Ještě do 12. května máte možnost navštívit v brněnské kavárně Za sklem unikátní výstavu s názvem 3 In. Ta přibližuje práci tří evropských divadelních souborů, které pracují s herci s hendikepem (jedná se převážně o Downův syndrom). Kromě anglického Blue Apple Theatre a polského Teatr 21 se zapojilo i brněnské Divadlo Aldente.
V reportáži proto uslyšíte rozhovor se zakladatelkou tohoto divadla Jitkou Vrbkovou. Eliška Kánská si s ní povídala o tom, kdy vznikl nápad zapojit herce s tímto typem hendikepu, ale i jaká představení mají v repertoáru a čím se tento typ divadla odlišuje od klasických divadel. Dále v rozhovoru také zazní, kolik má v současné době tento soubor herců nebo jaká témata jimi momentálně rezonují.
Kristýna Brázdová se ve svém eseji zamýšlí nad autorským projevem významného kameramana (nejen) Československé nové vlny Jaroslava Kučery. Text zveřejňujeme v původním anglickém znění, jelikož vznikl v rámci autorčina studijního pobytu na polské filmové škole Krzysztof Kieślowski Film School.
„Ale mě strašně zajímá vyzkoušet jednou možnost vytvořit z filmového obrazu docela autonomní záležitost, jež by se vymykala z konvenčního pojetí filmu. Jde o to, zda ve filmu vytváříme jenom více či méně krásné pohyblivé obrazy něčeho, nebo zda by tyto obrazy mohly být samy nositeli významu, sdělovat něco nikoli objektivně, nýbrž subjektivně. Prostě udělat s filmem pokus na takové úrovni, kde je už dávno doma moderní malířství, poezie, hudba. Vytvořit novou soustavu sdělovacích prostředků filmu.“ (Hames 2008, 213)
(I am really interested in trying to create a sense of autonomy of the film image one day, in a way that would differ from the conventional approach to film. The thing with films is – are we just creating more or less beautiful moving images of something? Or could those pictures hold meaning on their own? Telling something not objectively, but subjectively. We could just experiment with film on a level which modern painting, poetry or music has already reached. We could create new means of communication in film.)
It’s strange to write about cinematography, the result of a cinematographer’s work, without using image to prove a point. I can try my best to describe what I saw but still it can be just a shadow of what the image actually looked like. Because unlike in the Scripture, in the beginning of a film, there were no words, there were pictures. The relationship between a screenplay and images is something that I am trying to understand these days. A film can start as a series of visions inside the director’s or screenwriter’s head. Then it gets clumsily translated to words that somehow have to evoke the original vision that is then produced by a cinematographer and the whole team of people that create a moving picture. At least that’s how I have always imagined it. But during my stay in Katowice I finally started to understand what goes into the work of a cinematographer.
It’s not just about fulfilling someone’s vision, it is also about having a vision of your own. And that is quite hard to hear on the other side, by the writing table. Do the words actually matter if they won’t be followed in the end? I don’t know the answer to that question. Also I don’t know if my words matter at all. But I have to admit, that it’s the cinematographer’s and costume designer’s work that brought me to studying screenwriting after all.
When I was deciding where to go to university, I abandoned my years-long plan of going to a diplomatic career and realised that I want to pursue art. I was torn between fine arts and literature. And when I saw Sedmikrásky, Valérie a týden divů and In the Mood for Love, I came to a conclusion that I can have both, if I choose to study film, if I choose to study screenwriting. The visual aspect that I wasn’t used to from „normal“ films was what spoke to me. And it feels like a full circle trying to understand what is behind those images.
I chose to write my essay about Jaroslav Kučera, one of the most important cinematographers of Czechoslovak New Wave. He collaborated with many different directors such as Jan Němec, Věra Chytilová, Jaromil Jireš, Vojtěch Jasný or Juraj Herz. The usual approach when trying to analyse a film is to try to distinguish a specific style of the director. But looking at the cinematographer’s side can help us suddenly see the unique ideas that he’s bringing to the works of different directors. If he had worked in an artistic tandem it could be much harder to realise if it is just the style of the director or of the cinematographer, I think.
Over the course of his life, Jaroslav Kučera was part of many projects, so I decided to focus only on one of them – Až přijde kocour (1963, dir. Vojtěch Jasný). There are many significant films that he worked on but I chose this one because it is probably the first of Kučera’s experiments with colour (that he later developed more while working on Chytilová’s Sedmikrásky, for example) (Hames 2008, 67). I would also say that many examples of his strengths can be found in this film therefore I can demonstrate them on stills from it. Because I realised that one image in such a case really speaks more than a thousand words.
