on apparent false leads from the secret police) suggested that police planned to open fire on the

protesters. Havel called on the public to stay away from Wenceslas Square. In contrast, young dissidents – who mobilised in new groups such as České děti (Czech Children), Nezávislé mírové sdružení (Independent Peace Association) and Klub Johna Lennona (the John Lennon Club) – claimed that demonstrations were the right way to oust the regime and boost civic self-confidence. They were not alone. “One day we may find that we are no longer surrounded by barbed wire, but we have done nothing to achieve that,” wrote Jan Ruml, a supporter of demonstrations and opponent of dialogue with what he called an “illegitimate regime” in the illegal monthly journal Sport.

The feeling was intensified when refugees from East Germany descended on the West German embassy in Prague in a bid to migrate to freedom. The East Germans eventually won out in their campaign against an exceptionally repressive regime; the refugees boarded a special westbound train just as their compatriots in Berlin and Leipzig took to the streets en masse. Still, there was little change in Czechoslovakia. Suk notes that even local regime leaders were not too worried, knowing that the Czech opposition was weak and Slovak dissidents almost nonexistent: “It was only when the chair started rocking under GDR leader Erich Honecker that they perceived the threat. Until that time, they entertained dreams of a Berlin-Prague-Bucharest conservative communist axis; after the fall of Berlin, this was no longer possible.”

No one believed“Despite a recent surge in activity, the Czechoslovak opposition remains fragmented, lacking unity and a political agenda. Most observers in Prague say it is too weak to steer the government towards compromises,” Neue Zürcher Zeitung reported as late as early November 1989. Between 1968 and 1989, the Czech opposition had no political programme, and it lacked a clearly defined leader. Havel was seen as the natural leader by all branches of the dissident movement

– including former communists, Catholics and underground activists – and he was well-known abroad. The catch was that Havel did not see himself as a political

leader. “I want to be a writer, which is my original occupation. All my life I have done nothing besides writing. ... I simply write the truth, and this bare fact has made me into some kind of political celebrity or political phenomenon,” he told RFE in July. Interviewing Havel for Sport, the journalist and future founder of Respekt, Ivan Lamper, suggested that, by renouncing social responsibility and insisting on his “apolitical politics”, Havel’s social influence was “unpredictable and defying regulation”. Havel replied: “I am not responsible for the moral and political state of society, which has to create its own political structures.”

Without a unifying personality, the opposition was too fragmented. The left wing Obroda (Renewal) group, including former pro-reform communists from 1968, held the first talks with the regime, and the prominent dissident Petr Pithart, called for slow and gradual change. A few rather timid political projects remained in the works, including Rudolf Battěk’s Hnutí za občanskou svobodu (Civic Freedom Movement), Emanuel Mandler’s and Bohumil Doležal’s Demokratická iniciativa (Democratic Initiative), and Václav Benda and Pavel Bratinka’s planned conservative party.

Looking back, it may seem curious that no united opposition movement formed to present a political programme, demand official registration, reach out to those in grey zones and counter the communists, as Občanské fórum (Civic Forum) would later do. “We lacked a blueprint, and there was no agreement on how to proceed. No one even believed the regime would collapse any time soon,” Jan Ruml says. Despite the relative success of Několik vět, the dissidents had no sense of more widespread public support until the very last minute. The Czechs stayed asleep even after the East Germans woke up in October 1989. “We need rebellions, strikes, revolts,” Pavel Tigrid urged the slumbering nation over the RFE airwaves.

The initiators of Několik vět chose to schedule another rally for the next major anniversary, Human Rights Day on 10 December, fearing that no one would show up on a less-prominent day. In the end, the awakening came when it was least expected. •


translated from Respekt 7 - 12 July 2009 | article by Marek Švehla

The new residents of Truhlářská 11 pay just one crown per month for each of

the three flats they occupy in the building. To most, this nominal rent for their spacious accommodation, centrally located behind the Palladium shopping mall, would seem like an outrageous bargain, especially given the prestigious location and the ever-rising cost of housing in Prague. But, for this particular group of tenants, the three crowns per month is more than they’re used to paying for housing, and it’s more than they’d ideally like to pay.

