Magický hlas rebelky (2014) - full transcript

Thanks. Thank you.

Back then my voice was

something really unusual.

I didn't let anyone tell me

what to do with it

or how to develop it.

True beauty lies in imperfections.

When a voice has a flaw,

that's what makes it beautiful.

It's like a beauty spot

that makes the voice

original and unmistakable.

She opens her mouth and everybody

knows it's Marta Kubišová singing.

Marta's simply the best.

Her voice has an incredible colour

and she's able to convey such emotions

to the audience…

It's fantastic.

The character of the voice

is something you're given by God,

and using her voice,

Marta wiped out the competition.

Good evening, Ladies and Gentlemen,

it is my pleasure to welcome Marta

Kubišová, the star of our theatre,

whose recital With Unusual Willingness

will for the first time be accompanied

not only by a pianist as usual

but by a whole band.

I met Marta face to face

only after I opened my own theatre.

I knew I wanted to offer chansons

as well as drama,

and I saw Marta as a great chanteuse.

He'll slowly come down

that hill at the back.

He'll be coming down slowly

and then you'll be here with her,

helping her to get up.

-In another shot.

-Yes.

Our friendship was born step by step,

as all great friendships are.

I remember the first moment

that really helped us move forward.

I was brought up to be a gentleman.

I help women put on their coats,

and if they carry something heavy,

I snatch it from their hands,

so I can carry it for them,

but Marta told me off one day, saying,

"Look, that makes me uncomfortable,

I can carry my own stuff."

But I said, "Well, this is how I treat

all women. Let me be clear,

I'm gay and this is the way

I was raised."

And Marta just lit up, saying,

"I'm so relieved.

I thought another director

was hitting on me

and I didn't know how to turn him down."

When I was little, I lived with

my grandparents, my mum and dad

and my brother in our family house

in České Budějovice.

In 1950, we moved to Poděbrady.

My father was considered to be

one of the best internists.

In 1953, he closed his private practice,

without offering his X-ray

to the socialist regime,

and that was the reason

why he was put in prison for 3 months,

or 6 months maybe, I don't remember.

But I do remember a classmate

who used to drive us to see him

in my father's car.

My mum couldn't get a job,

so she started washing dishes.

I was told, "Go find work in a factory,

because you won't be approved

for higher education."

Every year I applied again

for recommendation to be allowed

to take a university entrance exam,

always in vain.

When it happened for the third time,

my boss suggested

I hand in my notice.

I did it, and as I was walking

across the town from the glassworks

I was wondering what to do next.

I couldn't study, I didn't have a job…

But when I came home, my mum said,

"Look here, the Pardubice theatre

is looking for a singer and actress."

So we went there.

At first it looked quite hopeless,

there were all these girls

with bouffants and beehives and stick-on

lashes. The girls from Prague.

I walked in, and seeing a guy

sitting at the piano I said,

"Excuse me, I can play it myself."

So I offended Mr Ondráček,

though I didn't even know it was him.

"Excuse me, I can play it myself."

And I played some of the hits

I knew from Radio Luxembourg.

And that was it.

They stopped the audition.

If only the heavens

Could hear my cry

For your

Forgiveness

Of all my failings

From those younger days

I'd give anything

to take back

In vain I ask

why God filled my cup

With a fate I can't handle

a fate written in riddles

Sometimes I ask

whether God slipped up

And filled my cup

with greater burdens than I can bear.

As a director, I knew I had Kubišová,

who was going to have an anniversary,

and I wanted to prepare a special

project for her 70th birthday,

rather a drama performance

than a recital.

Then the idea was born to use a story

about the Baroness Sidonie Nádherná.

I think she rebels against her fate,

-but sometimes we must show her sadness.

-Absolutely.

-About where she ended up,

not by her own fault. -Precisely.

The Resettlement Office of the Ministry

of the Interior in Benešov announces

that in connection with training grounds

for SS weapons set up near Benešov

the final boundaries of the 5th phase

are herewith declared.

Good thing you're not here

To see the trigger under my finger

My dear Johannes

your heart would die again

The property of the Third Reich

I now all that once was ours

Not even a candle may I place on a grave

In manors and parks no longer mine

-Excuse me. I don't mean to interrupt.