The film Až přijde kocour (The Cassandra Cat) tells a lyrical story of villagers that are taken by surprise by a visit of a wizard, an acrobat and a magical cat. The cat can make people appear literally in their true colours – purple representing hypocrisy, yellow infidelity, grey theft and red love. That is not appreciated by the local school’s director who is trying to get rid of the cat. But the village’s children demand justice. The film is shot on colour film material and the figures of people in certain scenes are colourized in post production. That is one of the most distinctive visual elements of the film. But the film also shows other interesting features that indicate Kučera’s talents.
The very first shot shows us children’s painting of the village on the wall. It gives us a hint about the location of the story and also indicates that children and their pictures are going to play an important part in the story. We can see that later in the film when the camera shows us how children at school paint according to their fantasy during Jan Werich’s character’s story-telling. I would say that this shot also speaks about Kučera’s sensitivity to different textures that is visible in his other works, too.
Another shot depicts the narrator of the whole story, Mr Oliva played by a legendary Czech actor Jan Werich. He looks out of the clock from the top of the village tower. He, as the narrator, has an overlook of the whole main square and later introduces us to all of the main characters. But the term main character is kind of problematic with this film because, like in many other Czech and Slovak films of this period, there is a so-called „collective hero“, which basically means that the story focuses on a group or more groups of people (Hames 2008, 68). I decided to include this shot in particular because I think it’s a very unexpected and entertaining way to introduce the narrator. It can be also seen as a nod to the silent film Safety Last! (1923), in my opinion.
This still represents the main part of the exposition where Mr Oliva describes the villagers and we see them through his point of view. The image is slightly blurred as he is watching them with a magnifying glass.
A key element that is characteristic for this film are shots of birds in the sky. They represent freedom which is one the main topics of the film. The symbol of birds is used on many occasions in the film and the meaning slightly changes each time depending on the context. I think that this can be seen as the example of Kučera’s attempts to use images that hold their own meaning. Also the fact that it’s not just any bird, it’s a stork to be exact, is quite important. The story takes place in the Vysočina Region, in particular in a historical town called Telč where the director Jasný comes from. And storks are very common in this area. I used to come to Telč every year with my grandparents because we spent summer in the region and the storks are pretty much a symbol of my time there. On our way there we would look out of the car to see them nesting on high chimneys and we would try to count how many little ones they had. I think that sensitivity to such things speaks volumes about Kučera’s and Jasný’s approach to filmmaking.
This shot is one of several that use something (partly) transparent to adjust our view on something. Like in this case, we see the square blurred by the rain on a window. Or later, when we are in some sort of a tent for the performers and the walls of the tent are made from a see-through green fabric. Or in a scene where a girl paints a cat on a window in a shop and we see her through the painted window. I think that’s a really nice play with depth of field and also with textures in this shot in the picture.
In this scene we are in a classroom where Mr Robert, one of the most important characters, teaches. We can hear the children’s whispering and the camera focuses on close-ups of their faces. We get closer to them so it’s not just an anonymous crowd that keeps the plot moving later on. We get to know them more personally.
Similar thing happens when Mr Robert tells them to draw what they like or dislike about their town or what they would like to change about the place where they live. In the sound we hear the children’s thoughts about what they dislike about things that their parents or fellow residents do. And Jaroslav Kučera decided to do an interesting thing by showing little scenes from the village on children’s blank pages so we clearly see what they are thinking about. The children, unlike many of the adults in this film, still believe in ideals such as friendship, honesty and truth. And they have their inner sense for justice that their teacher Mr Robert is trying to support, but many other characters including some of their own parents or the school’s director are doing the contrary.
With this still I decided to include one of the most captivating scenes where the janitor and also the dogbody of the school director brings stuffed stork that the director had previously killed. The director tells the janitor to make it fly which starts a crazy camera ride as he runs around in circles around the director, his wife and his secretary. The scene (accompanied by cheerful music) has a lot of irony to it. The office is also decorated with purple curtains which gives us a hint about which colour is going to turn the director and his friends.
After the crazy ride comes a scene that is very much in contrast with the previous one. Mr Oliva is supposed to be a model for the children to paint but he tells them a story instead and the children decide to paint what he is talking about. From a cinematography point of view, this scene is important to me, because there are no special effects just for the sake of it. Kučera leaves a room for the actor to be the main focus of this scene. And it really works because Jan Werich is a great story-teller (he also helped to write parts of the script) and he steals the show in a good way.