The about 15 young men and women were forcibly evicted from the last remaining open squat in Prague on 30 June after a highly publicised standoff with private security guards that lasted for several hours. Their reluctant relocation to Truhlářská from their dilapidated Milada villa in Prague 8-Troja was the result of a deal offered by Human Rights and Minorities Minister Michael Kocáb, who intervened when the standoff turned violent. The circumstances of their relocation have been fraught with controversy in the weeks since, with criticism directed every which way – against Kocáb for brokering a deal with illegal squatters, against his friend and Truhlářská 11 owner Petr Svinka over unsupported allegations that he accepted the squatters in a plot to drive out existing tenants, and against the

squatters themselves based on fears they might disrupt the neighbourhood.

Yet amid the media maelstrom, here is the paradox: The purpose of squatting was never just housing for the collective from Milada. It was, as they explain, a way of life, a form of political protest and a means of cultural expression. For this reason, the nearly free accommodation at Truhlářská might have resolved their immediate homelessness, but the solution is only temporary. “We will fight for a new squat,” said one young man who declined to be named.

CountercultureOn a Saturday afternoon, four of the new Truhlářská tenants are gathered in their living room. It’s sparsely furnished with a low coffee table that’s strewn with dirty cups, plates and cigarette ash, and mismatched seats, including a patio chair which, one tenant volunteers, was stolen from McDonald’s. They have agreed to grant an interview on the condition that their names are withheld, since they do not wish to be identified by either police or neo-Nazis, both of whom often target the squatters. After much discussion, three people agree to go by the initials A, R and T, respectively. (The fourth declines to participate.)

Taking ShelterThey’ve lost the Milada villa, but a band of squatters keeps up the fight for free housing


counterculture article by Wency Leungphotos by René Jakl

At Truhlářská 11, a comic strip by the artist Toy Box tells the story of the Milada eviction.

Štěpán and fellow squatters want to set up in another vacant house as soon as possible.

The inhabitants of Milada were evicted 30 June.


The home they left behind

A, an outspoken man with a partly shaved head and dreadlocks, is the oldest of the bunch at 28. He tells us that he had been living at the Milada squat for about two years when they were evicted. R, a slight 21-year-old woman wearing dark eyeliner and chipped black nail polish, says that she moved to the Czech Republic last autumn from her native Germany, where she also squatted. T, a 26-year-old man sporting a curly blonde faux hawk, has also travelled across many countries, staying at various squats.

A explains the principle behind squatting. Although there are people who live quietly in abandoned buildings, hoping to slip under the radar because they can’t afford to do otherwise, he says the former Milada squatters belong to a different movement. This group is seeking to actively protest mainstream culture by challenging the idea of having to pay for shelter. “It shouldn’t matter if you’re a junkie. It shouldn’t matter if you’re homeless,” he says. “Every human has a right to food, water and a living place. That’s the basic humanity that’s been lost in capitalist society.” When empty buildings lie untouched for years, A says,

it is unethical to prevent people from living in them.

At Milada, one of the few dwellings of its kind in the Czech Republic, the squatters often held free cultural events such as parties, music performances and art exhibitions to reflect their anti-capitalist and anti-authoritarian values. The house, which had been slated for demolition in the 1980s, remained unlisted in the official property register until a department of the Education, Youth and Sport Ministry reclaimed ownership and hired security guards to shut down the squat, which had been inhabited since 1997. Other major squats in Prague have been similarly culled over the years. In September 1997, authorities broke up the Zenklova squat, evicting about a dozen residents. In November 2000, about 15 squatters were forced from the Ladronka squat in Prague 6. And just last November, police raided the Cibulka squat in Prague 5, throwing out its seven residents. T says that the struggle to squat in the Czech Republic is now more difficult than ever. “Police are more powerful … and people are more interested in the buildings now because prices are rising,” he says.