-Of course, we're talking about Pilsen.

-Oh, Marta sings in the Alfa Theatre, right?

-Yes.

-How long? -One season.

-And how did you get to work there?

-I moved from the Pardubice Theatre.

-You were born in Pardubice then?

-No, I was born in Poděbrady.

-And what are you planning next?

I've signed a contract with the Rokoko

Theatre in Prague for the next season.

We're about to start.

Everybody, get ready. Thank you.

Marta was lucky to have come

to the right place, Prague,

at the right time, in the mid-1960s,

because it was the time

when the authorities finally realized

there was such a thing as rock'n'roll.

Two years before that,

you couldn't even write the word.

It was considered a tool of imperialism.

A pathetic pack of lines.

Worth no more than a book of matches.

I've said it from the start:

Write no more, no more, no more.

What else can he do; you're his muse.

I listened to Radio Luxembourg

with my brother Jan,

using the same type of a radio set.

And I tried to play all those hits

on the piano.

Elvis Presley, for example.

Then I tried to sing them as well,

and that may be how I learnt to sing

in a way that wasn't common here as yet,

and I could phrase the lyrics the way

it's done in English.

To be a good singer means

a lot of hard work.

We realized that while watching Václav

Neckář in a theatre ballet room.

Together with Helena Vondráčková

a Marta Kubišová, he left Rokoko

to play a part in a real musical,

with singing, dancing and acting.

Neckář made a great impression

on Ondráček, who said,

"I was at the audition today

and I'm telling you this guy is marvellous,

he can sing, but he can jump, too."

I thought, "Oh, this boy,

where is he going to fly off to?"

He was like a younger brother to me.

Helena joined us

at the same time as him.

I'd been singing

in Rokoko for a year,

and she was like a butterfly.

A pretty flower of a girl with dimples,

smiling sweetly.

Everybody was saying

our voices went well together.

I'm the youngest Kid.

I'm the older Kid.

And I'm the most playful Kid.

I saw Golden Kids as a typical project

of Boban Ondráček's.

He was intelligent

and smart enough to realize

that if Václav

would play a part of a clown,

who, back then, could swing

his legs above his head quite easily,

if Helena would be a happy girlie

and Marta would be a bit

of a female demon,

it would be the right stuff

for just about any audience.

It was 15 months

of truly stellar fame.

Boys, I'll say my lines.

Thanks, Mr Bloch.

When do I start?

A mirror in an antique frame

You silent witness to my time

you've led me on through all these years.

You used to know me fresh at dawn

in vain you seek beauty now passed on,

and scents that tinged the world.

Distances smell of leather

trunks and cases

a longing to run on.

Newer shores, and I know

I'll take their beauty with me

back home to Janovice with me.

She was an avant-garde woman.

Look, she has a kind of a bun

at the back, like me,

and you have this and a bun.

A beautiful woman…

What sad eyes she had…

I have a lot in common with Sidonie.

She was a free spirit,

she was a smoker,

and she loved animals,

so I do believe

we have a lot in common.

I want to be free

To breathe freely

In stormy waters

To find my shore

In a fond embrace

Where I remain asleep

To live on freely

Free from love

I want to be just as before

To be me.

-How does it feel now?

-Good.

-You're having a beer?

-Yes, do you want a sip?

No way. That would be the end of me.

Oh, I thought you were so excited

because you wanted a drink.

We used to go to a pub with a pitcher

to fetch beer for our grandad.

We had to hurry up

so that it wouldn't go flat.

This is me with my brother

on a cherry tree.

That's where we used to sit.

What a great picture.

We sat there, picking cherries

straight from the tree.

And when our grandad died,

at home, not in a hospital,

the cherry tree died too.

You thought our country

was run by the Soviet Union.

But if you still think so,

I'm telling you, my young friends,

you couldn't be more wrong,

those days are over!

The Prague Spring was fantastic.

You could feel it in the air.

Maybe it was because people

looked at each other and smiled more…

It really was a good time.

You were in Paris with your band.

That must've been a very important,

if short, experience.

You performed at The Olympia…

Mr Cocatrix decided to offer us,

Helena, Václav and me,

a contract to perform at The Olympia

in Paris for one month.