This scene is unlike anything I’ve seen in a cinema. It takes place after the arrival of the circus performers to the village. They create a spectacle in the courtyard of the local chateau that is quite eye-opening for the villagers because it reflects their own life. The scene was done with a group of actual mimes and the clothing silhouettes on a dark background create a fascinating view. In this picture in particular there are white silhouettes of birds again created with the hands of the performers.
With this still I would like to demonstrate one of other elements that Kučera uses. He blends two shots together and creates a new meaning for them. Here we can see a rose that symbolises the people who are filled with love. And the picture gets transformed into the silhouette of the acrobat dressed in a red costume. Similar technique is used also later when Kučera blends together several different shots of renaissance houses on the main square.
Here is an example of the colourized figures that appear after the magical cat looks at them. Kučera experimented with colour also later in his career, for example in Chytilová’s Sedmikrásky and also later in Noc na Karlštejně for example, in one of the most famous scenes. Kučera also had an archive of his diary or „home videos“ where he was trying some of his experiments (“Co říká deník Jaroslava Kučery o jeho tvorbě a životě s Věrou Chytilovou” 2019, Respekt). I decided to include more stills from this scene because apart from the colourisation, lighting and composition plays an important role as well.
And here we can see one of the characters that is moving and turning purple but we can see parts of red as well. That suggests the character development that she undergoes later in the story. Similar visual experiments Kučera also applied for example in Sedmikrásky or in hallucination scenes in Morgiana (1972).
In the above picture and also in the two following I wanted to demonstrate Kučera’s sensitivity to natural light. This sensitivity is also visible in garden scenes in Morgiana, for example. This first one is especially interesting to me because as Diana, the acrobat character, moves the umbrella against the sun, the light shines through and gives her face a red shadow even without colourisation in post production.
In one of the dream-like scenes, Mr Robert and Diana run through the fields, filled with happiness. In this particular shot we can see Kučera’s ability to capture natural landscapes that was also influenced by another important Czech cinematographer Jan Stallich (Hames 2008, 35). This ability is also visible in another Jasný’s film where Kučera was as a DOP, in Všichni dobří rodáci. The way the edges of the hills are glowing with warm light reminds of paintings of Joseph Rebell.
At the end I wanted to include four shots that capture the unique architecture and atmosphere of Telč in different lighting situations. The one above where children paint the cat on rooftops reminds me of another Czechoslovak New Wave film called Slnko v sieti that has a similar lyrical approach and also some scenes take place on rooftops (just not in Telč, but in Bratislava instead).
I think that Kučera decided to use many shots from a bird’s eye perspective not only to show us the interesting location but also to give us a broader perspective on the characters and their conflicts. When people get too caught up in their daily troubles and arguments it’s sometimes really hard to see the bigger picture and realise what actually matters in life. And it’s a great opportunity to use film as a medium to show that. This perspective is also connected to the symbols of birds that are used throughout the film. They look down on the people and their struggles, just like the narrator when he’s watching them from the tower. But he also becomes one of the characters, he is also part of the story that he is telling, only the birds remain above, unless some of the villagers decide to shoot them.
To conclude, I would like to mention that this film is an example of the legacy of the First Republic period (1918 – 1938) that was one of the most important cultural periods of modern day Czechia. During this time, there was the artistic style called poetism and in my opinion this film brings to attention several key elements of this style and in a way tries to continue the artistic movement established several decades earlier (as the development was interrupted by the Second World War). Those elements include inspiration in folk entertainment, lyrical and playful approach to life and happiness found in ordinary things. Another way in which the First Republic legacy is presented is through the casting of Jan Werich who was (along with Jiří Voskovec) one of the most important figures in satirical theatre. The musical and less narrative parts of the film also take inspiration in revue style performances from theatre, in my opinion.
I feel the need to mention that even though Kučera’s imagery is very fascinating and holds a meaning, I can’t help myself thinking that what brings another layer of subjectivity to the film is its sound. Be it through music, dialogues or sound effects, it’s hard to imagine the film without it. It reminds me of an interview that I had with one director that I included in my bachelor’s thesis. He shared with me his experience that the viewer has a tendency to perceive a picture as pure information and the sound is what adds the emotional layer to it (Brázdová 2022, JAMU). I agree with him and I think that the importance of sound can be often underestimated.
I wonder if Kučera actually reached his goal that he mentions in the quote at the beginning of my essay. With visual aspects (but not just with them, but also with art in general) there is always the risk that we create beautiful pictures and special effects just for the sake of it and we lose track of the meaning. In my opinion, despite many of Kučera’s innovative ideas, his imagery still stays true to the meaning of the film. But there is always the risk that it won’t be perceived that way. He personally described the case of Sedmikrásky, where he had his artistic vision but the aesthetic of the film started to develop on its own during shooting and also after the film was finished (Hames 2008, 211). And from my own experience, I am not sure how many people who see Sedmikrásky or any other very visually unique film enjoy it as the colourful and crazy fun that it seems to be and how many actually search for the meaning behind it. Both Chytilová and Kučera wanted an active viewer that finds his own understanding of the film. But when I saw it for the first time, I wouldn’t describe myself as an active viewer, I was just in awe that such a film exists and that was it. Maybe the words matter in the end. Or maybe one has to train himself or herself to look at pictures and also see behind them.