Defying the lawAccording to section 249a of the Criminal Code, anyone who occupies someone else’s property without authorisation can be fined an unspecified amount or face up to two years in prison. The same punishment goes for those trying to block a rightful owner from entering his or her property. Yet, in other parts of Europe, squatters’ rights vary. In the Netherlands, for instance, people have the right to squat on property that has been unoccupied for 12 months. Similar protection is granted in Spain, where squatting on unoccupied premises is allowed until owners decide to rebuild them.

But the legality of squatting is inconsequential, R says. “For us, it’s not a question of law. After all, who makes the law?” she asks.

She notes that although squatting is illegal in France and Germany, the public there is more supportive of the squatting movement than in the Czech Republic. “I think, for example, in Germany, these things are really part of public debate. We have a long tradition of occupying houses,” she said. But here, “people don’t understand it too much. I think people see


counterculture

The new digs, courtesy of the human rights and minorities minister

it as just a private matter. They don’t understand that it’s part of a social struggle.”

Sure enough, many passersby, employees and owners of local businesses on Truhlářská street say they’re indifferent to their unconventional new neighbours. They have no complaints about the relocated squatters, but know little about what they stand for. Prague resident Albert Erenyi, 32, stops in front of Truhlářská 11 to read the large crudely drawn banners that the collective has hung from the windows, which carry the slogan “Bydlení je právo” (Housing is a right). “I just heard they came to live here,” Erenyi says. When asked whether he knows anything of their political views, he shrugs. “No, not at all.”

In a recent statement, Minister Kocáb called for tolerance and sympathy toward the squatters’ cause. “Criminalising the lifestyle of alternative communities shows a failure to think about the meaning of those other cultures. A mature society requires that kind of self-reflection,” Kocáb said, warning that dismissal and distrust of unconventional lifestyles is part of the slippery slope leading to bigotry. “And that’s something we should be watching out for,” he said.

Still, the relocated Milada squatters say they are unsatisfied with the new accommodation that Kocáb brokered, since they accepted the offer under duress from what they described as excessively aggressive security guards. “We don’t see this as a solution for us,” R says. “It’s not equivalent to Milada as an autonomous social and cultural centre. We can’t really hold free cultural events here.”

Yet even without a proper squat, she notes that their struggle is far from over. Once they find another empty location, they will set up their squat again. •


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Protest banners on display: “Nothing Is Forgotten – Nothing Is Forgiven” and “Housing Is a Right”.

Going HomelessMilada is once again a vacant villa

36 prague monitor magazine | 04 2009 | 10 - 23 Ju ly

photo essay

The squat was sealed off on 30 June.

photo essay by René Jakl


Everything remains as it was before the four-hour standoff with private security guards hired by the government.

There wasn’t even time to pack …

… or clean.


photo essay

Punk and politics and picking through the rubble


Rules, it appears, are made to be broken.

Milada had functioned as a haven for squatters since 1997 and had remained unlisted in the official property register for years.

photo essay

travel


Aside from alcohol, the barbershop shave is one of the few indulgences

the travelling freelance journalist can afford. Combining the two is perhaps foolish, but, after a rough day on the road from Skopje to Pristina, I felt like splurging.

Despite some initial misgivings, Kosovo’s capital was starting to grow on me after the three Pejas (a fine local beer) I drank downtown that evening. So I ditched plans for a quiet first night in the room. It was twilight on a warm, clear May night, the streets felt electric, and I was in a new city. Stay in the room?

The modest but comfortable Guest House Velania, owned by the “professor”, is in a cosy residential area east of the centre. A community emerged as I searched for a barbershop. Children played in the streets; men stood chatting, often taking one another by the arm. Cars lined up outside the local carwash, a ubiquitous sight in Pristina. Then, every few minutes, a passing SUV marked EU or UN or OSCE evinced Kosovo’s fraught past and shaky future just over a year into the country’s independence.