The audience was always great.

No matter where we went,

Mr Cocatrix just said,

"These are my friends

from Czechoslovakia,"

and there was a round of applause.

Everywhere in Europe, people

held the Prague Spring in great respect.

It was fantastic, and then we went

to the cinema to see Bonnie and Clyde.

When we came out, we were full

of impressions from the film,

but once outside, we felt the film

continued on the Boul'Mich.

I grabbed Václav, because I saw

he was eager to see what was happening.

We also got doused with tear gas,

with Artur, do you remember?

He failed to wind up the car window

in time, and we were all crying,

like hyenas.

The Golden Lyre of Bratislava was

awarded to Jindřich Brabec, Petr Rada

and Marta Kubišová for their song

called Journey.

We came back, I went to the Lyre contest,

to Bratislava with Journey,

and then our "brothers" stormed in.

Down with the Russians!

Down with the Russians!

Good evening, tell me,

do you feel like singing?

I'll say it with Jiří Suchý,

"I won't jump off the bridge,

I just don't feel like singing."

Marta's going to sing a song

we all know very well.

The song that has lately been

speaking to our hearts. Marta Kubišová.

Peace with this country

forever should stay.

Let anger, envy, hate and fear

be forever blown away, blown away.

A song can have an interesting history,

but nothing compares

to A Prayer for Marta.

It was just a song for a TV series

called A Song for Rudolph III.

It was all ready, but when the Soviets

arrived in Prague,

there wasn't time for anything.

They went to the Petynka Club in Břevnov

and Marta recorded the song.

Jindra Brabec handed out the score,

his hands were shaking,

because a Russian bullet

had drilled a hole in his car.

It was really exciting. I liked that.

As long as there was shooting

and we had fun, I enjoyed it.

Now, when you're about

to reclaim the reign you lost…

It became the anthem

of occupied Czechoslovakia.

The clouds are slowly passing by

And everybody reaps what they sowed.

A prayer of mine soars up to the sky,

up to the hearts that didn't freeze and

despite the hard times felt the breeze,

felt the breeze.

If it weren't for the Soviet invasion,

it would never have become so famous.

Peace with this country

forever should stay…

Let me thank you on behalf of everybody

and assure you of our loyalty.

Thank you. I recognized you

before you saw me.

And this is a little something for you,

it must've fallen to the bottom…

-It's my good luck charm.

-Is it? Thank you very much.

Oh, my god, I've never got over this.

-Because of that lost thingie?

But it's funny. -Well, it is but…

-You still take it seriously…

-I took it very seriously.

-I have to check if it's there.

-I'm sure it is.

If it fell out, it would be awful.

-It did fall out! -You can bring it

some other day. -I will.

-I'm so sorry.

-Thank you and see you soon.

What a thing to happen…

-The country was full of soldiers.

-After 1968? -Yes.

People were afraid, but it still seemed

that the soldiers would leave.

-Art was still flourishing.

-Yes, it still was.

This is the recital

Love Will Be Carried Away on Water.

-Is this a wig?

-No, it's my own hair with a clip-in.

-Mamá. -This was shot in a quarry

somewhere in the north of Bohemia.

-And what about this?

-It's Ring-O-Ding.

This is all Ring-O-Ding

in a Japanese garden.

-It's beautiful.

-And this is Hey Jude.

-Your eyes are all black.

-With stick-on eye lashes.

We used to wear one set for daylight

and another for evenings.

You mean this is the make-up

you used every day?

Looking at the photos, I think

maybe I was pretty,

but back then I didn't feel that way,

I didn't realize it.

I was just a backward kid

with provincial upbringing.

If I went to dinner with a man

and next time he picked me up at Rokoko,

I'd feel I'd committed myself to him.

This is my first wedding.

This is my best man,

here's my mum,

Jan Němec and his parents.

I had this dress for

when I sang in Split.

-You both looked great.

-Yes.

He was fun. Even on the set.

He never raised his voice at me,

even though

he would shout at the staff.

After we won our second match

with the Soviet Union

at the Ice Hockey World Championship,

Wenceslas Square filled

with 100,000 exhilarated fans.