That brings me to another point which is the Kučera’s influence in today’s cinematography or more the lack thereof. When I look at famous Czech films from the 60s to the 70s (Hames 2008, 98) but also from the First Republic period, there was a strong line of lyrical films that were not afraid to disattach from realism while still remaining relevant to reality. Maybe I’m wrong but I feel like Czech contemporary film is missing this approach. And while Kučera’s work is certainly not forgotten (he had an exhibition in Dům umění in Brno in 2017 and there is a book about him (“Jaroslav Kučera: kameraman československé nové vlny | dafilms.cz” 2019)), I think that partly because of the Soviet invasion that interrupted cultural development after 1968 and also due to commercialization of films after the Velvet Revolution in 1989, we lost something that made Czech film unique. Maybe it’s time to think about finding it again.
Koncem roku 2022 vydalo nakladatelství Pražské příběhy knihu novináře a judaisty Jana Fingerlanda Hebrejky. Svébytný katalog biblických matek, démonek, královen i milenek sestává z 21 kapitol pokoušejících se zachytit proměny portrétů převážně starozákonních žen v rozličných perspektivách.
Čtenář je zván, aby se lehkým, publicistikou ovlivněným jazykem autora nechal unášet od příběhů pramatky Evy či znepokojivé Lilith, přes smělou Juditu i pozoruhodnou živou ohřívací lahev Abíšag až k novozákonním Mariím – Ježíšově matce a Máří Magdaléně. Pro mimořádně široký rozhled autora, jeho obratné zacházení s duchovními, antropologickými, psychologickými i uměleckými prameny i pro neotřelý nápad přiblížit čtenářům osudy biblických ženských hrdinek, jež si podrobují maskulinní svět, byla kniha nominována na cenu Magnesia Litera 2023.
ČRo Brno
Rozhovor s Janem Fingerlandem a reflexi jeho knihy, které připravila Kateřina Hejnarová, poslouchejte ZDE.
Přečtete si esej studentky ateliéru Kristýny Brázdové o hudbě ve filmu Johna Currana Barevný závoj (2006). Text zveřejňujeme v původním anglickém znění, jelikož vznikl v rámci autorčina studijního pobytu na polské filmové škole Krzysztof Kieślowski Film School.
I chose to analyse a fragment of the film The Painted Veil. The majority of the film’s story takes place in China and it follows the fate of a couple that got married for wrong reasons and now they are finding a way to understand each other in the middle of the cholera epidemic. The film is based on a book by William Somerset Maugham but from my experience the book is sharing a different message in a way. The fragment I chose is in the second half of the film when Kitty and Walter Fane, the main characters, are on their way to forgive each other the past mistakes and start their relationship again.
At first, I am going to mention different scenes in which the piece Gnossienne n. 1 by Erik Satie is used and how it is relevant to the chosen fragment. Next I am going to focus on the selected fragment and try to apply to it the theories that we talked about during our lectures. I am also going to draw my own conclusions based on additional resources and my screenwriting and viewing experience.
In my opinion, the composer, Alexandre Desplat, uses leitmotif technique, because the piece Gnossienne n. 1 by Satie appears at specific moments during the film and it slightly changes its meaning depending on the context but still holds connection with previous situations when it has been used. The Gnossienne is not Desplat’s original piece, therefore we can say that it is a case of adopted music.
We hear it for the first time in one of the first scenes of the film. The story starts with the couple’s journey to Mei-Tan-Fu where they are going because of the cholera epidemic – Walter Fane wants to make himself useful as a doctor there and he is taking his wife with him to punish her for her affair with another man. As they are waiting in the rain in the middle of nowhere, the Gnossienne n.1 starts as Kitty is reflecting her past and we get to a flashback of their meeting two years earlier in London, when Kitty was just a foolish girl having arguments with her mother over her future and Walter was desperately in love with her. Later, Kitty is playing the Gnossienne on her piano in her family’s salon. With that scene, we can get an association with Kitty and this piece of music and we also realise that music plays an important role for her as a character. Gnossienne also plays silently in the background when Walter proposes to Kitty in a flower shop. And Kitty, because she desperately wants to escape from her family, accepts his offer even though she is not particularly fond of Walter.