The barbershop on the neighbourhood’s commercial corner – grocery and convenience stores, carwash, cafe with plastic tables and a delicious macchiato

– was this community in microcosm. The three barber chairs were filled, the men jabbering away. A teenage apprentice stood to the side with a broom, pretending to ignore the gossip, and two men waited at back. On the sidewalk out front and across the street, more customers stood talking, smoking, drinking coffee, occasionally peeking in for a progress report.

All this I observed while pacing outside the shop window. The beer buzz had subsided, and, as always happens, I was having second thoughts about a stranger taking a straight razor to my face. And what if I got the youngest barber? He looked barely 20. You want at least 10

years’ experience in a barber. Had his shaving career started when he was still drinking juice boxes?

I got the youngster, of course. My blood pressure hit 160/100 as he affixed a fresh blade to the razor handle (AIDS has jettisoned the reusable straight razor at barbershops) and the apprentice scurried about the chair, boiling water for the shaving soap. But the youngster was skilled, particularly gentle around the lips, and I emerged without a nick, refreshed and brimming with bonhomie.

I crossed the street into a park overlooking the city. The sun hadn’t yet set, and I could still discern Pristina’s outer edge against the horizon. I returned there the next night. It had just rained, and, with the sun falling behind the distant buildings,

the sky turned purple to pink, pink to orange, orange to the brightest yellow I’ve ever seen. A sound familiar from a past trip to Sarajevo filled the steamy air. It was Muslim call to prayer.

Seeking futuresIt’s good that no one in Pristina drinks very much. Islam is the dominant religion in Kosovo. If the residents took to booze, the city could easily degenerate into the devastating spread of alcoholism you find in similarly depressed regions across the world.

This thought stayed with me as I explored Pristina over the next two days. The cafes were always full, I noticed. Teens and twentysomethings sat from late morning until evening chatting and

Pristina JournalKosovo’s capital is a place of quiet desperation and some hope

smoking over successive rounds of coffee, Coca-Cola and water. On the streets downtown, anyone who looked over 30 stood out in the crowds.

Unemployment is acute in Kosovo, at approximately 45%, according to the United Nations Development Programme. For some perspective on that figure, US joblessness peaked at about 25% during the Great Depression.

I knew the unemployment situation was dire in Kosovo before I arrived. What I didn’t know – and heard repeatedly in subsequent interviews – was that Kosovo has Europe’s youngest population, and that youth unemployment is around 60%, recasting what should represent enormous potential into a perilous liability. Kosovo may have defied almost every Serb on earth to win independence last February after nine years of UN administration, but a nation where the youth – the future

– lack hope cannot prosper.Jobs are so scarce that young people

resist leaving school, instead pursuing higher and higher degrees in a weak education system, and are afraid to get married because they don’t know how they’ll support themselves, former student Ardian Spahiu told me outside the University of Kosovo’s library, the hub of the various faculties in central Pristina.

I had spent the morning searching for a friendly face, and Spahiu graciously agreed to speak with me. A 27-year-old Kosovar Albanian with jet-black hair and a self-conscious smile, he said he lived with his parents and had spent the two years since graduating from the University of Pristina Law Faculty looking for work: with the government, the various ministries, even the supermarket.

“It is impossible to find a job if you don’t have connections,” Spahiu said outside the library, where he was meeting a friend.

“It is frustrating, and every day you get more depressed.”

Many are the tragedies of an economy enervated by years of inertia, no substantial domestic industry, paltry foreign investment and endemic corruption, but perhaps the most heartbreaking is that Kosovars appear eager to find and create work. Did that barbershop really need an apprentice? Does Pristina, evidently no dustier than the

four other Balkan capitals I’ve visited, need a carwash on every block?

