Common notions like hotter and colder
31. May 2024
In our Belgian office nowadays we’re struggling with a dilemma that haunts us continuously. Every day it is debated among colleagues, and one way or another the dilemma travels with me to Zlin, where it pops up in conversations. What dilemma? Hold on... What would you choose: you can change three things about your physical appearance (looks & health) or you wake up with the ability to be fluent in three new languages? I do not trust people who claim too fanatically that they would choose languages (for some reason, they then always declare to choose for Japanese "because it’s such a fascinating culture" – I see a pattern emerging). I resolutely opt for "physical change" and the bags under my eyes after many sleepless festival nights prove me right.
But as soon as I step into the hotel elevator, I begin to have doubts. A person feels so stupid when he can't even understand the simple information that's called out by a metallic voice in an elevator, and which sounds like "Damidadi da doooouw". On the other hand, if I ever learn Czech, "this elevator is going down" is not the first phrase I want to memorise. However... why do I need other languages? I’ve come all the way to the Czech Republic but in the taxi from the airport are only Belgians. Stories about the festival’s legendary Skoda drivers are part of a legacy (I'll never forget the man with the sunglasses and silk gloves, who urged me to "buckle up" before launching us up the highway faster than the plane that had brought me to the Czech Republic). Nowadays things go more quiet.
Always a happy reunion with Hotel Zlin. When I accidentally landed on their website, I found there a detailed explanation of why the place changed its name. This shows how much the hotel is intertwined with the city and its residents. Quoting the website:
We hear stories of people who trained "at Moskva", or met their wives "at Moskva". We did not want to take the stories away from these people and change something that has been a part of Zlín for 70 years. However, we take the current situation very seriously (...) and we have decided to give the hotel a new name. We would like to thank all of those who saw the hotel as a building with great history, regardless of the name. We would like to believe that we will continue to be a historical icon for you.
Each year, festival guests do whatever they can to add some new chapters to the hotel's history. This becomes clear when I am refused a drink at the hotel pub Legenda later this week because I have so many colleagues with unpaid liquor bills that the pub can no longer cope.
The degree of civilisation of a country can be read from a variety of parameters. Some argue that you can read the degree of civilisation from the way animals are treated. Or prisoners. Or by the cleanliness of streets and parks. Personally, I strongly believe in another criterion: you can read the degree of civilisation from the quality of hotel showers. I could fill a whole book with annoyances about hotel showers. In my room, the spray head seems to live a life of its own. Apart from its complete negation of common notions like hotter and colder, the thing pops off at unexpected times, spontaneously spraying the entire bathroom. With my apologies to the hotel staff... I didn't want it to be this way.
During the festival, I rarely manage to see a film in the cinema - usually I have to prepare for interviews watching screeners in my hotel room. Out on the streets, after seeing CHRISTMAS ON COBBLER STREET (Norway) in the Golden Apple theatre, I am surprised there is no snow. The film dragged me that much into the Christmas atmosphere to the extent that I am suddenly overwhelmed by the unexpected spring sunshine (although there has been a lot of rain falling all week). One advantage of cinema watching is that you can sit out the credits to check the artists / songs on the soundtrack - that's how I discovered quite a few gems plucked from forgotten soundtracks. (Although the theme song from YOUNG HEARTS continues to haunt my head for days and I wouldn't call it a gem.) My Polish colleague Zosia confesses that she sits out the credits only to see… who did the catering!
You never know when that might come in handy.
At the cinema, I visit the beating heart of the festival: Jaroslava's pop-up office. She usually runs from one theatre to another to welcome people. But in her absence I am kindly welcomed by Martin, the young photographer who has grown with the festival and now provides a daily selection of beautiful photos. Later this week, he shows me a confrontational picture of myself on a dance floor, my eyes closed. I am already reserving this photo for my obituary. However, with Marketa and Jaroslava having promised to attend my wedding soon, it seems inappropriate to bring up a funeral now.