That day the Czechs

won the match with the Russians,

and Jan Němec called me.

But I'd already taken off my clip-in

and removed my make-up,

so I said I wasn't going anywhere

and I hung up on him.

I didn't feel the need to go and

celebrate driving around St. Wenceslas,

because, unlike the rest of the nation,

I wasn't beside myself with joy.

I didn't hear anything,

but suddenly I felt something

sprinkling on my head, so I looked up.

I quickly moved away

and went to tell my mum.

"Mum, somebody's shooting at me

from the street," I said.

He told me a week later.

We went out to eat and he said

he wanted to write my initials

with bullets in my bay window.

There's no reply to something like that.

-He was very much in love with you,

wasn't he? -Probably.

-Probably?

-Well, probably. I guess he was.

And finally,

the 1968 Golden Nightingales.

I received three Golden Nightingales.

In 1966, 1968 and 1969,

after the start of "normalization".

I'd already lived under a shadow,

so I was given the last award

behind closed doors.

Citizens, in the name of the law

and order, I appeal to you

to leave the upper part

of Wenceslas Square.

A year later, and everyone spoke

differently, everything had changed,

but I'd felt it since April

when Dr Husák made his speech.

Then I thought,

"Ok, everything's gone to hell."

We were about to go on a tour.

I was invited to Pragokoncert,

where the boss put pressure on me

to work only with Helena.

I said I couldn't because the songs

were written for three people,

and couldn't be done with two.

Then he gave me

three pornographic photographs.

It was supposed to be

Dubček and Kubišová,

And he said Pragokoncert couldn't

work with such a female singer.

I don't know what angered them most.

I guess A Prayer for Marta.

-That's what I think.

-Because it was so popular.

It was a punishment for A Prayer.

I was sacked by everybody.

I was as good as done for.

Polydor, Pragokoncert…

I couldn't work anywhere.

Instructions were given

that I had to disappear.

Cherchez la femme.

The wives of communist officials

detested Marta with all their might.

They said, "She looks like a whore,

she sings like a whore."

I think this might've been the reason

why she was chosen to be a scapegoat.

They clipped her wings

when she was soaring high.

The devil couldn't have picked a better

time to ruin her career than they did.

I'm 26 now. When you were 26,

you were forced to end your career.

How did you feel?

Because I can't imagine

to be told I can't sing,

I can't do what I want to do.

Well, they handed out faked porn photos,

but we didn't know much about that,

and I was so angry with the regime

that I didn't think about singing,

I thought only about how horrible

it was what they'd done to me.

I always felt a great respect for Marta.

It seems to me that she was

a bit different from other pop stars.

Of course, she lost twenty years

of professional life,

but she wouldn't sing

if it meant making compromises,

signing declarations supporting

the Russian or Warsaw Pact occupation.

If that was the price, she wouldn't

pay it, she was too proud for that.

I boast

of the brown plague

that poisoned our homeland

I boast

the pride of uniforms

their means.

Barbarously wrecking

all that we held dear

I cannot speak their tongues

only Goethe's.

I want to be me.

Journalists would come to my home,

saying, "Be reasonable."

They'd write an interview beforehand,

with my statement

supporting the normalization,

and they said, "If you support

the normalization, you can sing again."

I want to be me,

why be no more than meat and bone

I want to be, able to feel,

to sense the world and its complexities

To know much of love

and sink to the deep

Live it all to the fullest

until I fall even into hell.

If I'd lived during the war,

I'd probably have ended up getting shot,

as a rebel,

because war would've been

too much for me.

Good boy.

Now the other side.

The first job I was offered

was to feed calves in the co-op.

But my mum told me about another job,

gluing bags together,

and I immediately applied.

It wasn't degrading for me,

but from time to time

I'd hear Jan behind me saying,

"I can't stand it, you making bags

and me writing

under somebody else's name."

Later he had to sell a car

to get some money.

I got my last royalty from Supraphon

and bought a washing machine,

because Kája Chadimová said,

"If you're expecting a child,

you can't do without one,

especially not in Slapy."

We were both happy about it.

It was probably the hardest moment

of my life when it happened.

They hoped it was just flu,

but then the bleeding

couldn't be stopped.