Spahiu himself volunteered with the state prosecutor to pass the job-hunting time productively, and remained vigilant. He’d recently found a position as a customs officer, he said, and expected to finish training at the end of May.

Though the customs office still needed a government grant to hire him as a salaried employee, Spahiu was optimistic.

“It feels very good,” he said. “At least now I can hope.”

That was two months ago. I emailed Spahiu last week. He said he had finished training with the customs office – but still hadn’t heard back about the job.

Italian eatsAt a good restaurant, even the busboy should know how the chef makes her signature soufflé; the culinary reverence is that pervasive. So I was delighted that my waiter at Il Passatore had mastered the menu and came armed with recommendations: the artichoke and sun-dried tomato salad followed by spaghetti Bolognese, the night’s special.

Owned by Antonella, of Cesena, Italy, Il Passatore has become a Balkan institution,

“the best Italian food in the region”, a friend had told me. Antonella opened the first Il Passatore in Tirana, Albania, before moving to Pristina a few years later. On a side street not too far from the guest house, the restaurant was tricky to find on foot, but well-known to any cab driver.

I arrived a few minutes before it opened at 7pm on my penultimate night in Pristina; on to Sarajevo next. I sat in the garden, which is canopied by several large trees and perfect for summer dining, and drank a glass of house red wine while waiting for my food, which was delicious. The salad was simple, but the artichokes and sun-dried tomatoes were fresh and flavourful. Antonella’s spaghetti Bolognese was lighter than most, a pleasant surprise on a warm night and spicy.

“How was everything?” Antonella was making the rounds on a slow Friday. Clearly a formidable woman likely at ease managing a professional kitchen – a rougher business than many might imagine

– Antonella had thick bronzed arms and a genial, if commanding, disposition.

“Excellent,” I said. “Really excellent. What’s that on your hand?”

“A scorpion,” she said, then explained her other visible tattoo.

“How’s business?”“It’s OK. But I’m tired. I need a break. I

want to go to the navy.”“The navy?”“Yes, to the sea, you know, on a ship.

Maybe for one year.”“For a year? That’ll be very hard.”“Maybe, but I need it. I need some time

to … to clear my head. My staff is good. They can take care of the restaurant.”

We exchanged names, and I explained that I was a journalist travelling through the Balkans. Antonella returned to the kitchen, and I ordered a homemade grappa. As I left later, she stood smoking on the steps outside with her dog and two waiters.

“Adam!” she said with that vocal buoyancy only an Italian can pull off. “I’m glad you came. It was nice to meet you.”

“Thank you, it was wonderful. And best of luck … if you do go to sea.”

“I need it,” she said.

‘It doesn’t look good’If the trip goes smoothly, the bus ride from Pristina to Sarajevo, Bosnia’s capital, should take 12 hours. But I couldn’t find any other concrete details of the journey, particularly the matter of whether the bus went through Serbia. Serbia doesn’t recognize Kosovo as a country, and, as a citizen of one of the staunchest backers of Kosovo’s independence, I was concerned about trouble at the border.

Busy with interviews all week, I had asked my best friend, Jeff, a seasoned traveller who died last month of complications due to cancer, to look into this. On Friday, two days before I was to leave, he emailed back.

“Well, buddy, it doesn’t look good,” he began.

Evidently, the bus did go through Serbia, according to several travel blogs, and “wasn’t the safest bus in the world”, as Jeff put it. He recommended flying, suggesting Croatia Airlines. Not wanting to jeopardise the rest of my trip, the next morning I booked a last-minute flight to Sarajevo via Zagreb.

I would not make it to Sarajevo. •

by S. Adam Cardais photo by ISIFA


From the “Stories that Got Away” file: The great Prague pub U Medvídků is known

for a couple of things. One is the never-ending supply of Budweiser Budvar rolling out in the cavernous beer hall downstairs. And, for the last few years, the place has been hailed for its top-shelf – albeit tiny

– brewpub upstairs, which makes limited amounts of a couple of great beers: the outstanding Oldgott lager and the extra-strong X-33, a bottom-fermented brew that resembles a barley wine, both in its level of alcohol (12.6%) and its syrupy texture.

