Notes Interview

It Will Be Big and Colorful

Bude to velký a barevný

Source
Vogue CS
Interview
Danica Kovářová
Published

Vogue CS is a proud partner of the film Amerikánka, which has just premiered in cinemas. And we have plenty of reasons for that: a powerful female testimony and a story about the courage to break unhealthy behavioral patterns, a focus on disadvantaged children, and on top of it all an aesthetic stylization of extraordinary strength, unprecedented in the Czech context. About this visual concept speaks the production designer Jan Kadlec.

“When you see a shot in negative in the film, it’s definitely not a stylistic gimmick but a way of depicting a painful memory that the character is consciously unwilling to ‘develop.’”

The headline of this article is deliberately down-to-earth – because someone could sum up the film in just such a simple phrase. It would be just as easy, however, to overlook its central message or to brush aside or outright ignore the real issues of infant and children’s institutions, foster families, and the still-inadequate support for their wards when, upon reaching adulthood, they are thrown into everyday life without proper guidance or a supportive network. Anyone who gives the Girl America (Amerikánka) project real attention can experience a profoundly deep dive. Even a study of several hundred pages would not be enough to capture the full social and artistic connections and interpretations. For director Viktor Tauš this is a life’s project, which began with the stage play of the same name starring Tereza Voříšková and Eliška Křenková. Although the story itself started eighteen years earlier, this was the first time audiences could see it performed. It continued with a filmed recording of the play and a photographic book by Tomki Němec created during the Covid period, then the epic stage show Snowflakes, which shifted the focus toward the authentic confessions of children from orphanages, and now culminates in the release of the feature film. The basic storyline remains the same: Amerikánka is inspired by the real-life fate of Ema Černá, who during the years of Normalization made her way through an orphanage, foster care, and a juvenile reformatory. It is a story about freedom, about being set apart, and about the desire to live. What can keep you alive when the whole world seems against you? The most essential part of the will to survive is not only the drive to fight but above all a faith in yourself. Especially once you lose the illusions you once clung to. Alongside director Viktor Tauš and screenwriter David Jařab, the person who contributed most to the film is production designer Jan Kadlec. Having already helped shape both of the earlier stage productions, he will surprise many viewers with how boldly the film’s visual style departs from them. He approached his work not as a mere craft, but as art—a Gesamtkunstwerk with many interwoven layers.

Jan, what does working on the film mean to you?

By convention, it would probably be normal to say “a lot,” because it’s a recent experience and that’s exactly what you’re asking about and then just keep elaborating, wrapping the answer in sweet emotions and slightly cloying words. Don’t expect that from me. But honestly, in this context I can say that it does mean something. It certainly helped me name something in my own world or perhaps it all simply came together at exactly the right time. Either way, the creative space and the overall framework for shaping the film gradually led me back to the long-abandoned world of fine art, and thanks to all these contexts I can now stand in front of my new art project.

What is it about?

I graduated from the Academy of Fine Arts (AVU) and, in the second half of the 1990s, I was an active artist. My style, which honestly hasn’t changed much since then, I would describe as pop, though hopefully smart pop. But at that time it began to clash with the rising tide of minimalist conceptualism. I felt like an outsider, as if I didn’t quite belong in that particular world. So, thanks to my family background, I moved seamlessly into the world of audiovisual work. Since I had already been working as an assistant to foreign production designers during my studies, the transition wasn’t difficult. Besides, I loved film and had grown up around it. My first independent project as a production designer was the film Zatracení (Plot). I was twenty-one. Creating the visual form of a film felt easy, fun and suddenly, in a way, safe. I really enjoyed it and believed that the way of thinking I knew from the art world could also be applied to film. Unfortunately, it didn’t turn out that way. In local audiovisual production there was simply no space for a kind of visual language that matched the quality of fine art. My initial enthusiasm gradually faded and I became, in a sense, a hostage in the world of audiovisuals. I could have designed a film’s visuality almost in my sleep, but I would no longer have been happy doing it. Responsibility kept me going, but not joy. A bright spot in this world was certainly my collaboration with Viktor [Tauš] and his openness to my way of thinking. It was a process of mutual discovery and of gradually uncovering my original identity. Step by step, as if learning to walk again, I began bringing my own ways of thinking back into the audiovisual sphere. The framework Viktor established for Girl America (Amerikánka) allowed me to express myself more fully. And suddenly I was, in a way, on my way “back.” The costume designer originally approached for the project withdrew for personal reasons and, for a long time, no replacement could be found. Her decision gave me the opportunity to create a fully unified visual concept. Of course, it is still audiovisual work, not a standalone fine-art object. But what I am talking about now is the generation of a forgotten memory, and in that context I am preparing my own solo exhibition titled “The Sistine Chapel Is Dead.” The exhibition is curated by Lenka Lindaurová and presents twenty-one different artefacts, six of which form an integral part of the visual world of the film Girl America (Amerikánka).

The foundation of many of the film’s images are, in fact, the art objects themselves. How did that influence the style of storytelling and the film’s narrative overall?