24 hours later I woke up asking,

"Is it a girl or a boy?"

And the doctor said,

"You've cheated death."

And I asked again,

"Boy or girl?"

And he told me in an oblique way

that neither.

That was a big blow.

I was crying all the time. All the time.

Everything was going against us.

I was afraid about Jan,

because I knew he had to work,

and he knew

that his filming days here were over.

So he said, "We have to leave,

there's nothing here for us anymore.

-Let's go to Paris."

-"Go by yourself," I said.

"I'll survive somehow."

This is my mum. We dressed like that,

a year or 6 months before she died.

This is my brother.

This is me with Milan.

This is Katka.

It's a gallery of my loved ones.

And this is what I found one day

in a letter-box: To Marta, Brigitte Bardot.

After I'd presented the show about

animals in need for 10 or 15 years.

Let me stroke your head.

People ask me

if I try to be like Bridget Bardot,

but I say, no, I knew

she loved animals,

but the idea to bring TV cameras

to a shelter was mine.

Bono is a 5 year old mix-breed,

who's lost his beloved owner.

Dan, a German shorthaired pointer,

was very lucky.

His owner wanted to have him shot,

because he no longer cared for him.

A stafford…

And this is Katka's dad.

They always felt that it was Katka,

then my mum, animals and they came last.

Both my husbands.

Was it love at first sight,

with my daddy?

-Or did he have to pursue you?

-At third sight, I'd say.

-She's not afraid.

-This is great.

-It's changed a lot.

-This didn't use to be here.

This pergola wasn't here.

This silver spruce wasn't here.

Beautiful.

Step by step, I learnt

how to live in a village,

but I found out

it wasn't that hard after all.

I never felt lonely here,

even though it was a bit wild.

-You weren't afraid.

-Not at all.

The report from the meeting presented by

the Secretary General

of the Communist Party of Czechoslovakia

and the President of Czechoslovakia

comrade Gustav Husák

reminded us of the following:

"In the years to come we'll continue

to build our socialist society."

This is when Charter 77

was being prepared,

and here we had to start

collecting signatures.

I started collecting according to

the plan we agreed with Václav Havel.

We set off on Monday, 27 December,

from Prague.

Prague-Pohled, here it is.

The direct impetus for Charter 77 came

when Havel visited me at my place

to tell me they were planning another

raid to destroy The Plastic People,

and that we had to write

another petition.

We've gained a lot of experience,

but what was enough yesterday,

won't be enough tomorrow.

They assumed that a trial with such

long haired boys would go unnoticed,

and I started to discuss a strategy,

a campaign to support The Plastic People,

where we'd try to explain

that freedom is indivisible,

and if it's limited for some,

it is in fact limited for everyone.

This is the resulting text,

the Charter 77 manifesto.

-And this is… -A signature slip.

-Yes, signed in blood, we used to say.

I agree with the Charter 77 manifesto

as of 1 January 1977.

First name, surname, address,

all written in your own hand.

You read it and you signed it immediately,

because it somehow spoke to you.

The biggest advertisement was

when they condemned it in the media.

-Yes, then it got going.

-Because everyone knew about it then.

We don't want to underestimate this

campaign against socialist countries,

but based on history we know

that all campaigns rooted in lies,

contradicting the lives and minds of our

people, inevitably fail,

and the pitiful creatures who mount them

end up on the rubbish heap of history.

Hi, I only see you on TV these days.

I was excited because

it was very well written

and you could sign it

with a clear conscience.

I signed it and then, of course,

I forgot about it.

Then I saw it on TV. Charter 77.

And I thought, "Oh, I signed it, too."

And in 2 days, they were in my shed.

Professor Patočka became

the first spokesman of Charter 77.

They didn't interrogate him.

They just picked him up from home,

and put him in a cold room in prison.

His illness was made worse by it

and it progressed further…

On the tenth, professor Patočka

had a stroke. He's paralyzed.

On the thirteenth, professor Patočka died.

And shortly after,

the text A Prayer for Jan.

It's the text I gave you

after professor Patočka died

and you sang it really beautifully.

Jan is the name written by fate.

Fame goes hand in hand with a cross

Where they'll nail you.

But you'll rest in peace,

embraced by my melody.