Both of those beers, however, are amber. If you wanted a pale lager – the country’s most popular style – or if you felt like a dark beer at U Medvídků, you could only have Budweiser Budvar. But that’s changed.

Since earlier this year, the upstairs microbrewery at U Medvídků has served its own pale lager. Called 1466, it’s certainly not meant to compete with the 10° and 12° Budvar the pub serves in its beer hall: this is a pale lager brewed at 14.66° Plato, putting it up in the speciál territory, roughly analogous to a Bock.

The flavours here, however, are not bocklike. There’s malt but no plumminess. There’s an unexpectedly aromatic hop presence from the use of whole Saaz hop cones. And there’s not even a touch of alcoholic heat. For a beer brewed at 14.66°, the strength should probably end up just under 6%, but you’d be hard-pressed to notice it in this case. What you get instead is a nicely full malt body with a very hoppy backbite, like a strong Pilsner, only more so. (In appearance, it looks much like a Hefeweizen. It’s that cloudy and pale in colour.)

At CZK 48 for a half-litre, the 1466 pale lager is among the most expensive brewpub beers in Prague, but at least the portion is the full amount for grownups.

That’s not the only news at U Medvídků. According to pub owner Jan Göttel, U Medvídků is thinking of expanding its production in the fall, which might allow them to sell more brews outside of the house. That might mean you’ll see bottles of X-33 in more specialty beer shops. It could even mean that you’ll see Oldgott and 1466 on draft elsewhere in Prague.

And who knows? They might even end up brewing a dark lager someday. •

article by Evan Railphotos by Petr Kotěšovec

U Medvídků’s 1466 Pale LagerAnd other brews from the city-centre standby

beer culture

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Nine months after fire destroyed a wing of the Industrial Palace, the

place remains gloomy, surrounded by scorched trees, melted streetlights and, even now, broken glass in places. Only the foundation remains, atop which a huge plastic tent sits, shaped like the original walls.

The building, an important art and technical monument at the Holešovice exhibition grounds, went up at Stromovka park as the central building for the 1891 Jubilee Exhibition. With 2.5 million visitors that year, the event presented the development of industry, crafts, science and culture in Czech society. “Jubilee” referred to the occasion falling on the year of the 100th anniversary of continental Europe’s first industrial exhibition, held on the occasion of Leopold II’s 1791 coronation as king of Bohemia.

The jubilee changed Prague: It stressed electricity’s importance and helped modernise lighting and transport. The illuminated fountain proved a major attraction. In July 1891, tram service began.

In the following decades, the building still was a venue for major exhibitions, but none of them compared to the first three held in the 1890s. In addition to the jubilee, the venue hosted the 1895 ethnographic exhibition, with 2 million visitors, and the 1898 exhibition of architecture and engineering, during which first Czech feature films were produced.

During communism, the Industrial Palace served for ostentatious party congresses, but exhibitions were also hosted there. One of these very displays that the venue hosted for so many years caused the fire that destroyed the majority of the historical building on 16 October 2008.

Amid continuing disputes with the exhibition grounds lessee, city hall has decided to start renovations on its own, estimating the total costs at CZK 1.5 billion. So perhaps the building will survive the latest disaster, as it survived floods, the communist regime and the original plan to tear it down right after the 1891 exhibition.