This relatively intimate story rests visually on three main concepts. The first and most essential is the idea that the film is a reconstruction of a woman’s childhood memories. Each memory is recreated exactly as it was originally imprinted and is then presented to us in a shifting order. Every such memory visually shaped by me and approved by Viktor has its own precise color, essence, texture, and form. According to this “anthropology” of otherwise fictional recollections, the visual language is not built on mere aesthetic desire. So when you see a negative image in the film, it is certainly not a stylistic gimmick, it is a way of representing a painful memory that the character would otherwise consciously refuse to develop. This leads to the second concept, each color carries its own sub-story and serves as a kind of manual for understanding the emotion being experienced. The colors connect different phases of the story, linking each memory, each with its own inner logic and genealogy across time. The third visual key was to avoid all possible modes of socialistrealist depiction of environment. Precisely because this is a reconstruction of childhood memories, I replaced established visual archetypes with a formulation expressed through my own “playful” art objects. I merged my ability to tell a story in filmic terms with the language of fine art, creating a unique work in which audiovisual storytelling and visual art meet. Here, art is not a mere prop; it is an active visual narrator. At moments this transforms the audiovisual work into something fully equivalent to fine art, something you can pause, break down into individual images, and read as a layered story, just as you would read a painting in a gallery. In the final result, Girl America (Amerikánka) through its visual formulation of emotion and space, contains six of my own art objects. For example a ten-meter-high sculpture of an inflatable balloon, made from a split section of the Hynais curtain, its “body” impaled on a streetlamp rising from a pile of multi-colored mattresses. Neon lettering colors the scene, the piece is officially titled willCUMmen a contemporary pun on the 1990s German “Willkommen” signs that once beckoned from countless borderland brothels and became, in a way, a synonym of the country in that decade. Beyond the painful reference to child prostitution, the divided Hynais curtain forms the image of a woman’s womb. In this context the object willCUMmen asks whether we ourselves are still prostitutes within today’s unfolding reality.

A twenty-five-meter-long black plinth titled Monument refers to the socialist era and its obsessive building of statues. Yet this piece has been stripped of any political figure and given a contemporary appearance. It embodies only memory the still visible, still painful scar shared by all post-communist nations. It is no longer the base of a political statue, it has itself become the monument of a society that appears almost perfect yet still carries its own hidden damage. The bed called Layer Cake, through a visual shorthand, tries to name the fundamental problem within the Amerikánka family. It is a cyclical issue, one that has clearly existed for a long time, not just now. The seven-meter-tall steel structure of a cross that gradually transforms into a martini glass and basketball hoops shaped like a halo I titled Faith, Game and Pleasure. These symbols, seemingly contradictory at their core together create a truthful image of our world. We are all of these things, none can be elevated above the others. We are faith, we are play, and we are also pleasure. And finally, there is the thirteen-meter-long, seven-meter-high piece called Museo Della Neve . In the film it represents a feeling of hope, and at the same time carries a hidden message about the cause of the real story, a story that began, for the three siblings who appear in Girl America (Amerikánka), in Florida.

What other means, beyond color, did you use to shape the narrative?

The visual treatment of the individual worlds, such as the foster family’s house, has its own logic.The orphanage appears in two different incarnations that are swapped in time.In the past its exterior is presented as a historic chateau, while when the heroine returns as an adult it has become a communist-era building of similar shape. Inside, the orphanage is first a world wrapped in pure laminate panels, and later, in memory, it becomes the crumbling echo of an old chateau. The juvenile detention center follows a “Dogville-like” schematic space where the defining feature of the memory is the absence of privacy. The only place where the girl can find privacy is solitary confinement, in which according to the story, she is locked for seventy consecutive days. What is normally hard to depict in a minimalist environment I expressed in a stylized way as a giant wall of fluorescent tubes. These tubes continually change their arrangement, creating a different light atmosphere each time. The broader problem of that era, a world that even today society largely prefers to ignore, I also treated as a conceptual motif. Apart from the foster family’s environment, no ordinary roads appear in the film, no regular path on which you might set out. All the links between these different worlds are formed only by railway tracks. Tracks are indeed a kind of road, but for trains, not for our personal emotions. They are a separate and relatively distant realm from our comfortable reality. The phenomenon of the Velvet Revolution, beyond the way its colors are presented, is not a physical but a mental reconstruction. It is therefore set inside an endless, contemporary corporate office, dominated by my visual object Monument. Beneath the main storyline this setting poses a question, is this really the freedom that was so desperately desired?

And the last important visual storyteller is the world of costumes. How do they work?

Like a sculpture that defines the character of each figure. For example, the children in the orphanage are dressed as though they come from an uneducated, unstructured world, as if a container of old clothes had been dumped out without any instructions, and someone simply said, “Dress yourself.” The costume world of the children is a picture of their fateful problem, no one ever prepared them for life. So when they are thrown into the so-called “free” world, they become nothing more than a painful scrapheap within society. When the heroine Ema returns to the orphanage later in life, the children are exactly the same and still wear their original clothes, but now those clothes have been re-colored to match the hues of the building’s walls. Ema understands that these children probably share similar destinies, but she does not know their real personalities, nor, therefore, their colors. Nothing here is accidental, every detail is a carefully composed image of emotion.

Next note The End of the Sistine Chapel, or Another Reality of the Artist Jan Kadlec Press · ARTBANKING Bulletin, UniCredit Bank · February 2023