Then we get a break from Gnossienne for a part of the film until we reach a point when Walter and Kitty are already in Mei-Tan-Fu, he is busy in a hospital and she is suffering from heartbreak and loneliness. Her character is slowly changing because she starts to understand how superficial she used to be and she suddenly sees her husband in a different light because of all the sacrifices he makes for those who need him. As her opinion of him changes, she tries to improve their relationship only to get hurt by his words during an argument. She shuts the door and we stay with Walter as he hears her crying from the other room. It is at this moment when we hear the Gnossienne again. And we get his perspective which is in contrast with the original book, because in Maugham’s novel, we only get Kitty’s perspective. That is one of the biggest adjustments that were made regarding The Painted Veil adaptation. By hearing the Gnossienne while watching Walter’s face, we are reminded of his love for her that we saw in one of the first scenes. We can feel his slowly growing compassion even though he is still full of anger at the woman he once loved. This scene in particular is what makes this film stand out compared to the book, in my opinion. Instead of witnessing only one character evolve and grow, we see both of them. And according to Zofia Lissa’s theory, this can be seen as an example of music as the basis of empathy.
Another scene similar to this one takes place in a monastery where Kitty goes to help nuns with orphan children to make herself useful. She plays an out of tune piano to entertain them when suddenly Walter passes by and starts watching them. Then one of the nuns encourages Kitty to play something more calm and tells Walter to stay and listen, even though he suddenly feels uncomfortable. Kitty plays the Gnossienne, it feels slower and heavier, perhaps it’s because of the instrument that she plays. The memory of her in London flashes before Walter’s eyes which can be also seen on the screen. I may be wrong but I feel like this flashback was unnecessary because the memory of the piece is so strong that we can remind ourselves of the past scene even without the visual representation but it might be just my impression because I already saw the film more than once. The piece is used in a very interesting way because it’s not easy to qualify its function as a pure association with a character, a place or a specific time in the past. It’s not just a representation of love either. Because the characters start at very different places and their development is complex. That is why I hesitate a little bit when characterising the music score with leitmotif technique because it is not all that clear. But again referring to Zofia Lissa’s theory, this moment can be interpreted as music as a representation of memory.
By going through all the preceding scenes that have the Gnossienne in their musical layer, I finally reach a point in the film where I chose the fragment for my analysis. The scene starts with Kitty leaving the house to go for a walk to help herself get through a hangover and probably also to think about what happened last night. Walter and Kitty made love for the first time since her affair which was a visual representation of the process that they went through emotionally as well – from love on one side and indifference on the other, through mutual hate to the moment of reconciliation. Kitty goes outside with her parasol, lightheartedly encouraging her bodyguard to accompany her. While she walks we hear tones played by flute. The instrument expresses the calmness and tenderness of the scene. The use of flute is also interesting because the composer, Alexandre Desplat, used to play flute as one of several instruments before he settled on composing.
She reaches the river where she sees Walter haggling with a Chinese man over pieces of bamboo. We hear the sounds of plucking strings of a violin (at least that’s what I imagine) which represents the curiosity with which Kitty approaches the two men by the river. Walter and Kitty exchange a few words, both probably trying to process the new situation, the feeling of peace after months of resentment. And they, for the first time since coming to Mei-Tan-Fu, do something amusing together. While watching the couple sail on the river we hear the Gnossienne again, this time getting a new meaning, no longer referring to the past feelings and moods of the characters but creating a new, vibrant memory. The melody fits wonderfully with the flowing of the river, corresponding with the visual layer. The piece feels somehow calm while having a recognisable rhythm. It also expresses oriental influences which goes perfectly with the location of the film – the influence is very subtle but still noticeable. Without hearing the dialogue (or reading many pages of a novel), the music and the images tell us openly what has changed between Walter and Kitty. Instead of barely looking at each other hoping the other would cease to exist or standing opposite of each other like in a duel, they sit next to each other on the raft, fulfilling a famous quote by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry: “Love does not consist of gazing at each other, but in looking outward together in the same direction.” They are interested in the same thing (which in this case is the water distribution system that can save the village). Creating unity in the moment of bliss which is a reward for the viewer after watching them suffer for such a long time.