Resilient, but Not FireproofThe Industrial Palace saw much before fire damaged it in October – and it may rise again

by Lenka Scheuflerová


looking back

1891 by Carl Bellmann / from the archive of Pavel Scheufler

2009 | Lenka Scheuflerová

Ye olde summer music festivities This year’s Summer Festivities of Early Music will showcase baroque-era music, theatre, dance and period costumes between 23 July and 11 August. For a unique atmosphere and acoustic experience, check out venues including Břevnov Monastery, Troja Chateau and the Ledeburg and Vrtba Gardens. Among the anticipated highlights is An Evening in Venice, a musical performance by candlelight by the much-praised French ensemble Le Poème Harmonique directed by Benjamin Lazar at Rudolfinum on 11 August.

www.letnislavnosti.cz Sázava open-air music festivalVisitors to the annual open-air Sázavafest in Kácov near Kutná Hora and the Sázava river can again catch an exciting array of multigenre music and other acts. The festival, which runs from 30 July to 2 August, boasts a long lineup of local artists plus overseas crowd-pleasers such as New York Ska Jazz Ensemble; UK funky-acid-jazz outfit Freak Power; Dutch alternative rock band the Gathering; Speed Caravan, led by Algerian guitarist Mehdi Haddaba; and Moby, who’s back at Sázava with his latest album Wait for Me.

www.sazavafest.cz

Temple of Glowing SoundAustralian musician and medicine man Vimal Darpan, singer-sitar player Maureen Ji and multi-instrumentalist Ravi are guests at a public party hosted by the Troja Botanical Gardens in Prague on 30 July. Audience members can enjoy the gardens by night while chilling out to electronic and ethnic sounds and the shamanic grooves of the Temple of Glowing Sound. Tea and coconut beverages and relaxing massages will also be on offer. The event starts at 7pm.

www.botanicka.cz

Film lessons in Uherské HradištěFilm buffs shouldn‘t miss the Summer Film School, held annually in Uherské Hradiště, which features screenings and lectures on cinematography. The programme, which extends from 24 July to 2 August, also includes concerts, theatre performances and workshops. Film cycles focus on particular genres or themes, such as silent-era Austrian cinema, movies

and comic art, and short surrealist films from Belgium presented by Raoul Servais. Other cycles will explore ideas about migration and revisit the documentary films of Věra Chytilová and the work of other central European filmmakers.

www.lfs.cz

Exhibit highlights lost Czech impressionist Almost unknown today, Otakar Lebeda was a 19th-

century painter and passionate traveller who, inspired by his stay in Paris, created some

of the first Czech impressionist art. All of Lebeda’s artistic work was produced

in the nine years before the mentally ill creator shot himself fatally at the age of 24 in 1901. More than 200 of his paintings are on display at the Wallenstein Riding School Gallery at Prague Castle until 24 January.

www.ngprague.cz

Melon carvingIt turns out that the art of melon carving

goes way beyond fruit salad. To catch some carving action, visit the Festival of Melons and the

First European Melon Carving Championship at Zličín shopping centre on 31 July and 1 August. The event, organised by the Czech Carving Studio, will include carving and eating contests and other activities for adults and children.

www.carving-studio.eu

Douglas Gordon: Blood, Sweat, TearsDouglas Gordon, a Scottish artist

responsible for the rise of moving images in contemporary art, now has

an extensive exhibit at Prague’s DOX gallery. In his work, which includes audio and text installations and photographs, Gordon uses memory and repetition and plays with time elements. Part of

the installation is his celebrated projection of Hitchcock’s Psycho,

slowed down to a duration of 24 hours and creating a new interpretation

of the film. Gordon’s film and video work, highlighting the artist’s major themes and formal

methods for the last 17 years, is displayed on dozens of monitors, stacked in piles and running simultaneously on the upper floor of the gallery. The exhibit Gouglas Gordon: Blood, Sweat, Tears runs through 27 September.

www.doxprague.org

by Kateřina HeilmannCourtesy photos


don’t miss

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Summer Film School

Take one small boy and add a Lamborghini, the ultimate boy toy, and you’ll learn a thing or two about the power of a motor vehicle.

