Politics aside, one isn’t likely to leave Pavel Koutecký’s Občan Havel (Citizen Havel) without some degree of admiration for its subject. A fascinating, revealing documentary, the film shows Václav Havel, former president of the Czech Republic, in rare form.
While many modern-day politicians attempt to paint themselves as saintly, Huey Long-like men of the people, only to inevitably come across as insincere, the Havel we see here is the real-deal everyman, whether he’s worrying about dandruff, jealous of his colleague’s carpet, or bumbling through Czech politics with the charisma of a George Costanza.
The film consists almost exclusively of behind-the-scenes footage collected over the course of 13 years, beginning with Havel’s bid for the initial presidency of the newly-formed Czech Republic in 1992, running through the duration of his term in office and culminating with him picking up a retirement check at the post office. There’s a bare minimum of background detail offered: those not familiar with Havel or post-communist Czech politics may feel thrust into the midst of things.
But this is, thankfully, neither a rundown of the political scene in the Czech Republic nor a straight biography of Havel; it’s a slice of his life, when this artist, playwright, and former prisoner under the communist regime somehow became president of the nation and had a camera crew follow him (seemingly) every step of the way.
Havel was quite the unlikely president; anti-establishment, morally strong, an honest man who tells the truth rather than bowing down to vague political-speak. That his morals go unquestioned here, his guard down and the film otherwise painting him so unapologetically, is a testament to his authenticity.
Havel was a man of the people, but more than that, he’s also something of a regular Joe, a message I think the title of this film is trying to convey (the title, of course, also draws unfair comparison to Kane, that other film with a citizen in its title – intentional or not, there isn’t much to draw from this association).
A man of short stature, his colleagues and others, Clinton and even Bush seemingly tower over him. His concerns in the film are mainly relegated to the smaller things – he exerts a tragicomic sigh when reelected president, while a badly tailored shirt causes him great anguish. When ČSSD chairman Miloš Zeman asks Koutecký for a shot of Becherovka, Havel gets up to pour it himself without a second thought.
One of the more prevalent themes in Občan Havel is the almost childish rivalry between the two Václav’s leading the country, President Havel and Prime Minister Klaus (who has since succeeded Havel as the President of the ČR). ‘So you’re going to the jazz club with Clinton, and I’m not invited,’ Havel recalls Klaus saying.
Havel: ‘I wanted to invite him out of politeness, but this time, I’m going to be just one-tenth as impolite to him as he is to me.’ Of course, we later see Klaus at the jazz club anyway. Lengthy scenes involve Havel meeting with his inner circle to come up with the right phrasing of words to use in a phone call with Klaus, or if he should call Klaus at all.
If there’s a fault to the film, it’s one of pacing; while the first half flies by, the second tends to drag. Some key ‘star’ cameos highlight the first half of the film, with Clinton playing sax at Reduta and the Rolling Stones visiting Prague Castle, Havel giving Keith Richards restaurant tips; these are missed as we head deeper into politics and Havel’s personal life later in the film (though Bush, with Rice and Powell in tow, shows up briefly during the 2002 NATO summit, the film noticeably shies away from them).
Still, the film remains compelling from beginning to end; I can’t recall ever seeing such an honest look at a politician.
Will the film appeal to those unfamiliar with Czech politics, those who may have never heard of Václav Havel? It will: like all good documentaries, while focused on its subject, the film explores universal themes; through the vessel of Havel and Czech politics, we get a deeply resonant look at humanity.
Občan Havel is a crowd-pleasing comedy of political manners, offering a thoroughly engaging look at a subject that many would otherwise feel less-than compelled to visit. The audience I was with (at a guess, half-Czech, half-foreign) was in stitches throughout.
Director Koutecký, who was behind the camera for most of the 13 years of filming Havel’s journey, died tragically in 2006. The film was completed by colleague Miroslav Janek before being released in the Czech Republic on Jan. 31, weeks before local elections.
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