But the very nature of film is dependent on conflict, turbulence and constant change. That’s why we cannot dwell in the moment of peace when everything between them has fallen into place. So the mood changes drastically within the same melody that was expressing the calmness of the shared moment. The music helps us to take in the fact that we are suddenly in a different moment in time (so the piece has a structural function as well). Kitty dances happily with orphan children. Their movement is in synchronisation with the music’s rhythm even though it is non-diegetic. The Gnossienne has a metre similar to waltz, even though it is not a typical waltz either. The metre that is slightly off corresponds with Kitty breaking the dance, running to the corner of the room, feeling nauseous. The soloist’s interpretation (Lang Lang) of the piece changes as the following notes are hit with bigger force and then the music suddenly stops, creating suspense, as the screen goes black. Here we can see Siegfried Kracauer’s theory applied because the following silence creates dramatic tension. Then we can see the same corner of the room, empty, without Kitty and the children, leaving us uncertain for a little longer and wondering if she has fallen ill with cholera.
In the next part we get to know the truth, along with Kitty, when the nuns tell her that she is not ill with cholera but she will be having a baby. It is a shock for her as this is not the right timing for such a big change. This part shows Desplat’s sensitive approach to the use of music. Even though the music of the film is very significant, there are many scenes that are completely without music as Desplat leaves room for actors’ and actresses’ performances that don’t need an additional emotional layer supported by the music.
The same approach is also shown in the next part where Walter visits Kitty after hearing the news that she has been feeling sick. Walter’s emotions change from worry to excitement and then to doubts and disappointment when he realizes that it’s possibly not his child. He is reminded of their past conflict and we as the viewers are feeling tension together with Kitty, unsure whether everything is going to go bad again or if Walter is going to finally forgive her all her past failures. Walter’s character development expressed through his decision to let go of the past once and for all is supported by gentle music where timbre plays an important part – piano still represents hints of sadness and melancholy while strings bring hope and tenderness to the situation.
This scene is followed by another one that I wanted to include because it shows another interesting aspect of Desplat’s work. In this scene, we can see Walter’s efforts come into fruition because the windmill that he came up with to supply the village with clean water is working in the end. Desplat uses violin, piano and flute to create a fast melody that mimics the sound of streaming water that can be seen in the visual layer. Maybe it can be interpreted as a slight nod to Bedřich Smetana’s famous composition Vltava, which also uses flute sounds at the beginning to give the illusion of streaming water. This also falls to Zofia Lissa’s theory in the category of the musical stylization of real sounds. I think that the work with timbre of different instruments is something that is characteristic for Desplat’s composition (it can also be heard in the music for The Grand Budapest Hotel for example). Even though the music and the whole context of the scene seem cheerful, there are also serious undertones. I think that this layer is played by cello but I am not so sure about that. As the situation progresses, the music continues but the cheerfulness suddenly changes into gravity because when one problem is solved we can see another danger emerging on the horizon. And it all happened during the same composition. That to me is a very interesting example of musical dramaturgy that is in a way a parallel to the scene that I described earlier (when Kitty and Walter become close again and suddenly the danger of possible illness and then potential conflict about pregnancy creeps in). When Walter is trying to stop people from another contaminated village, we can hear some sort of glockenspiel or triangle and violins, cello, piano and also some brass instruments. The music helps to underline the dramatic nature of this scene using timbre and also fast tempo to create an unsettling feeling in the viewers.
According to Claudia Bullerjahn’s theory, I would say that for the most part the music in this fragment co-creates the atmosphere of the film while also clarifying the emotional processes of the characters. In the second part of this fragment where the film focuses on Walter and his efforts to stop the epidemic, the music uses the dramatic function.
In conclusion, I would like to underline that in this fragment we can see several things which are typical of Alexandre Desplat’s work: lyricism (the scene when Kitty and Walter are on the raft), influence from classical music of the 20th century (including Erik Satie’s composition) and strong orchestration (the part with windmill and villagers approaching). Also this film to me is an example of a successful book to film adaptation that doesn’t hold on too tightly on the original text in order to create a truly cinematic story that can stand successfully on its own.
Even though I focused mainly on music and characters’ emotions in this essay there are many other aspects that co-create this film and make it whole. But thanks to the lectures on Music in movies, I can have a growing appreciation of aspects of films that would otherwise slip from me unnoticed.
Generál nebe, Rinope, stíhací eso druhé světové války, tím vším byl generálporučík František Peřina. Narodil se 8. dubna 1911 v Morkůvkách. V roce 1929 nastoupil do pilotní školy v Prostějově, svou vlast v předválečném období reprezentoval na olympijském leteckém mítinku v Curychu, kde získal četná ocenění ze závodů ve střelbě a akrobacii. Následně se naskytla příležitost vstoupit do armády, což také učinil a po okupaci Čech a Moravy odešel přes Polsko do Francie.
„Byl to obyčejný Franta Peřina tady od nás z dědiny. On se nikdy nepovyšoval na to, že je někdo. Kým vlastně byl, jsme zjistili, až umřel a začaly nám chodit kondolence z celého světa,“ vzpomíná Peřinova příbuzná.