Embraced by my melody.

These are your files written

by the State Security.

Their monitoring starts in 1976

with the file called Villager.

It includes some reports, for example,

people reported number plates of cars…

We knew that they'd recruited

one of our neighbours,

but then she mixed it up

with the number plates of police cars.

And on 20 January 1977,

after you signed Charter 77,

they proposed to classify you

as a "hostile person".

This interrogation started at 8:30 am

and ended at 8:30 pm.

That was after I became a spokesperson.

But after 6 hours I demanded

to go to a shop to buy some food.

I wouldn't take anything

from them, not even a cigarette.

They offered to make me coffee.

I said, "No, I'll have one later."

It was a good interrogation.

I was quite looking forward to it.

She formed a closer connection

with our community that consisted

of banned writers, philosophers

and friends, and it seems to me

she matured back then, especially when

she became a spokesperson.

She once said that being

a Charter 77 spokesperson

was her most interesting job.

From the last Charter 77 statement,

I'd mention a case of two men

who were attacked.

Ivan Medek went to visit my colleague,

Dr Ladislav Hejdánek,

a Charter 77 spokesperson,

and he was grabbed by two policemen

and taken to the station.

She agreed to be a spokesperson,

knowing it would land her in trouble.

She's willing to endure anything,

including being held in custody,

because she has no children

and no prospect of a good job.

She believes she has nothing to lose.

I think we met for the first time

in the 1970s, at the Havels, at Hrádeček.

Two girls came,

Olga and Marta.

It was the cruellest time, and Landovský

brought in two hitchhikers.

It was a day before New Year's Eve.

They were soldiers on leave.

And when you sang A Prayer for Marta,

those 18-year-olds whispered,

"She's better than Kubišová."

This is in the kitchen at Hrádeček.

Let's just flip through it.

This is a beautiful, young girl.

Kubišová. A beautiful girl.

It's all gone.

Leafing through these pictures

has one disadvantage.

It looks like a lot of fun.

-In fact, it was a difficult situation.

-A grim era.

And our gatherings served as

a relief from our weekdays

when we were all alone

with our problems.

It was easier to bear because you knew

you weren't alone in this mess.

Had I been a singer at Rokoko

or one of the Golden Kids,

I wouldn't have met

so many terrific people.

So for me, it was a gift.

This LP sounds foreign

but it's our LP issued in Sweden

by the Maoists who supported us then.

It includes songs with Marta

that we recorded in our kitchen in 1978.

It's called The Banned Singers

of the Second Culture.

Back then it was very unique,

maybe the first free LP after 1968.

I don't know which part I'll play,

because I can't really see.

I don't think I could do it now.

And it was made in the kitchen.

It was during the Ice Hockey

Championship and the man who made…

-He pretended to come see the hockey.

-Yes, he made the recording,

and agreed with a hockey player,

who smuggled it to Sweden in his bag.

It was a cooperation between

the Maoists and hockey players.

-Were you offered to leave the country?

-Yes, I was.

-How did they go about it?

-They said, "You'd be even more

successful than Karel Gott.

You'd be a star."

I said, "Maybe, but I won't be looking

at Kleť mountain from the other side.

Plus nowhere else do they make such

delicious sandwiches as they do here.

-I refuse to consider emigration."

-That's good.

M. Kubišová hasn't dissociated herself

from Charter 77's activities,

despite being cautioned.

In fact, her activity is on the rise.

The objective is to force her

to resign as a spokesperson

-and to cease her hostile activity.

-That happened after 13 months,

because I found out I was pregnant.

Here you were 20 days old,

when you were a tiny baby,

when I brought you to Pohled.

I couldn't get enough of her.

It was such an avalanche of emotions.

Plus the hormones…

I was the happiest person alive.

Everything disappeared. I just thought,

"No one will drag me away

from this baby, no way."

Thanks to her I found my peace.

Finally I was happy.

Finally I had something.

It was my most beautiful song.

This is on a porch in Pohled.

Sitting there, we were sheltered

from the wind.

This is the watercress

I planted myself.

This one on a swing. It's the best

picture where we're together.

Here you were four.

We're with Václav Havel.

Olga had broken her leg,

so he came alone.