The Gallardo Road Show is a teaser for the real Lamborghini experience. Think controlled lust without the brute speed or dry technical specs. Participants get to try out the rampaging bulls under supervision in a controlled environment. It’s all part of owner Audi’s positioning of its ultrafast machine: a high-powered luxury car delivering an extreme emotional and physical rush. The marketer’s question is simple: Are you ready for the experience?

But that’s the official agenda. Now put a small boy in the mix. Why not? Loud mechanical objects are a huge draw for most children. If a lumbering bulldozer can put them in near ecstasy, what happens when they encounter a Lamborghini? To find out, I took my 2.5-year-old son, Benjamin, along to last year’s Gallardo Road Show at Mcely Chateau in central Bohemia, about 70 km from Prague. Here’s what we learned:

Oh, that noiseHearing is believing, if my boy’s response to the Gallardo LP560-4 is any guide. At the first distinctive roar of the 5,200 cc, V10 engine, Ben’s body tenses. There’s a simultaneous clinging to my leg and a 180-degree body turn to locate the source of the noise. Somehow the four parked Gallardos outside the Mcely chateau have gone unnoticed. Noise and motion are everything for this boy. This is a sound to be felt and emulated. With a bit of practice, he’ll be saying “Lambo”, instead

of the usual “train” or “tractor”, to the kids in the sandbox.

Better with a little dirtA morning shower has left the roads wet and dirty. Each Gallardo has a splattering of central Bohemian mud on its sides. Cars, like children, can be beautiful with a bit of mud. The pearl-white Gallardo is particularly striking post-mud treatment. While not exactly a Jackson Pollock painting, it begs to be left unwashed for just a while longer. After all, how often do you see a Lamborghini without that car-show sheen? This aesthetic glory belongs to the white Gallardo only. The black model just looks dirty.

Sit down, don’t moveIt’s possible to transport your child safely in a Lamborghini. “This seat fits in a Mercedes convertible 600 SL, and that’s comparable,” Bettina Würstl, marketing director of the German company that made Ben’s kiddy seat, wrote in a pre-drive email exchange. And she’s right. Ben’s child seat fits right into the Gallardo’s leather bucket seats. Once strapped in, he’s ready to endure lift off and g-forces in all directions. If only the road show supervisor weren’t here. For the optimal boy toy-plus-family experience, we’re better off waiting until at least 2012, when audi rolls out its four-door, four-seater Estoque Concept.

Let me press thatSeven shiny buttons dominate the centre of the Gallardo console, all crying out to be touched. Like the car itself, this row of six chrome buttons and one red makes a clear,

bold statement. The car’s computerised gearing system, with the “Corsa” button offering more aggressive shifting and performance, begs a question straight from Spinal Tap: If the Gallardo is already a perfect 10, what about 11? Good thing the child seat is keeping Ben away from any buttons.

Reined in, but raring to goBoy toys weren’t meant to move this slowly. The test course winds through endless villages, all bound by a speed limit of 40kph. Without incessant reminders from a navigation system – or a wife – it’s hard to curb the speed to this level with any car. Like so many tasks in adult life, it’s possible, but just no fun. Outside villages, winding roads and the occasional chance to pass a tractor give just a hint of what this car can do. Like Ben, the car is not deterred by dirt clumps or other dunglike matter. Unlike my son, the Gallardo manages to keep going solidly in motion without toppling over on its nose. It’s the all-wheel drive that does the trick.

This one’s too sexyThe amorous couple having a postdrive cigarette in the chateau’s Lamborghini lounge makes it abundantly clear: Ben’s about three years too late – or a good 20 years too early – for the Gallardo marketers. This is a car for preproduction activities, at least when it comes to people. One look at Ben tells me he has other bedtime issues on his mind: It’s time for this boy’s nap

– without the boy toy. •

Boy Meets Boy ToyTaking a toddler out for a spin in central Bohemia


our l ives

Yeti GraffitiŠkoda goes guerrilla

Cultural BridgesLibrary project helps immigrants integrate

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article by Lyle Frink

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