ČRo Brno
Rozhlasový dokument Marcela Peterky vyprávějící o životě významného generála i jeho odkazu v rodných Morkůvkách, který trvá dodnes, poslouchejte ZDE. Od narození generálporučíka Františka Peřiny letos uplynulo 112 let.
Hana slaví 16. narozeniny. Přála by si, aby jí už bylo 17. Ze všeho nejvíc by ale už chtěla být konečně plnoletá. Hana má totiž hodně snů a plánů. A také Downův syndrom.
HateFree.cz
Absolventka a současná pedagožka ateliéru RTDS Tereza Reková natočila audiodokument, návštěvu v soukromém světě dívky stojící na prahu dospělosti s Downovým syndromem v kapse. Jak šestnáctiletá Hana vnímá svoji odlišnost? A jak se jí daří dobývat samostatnost, když vzhledem ke svým potřebám zřejmě nikdy nebude moci bydlet sama?
A co že to ta slam poetry je? Slovo slam je anglické slovo pro „bouchnout“ či „prásknout“, a to je více než příznačné vysvětlení. Slameři chtějí v posluchačích/divácích svých textů zanechat slamováním nějaký dojem. Pozitivní, negativní, na tom nezáleží.
O slamování a slamerech si studentka JAMU Eliška Bochová povídala s Radkou Grohovou, se kterou se můžete ve světě slam poetry setkat pod uměleckým jménem Bradka. „Trému mám pořád. Je pro mě těžké si říkat slamerka, protože si připadám jako začátečník,“ směje se Grohová.
ČRo Brno
Rozhovor Elišky Bochové se slamerkou Radkou Grohovou poslouchejte ZDE.
Od úterý 28. března se v Brně naplno rozproudí mezinárodní festival divadelních škol Setkání/Encounter. Do 1. dubna budou mít jeho účastníci možnost navštívit více než desítku představení z různých koutů světa, ale i zajít si na zajímavý doprovodný program v podobě workshopů či přednášek.
Tématem letošního festivalu je mraveniště. Koordinátorka festivalu Anežka Hanáčková v reportáži popisuje, proč organizátoři zvolili právě toto téma. Kromě mraveniště a jeho různých podob studentka divadelní produkce z brněnské JAMU přibližuje posluchačům, které země se letos Setkání/Encounteru účastní a na jaká představení se mohou těšit.
ČRo Brno
Reportáž a pozvánku na divadelní festival Setkání/Encounter, kterou natočila Eliška Kánská, si poslechněte ZDE.
Čtyři stěny. To většinou tvoří místnost. Na jedné straně železné dveře zamčené zvenčí. Na druhé okno obehnané mřížemi. Stará rozkládací postel. Místo matrace tři kusy drolícího se molitanu. A naproti tabulka neprůstřelného skla zazděná do stěny s oslňujícím výhledem do sesterny.
Podprsenka je zde nezákonná, a přesto to není zas tak dávno, kdy jsem ji začala nosit.
Plastové příbory, kterými si nenakrájíte to, čím nazývají maso.
Tři dny. Sedmdesát dva hodin. Čtyři tisíce tři sta dvacet minut. Tedy přibližně …
V malé místnosti… sama se sebou… Zmatená a vyděšená.
Od dveří k oknu je to šest kroků, ale prý se k němu nesmím příliš přibližovat. Od jedné stěny k druhé pak tři. Ale na okýnko klepat jen když potřebuju na záchod.
Tři dny. Víkend. Sobota, neděle. A jeden státní svátek. To pracují jen sestřičky.
Celé patro nazvané 14b není o moc větší než izolace. Nebo mi to tak nepřišlo. Několik pokojů, záchody, koupelna s otevřenými sprchami. Oholit se můžeme jen pod dohledem. Společenská místnost narvaná lidmi. Ale příliš dlouhé konverzace by mohly přilákat nežádoucí pozornost. Přilákávají podezření. A mříže. Mříže na každém okně. Mříže, za kterými sedávali havrani. Tak svobodní… Copak si o mě asi ti černí ptáci myslí?
Půlhodinová vycházka s doprovodem jednou týdně za dobré chování. Za prokázání vhodnosti pro společnost.
Denně tři hodiny školní výuky znamenající opisování částí učebnic.
„Vážně studujete gymnázium?“
Za tři měsíce se z mých růžových vlasů staly bílé. Ne strachem, ne šokem, ne zděšením, ne ponížením… Prostě se z nich vymyla ona vatová barva.