-And where was I baptised?

-In the chapel in Štoky.

-And I was four.

-Yes, until then he'd been in prison.

This is where I washed your nappies.

I had no running water in the cottage,

so I washed your clothes in the river

and in the summer I also

washed the dishes there.

The fish had something to eat.

Here you're with your father.

-This is memorable, right?

-Yes, you were one year old.

It was the last time we celebrated

my birthday together.

Well, before you were two,

we started divorce proceedings.

Daddy was a rascal.

It couldn't have lasted.

I found out on the phone

and thought it was a joke.

It was at Easter, I was painting eggs.

He came home and I told him,

"Imagine, some madman called me

to congratulate me

that my child has a new sister."

And he said, "Those bastards

let me lie with a pregnant girl."

And I was lost for words.

I couldn't believe it.

I said, "Sorry, there are boundaries.

I'm filing for divorce."

Later, Katka wasn't yet two, he said,

"I'll make sure you lose her."

Because I was in Charter 77,

he said, "You're considered an enemy,

you should be glad to be married."

"The secret collaborator Jan

was recruited to curb Kubišová's

anti-social activities and to prevent her

from giving interviews to Western press."

This is from an interview with your

ex-husband, whose task was to lure you

away from Charter 77. That means,

in 1978, to resign as a spokesperson

and to generally curb

your activities in Charter 77.

Then there's some source reporting

what you said about Moravec.

What did I say?

According to Kubišová, Moravec, who used

to support her in her political work

had started working

with the secret police.

I started to be afraid of him.

That's true.

We lived in the same flat, even though

we'd been divorced for over 5 years.

I had nowhere else to go.

Maybe somebody hinted at it then,

but I refused to believe it. I said

"He'd never do such a thing."

I found out much later,

many years after our divorce.

Thank God

I didn't know about it before.

I REQUEST TO MONITOR MARTA…

Those were crazy,

paranoid times.

I just read detective stories,

went to the cinema…

When I wanted to show my friend

how many policemen were watching me,

I did what I'd seen in

The French Connection.

I got on the metro train,

and stood close to the door.

I pretended to be absorbed

in conversation,

and when the door started to slide shut,

I jumped off the train,

and I saw them panicking

and gave myself a round of applause.

I laughed out loud.

That was how I amused myself.

I admired your determination,

your attitude.

We tried not to become entangled

with them, but I don't know…

I don't know

if we did the right thing.

When I was working

on the film Strange Beings,

that was in the spring of 1989,

I felt we should make a parable

about the Czech regime

which was sure to collapse soon

and to eventually be forgotten.

I knew this film had to include people

and voices oppressed by the regime.

I felt your voice

should be amongst them.

We met for the first time on the set.

-Late in the afternoon…

-When I left the office.

And I thought,

"What does she look like?"

-Because I knew you as…

-With long hair. -As a vamp.

So I wondered what you looked like,

and then I heard you singing.

A sound technician was sitting there,

and I could see something was up,

and he asked, "What's going on?"

There were people running around

and I heard somebody say,

"Bloody hell, it's Kubišová,

Have you heard it?

Fenič's crazy, he'll destroy us all!"

There was a real mayhem,

and several people left.

They were afraid to be part of this,

afraid they could lose their jobs.

It sent shivers down my spine

when I heard you for the first time,

I'm an emotional person, you know,

and I couldn't really see you,

I just heard you,

and it was just unbelievable.

I stood there with a tear running

down my cheek, it was simply sublime.

Long live Marta! Long live Marta!

Peace with this country

forever should stay.

Let anger, envy, hate and fear

be forever blown away, blown away.

Now, when you're about

to reclaim the reign you lost,

when you're about to reclaim the reign.

Long live Marta! Long live Marta!

-Do you like the song?

-Well, people expect me to sing it.

-It's your Satisfaction, isn't it?

-It is.

Marta Kubišová helped those few

who tried to survive in the dark forest

of the 1970s and 1980s,

carrying a candle of freedom

that would burn bright one day.

She was also a Charter 77 spokesperson.

This is a bouquet of 21 roses,

one for each year you were denied them.

Thank you, thank you very much.