To, že mi polovina z nich vypadala, způsobil bolestivý zmatek uvnitř mě.
Po třech měsících vloží vašich pár osobních věcí, jako je podprsenka, náramky a náhrdelník, do Lidl tašky a v doprovodu rodičů konečně můžete opustit areál obléhaný havrany. Mými nejlepšími přáteli a mými největšími nepřáteli. První věc, kterou jako znovu svobodná osoba udělám, je, že si koupím hnědou barvu na vlasy. Přirozeně jsem přece vždy byla hnědovláska. Nebo snad ne?
„Podívej se na ni! Vždyť je to úplně mrtvé dítě! Co to s ní udělali?!“ zaslechnu otcův hlas, když jsou mé na přirozeno nabarvené vlasy suché.
„Půjdu se projít.“ Zavřu za sebou dveře, abych se vyhnula bolesti, která není má, když za tou svou dveře zavřít nemohu.
Eliška… Jsem Eliška… Jmenuji se Eliška… Že ano? Nebo se pletu?
Stoupám do kopce dlážděného kočičími hlavami. Když mi bylo šest, spadla jsem přesně v tomhle místě z koloběžky a rozbila si koleno. Táta, aby mě utěšil, mi za rohem ve stánku koupil zmrzlinu. Mrkvovou. Mrkev jsem nenáviděla, ale tu zmrzlinu jsem milovala.
V tomhle hladovém okně jsem si po cestě z práce kupovala smažený sýr v housce.
Tam na tom staveništi jsem vykouřila svou první cigaretu, kterou jsem ukradla babičce.
Na stěně altánku na kopečku uprostřed města je stále mým písmem centrákem napsaná báseň.
Do tohoto vchodu jsem chodívala o velkých přestávkách kouřit a občas jsem zde potkávala svého angličtináře, který sem chodil se stejným úmyslem.
V téhle hospodě jsem měla své první pivo se starší kamarádkou, která mě jako malou holku hlídala.
V tomhle baru mě poprvé někdo pozval na drink. Bylo to cuba libre.
Před touto bankou jsem se poprvé líbala. Na tamtu fontánu jsme připití s kamarádem vylezli a soše na jejím vrcholu vítězně sáhli na kamenná prsa.
V tomhle undergroundovém klubu jsem byla na svém prvním koncertu. Hráli zrovna Fialky proti směru.
Z téhle ulice jsme se spolužákem ze základky ukradli ceduli hlásající její název.
Do tohoto divadla jsem každou neděli chodívala přesně rok od svých osmi let se svou tetou, než se rozvedla s máminým bratrem a já o ní už nikdy neslyšela.
Majitelka tohoto knihkupectví mě měla tak ráda, že mi vždy dala na jakýkoliv nákup slevu.
Tady… Zde… A támhle…
Tak proč mi tato místa připadají cizí? Proč mám pocit, že jsem zde poprvé? Proč mám pocit, že si vybavuji život někoho jiného? Tohle je mé město… Město, kde jsem vyrostla… Město, ve kterém jsem strávila celý svůj dosavadní život… Tak proč mi připadá každý jeho důvěrně známý detail cizí?…
Čtyři stěny. To přece tvoří pokoj. Tři velká okna bez mříží. Naproti nim dveře bez zámku. Psací stůl. Knihovna s knihami, z nichž jsem každou z nich pečlivě vybrala nebo je někdo jiný vybral pro mne. Na míru vyrobená postel s kvalitní matrací. Plyšový medvěd, kterého jsem dostala na Vánoce, když mi bylo dvanáct. Mnou namalované zarámované obrazy, všem návštěvám vystavené na odiv. I ty, které jsem namalovala, když mi bylo devět. A fotky. Fotky zarámované nebo jen tak vylepené po stěnách. Fotografie mé rodiny a mě. Babičky, dědy, táty, mámy, strýce, tety, sestřenky… Fotografie s mými přáteli. A citáty, které z nějakého důvodu uvízly v mém srdci či mysli, a tak jsem je zvěčnila ve formě nápisů na stěnách. Na stěnách mého pokoje… mého…
Tak proč cítím z tohoto pokoje chlad? Proč mi přijde, že není můj? Proč mám pocit, že sem nepatřím? Proč mám pocit, že tenhle život není můj? Že jsem ho ukradla? Že jsem ho vylhala?…
Tři měsíce… Devadesát dva dní… Dva tisíce devět set osm hodin… Sto třicet dva tisíc čtyři sta osmdesát minut… Tedy přibližně… A já si připadám jako podvodník, jako lhář, jako herec, jako nastrčená figurka…
Text byl publikován v časopise Ateliér 205 (č. 7, 2021).