With a small box in my hand,

I'm here to pay off a huge debt.

The 1969 Golden Nightingale was given

to Marta behind the closed doors

of the office of our editor-in-chief,

not in public.

The 1970 Golden Nightingale

was not to be awarded to her,

even though she had the highest

number of votes.

This is it.

She experienced something that doesn't

happen even to those who strive for it.

She became a symbol

for the whole nation.

Thank you very much.

It's very rare for somebody's

private life

to correspond so well

with their art.

When we met, we talked about

your song Mamá,

-which I absolutely love.

-It is a great song.

And you said you couldn't sing it

anymore, because you got too emotional.

I tried, but a few words in,

I choked and I couldn't continue.

-What can I do?

-It's too personal.

When my mum was alive,

I sang it for my daughter,

but now it's just me,

alone in the world,

and I lack the strength.

What is that?

I'd love to hear it

once more from you.

-I might yet find the strength.

-If you sang it for your mum.

-They won't let me go.

-They love you, they feel who you are.

The cats would be scared,

this would be too much for them.

They have wet paws.

I feel it at the back of my neck.

I don't remember my mum

singing to me when I was little.

I don't know why she kept it a secret.

I realized it only when I was ten,

during the revolution.

Then I saw some recordings.

I knew my mum in jeans and a T-shirt

hurrying home from work to cook dinner

and spend the evening with me,

but in the videos, she was so beautiful.

With hindsight I realize

what a career you could've had!

You would've been an international

star, because you have everything.

The mysteriousness others just pretend,

the colour of your voice,

-honestly, I don't know another singer…

-Thank you, thanks.

After 20 years of not singing I thought

I wouldn't even want to go back.

I really believed

there'd be no comeback.

I felt I'd lost my memory,

that I couldn't remember more

than the lyrics of a single song.

I very much doubted myself.

Tasty, isn't it?

It's the cuddliest turtle.

My mum had to decide

whether to sing or not.

I certainly didn't help her.

I forced her to live a normal life.

Don't you be afraid.

You're handsome and clever. A good boy.

But she said we'd have more

money than she earned in the office,

and we'd be able to afford such

luxuries as a video recorder.

So I said, "Ok, mum, be a singer."

In my mind I have 20 long, silent years,

If the world should forget me,

It would be a miracle to end miracles

And then the miracle suddenly occurred

The world did not forget,

and I have to say

On the verge of tears

What thanks I owe your faith

I'd like to introduce a singer,

whose comeback could be

the envy of any mega-star.

Her first performance

after 20 years of silence

was witnessed by this crowded square.

Ladies and gentlemen, Marta Kubišová.

People think it's heroic

to turn your back on the regime,

but it wasn't heroism.

I defended my own freedom and didn't

care much about the end of my career.

Ten years after, another concert

on Wenceslas Square, Marta Kubišová.

The clouds are slowly passing by

and everybody reaps what they sowed.

A prayer of mine soars up to the sky,

Up to the hearts that didn't freeze and

despite the hard times felt the breeze,

Felt the breeze.

Singing, I hope God will forgive me

for being ungrateful,

but I cared the least about singing,

even though it's my job now.

Because that regime was awful,

you'd have to toe the line,

and I wasn't willing to do that.

And now I'm starting to feel the same

way, unfortunately.

I recently sang A Prayer,

which is my second encore,

and the audience stood up again

and I thought,

for 45 years I've continued to promise

them they'd "reclaim the reign",

but it's still not happening.

I don't feel I survived

that period as a hero.

It was just an instinct

for self-preservation

and my good nature, thanks to which

I could pretend it was just a game.

I don't force myself on anyone

or anything, I don't plan anything,

but from time to time

I find myself in a situation

where people put me on a barricade.

-And it always surprises me.

-What do you do up there?

-She waves the flag.

-I wave the flag, and smile.

Because you can't do

anything else up there.

That was a bit over the top.

Let's go, let's do it.

-We really love each other.

-We really do.

-I always say it'd be great to be her dog.

-He does.

I'd get the best care in the world.

But being her pianist isn't bad either.

My long coat of silence

I give as fodder for moths

When a lady doesn't hurry

Her last reckoner is time

Subtitle translation by: Martina Neradová