A quintessential piece of communist-era nostalgia, Ondřej Trojan’s Občanský průkaz (Identity Card) made a big splash with critics and audiences when it opened locally last fall, garnering almost unanimously positive reviews and taking in 40+ million CZK at the box office.
A well-deserved reception. Trojan’s film, from a script by frequent Jan Hřebejk collaborator Petr Jarchovský, working from Petr Šabach’s novel by the same name, is a loving look back at an era not often lovingly looked back upon, destined to please viewers who lived through the time themselves or lived it through their parents. For outsiders looking for insight into the Czech psyche, this is must-see stuff.
Set in the mid-1970s, Občanský průkaz centers on a quartet of teenagers struggling with adolescent disobedience in the face of a strict communist regime.
There’s Venca (Matouš Vrba), nicknamed “Popelka” (“Cinderella”), the long-haired leader of the group; Míta (Jan Vlček), aka “Genius,” who lives in the slums after his wealthy parents emigrated and left him behind; Aleš (Jakub Šárka), the warm-hearted “Poet”; and Petr (Libor Kovář), “Frog”, our less-than-fully-defined narrator.
We follow this group of friends through about four years, as they grow from 15-year-olds receiving a Soviet-issued identity card, through high school and towards an uncertain future. Roughly, the film is a series of vignettes that leaves no communist-era stone unturned, from snitches and bureaucracy to border patrol, extended queues, and imported goods (including 70s rock’n’roll).
Also featured are Petr’s parents, played by Aňa Geislerová and Martin Myšička (both excellent); the boys’ teacher (Kristýna Boková-Lišková), who tries to do the right thing but becomes a victim of bureaucracy; and a police official (Václav Kopta) and his son (Jakub Janoš) who are initially antagonistic but ultimately trapped in the same no-win system.
But this isn’t the soul-crushing view of Soviet oppression we’re used to (and indeed, was found in Radim Špaček’s excellent Pouta, which was set during the same timeframe); instead, this is lighthearted comedy-drama, a nostalgic look back (it may not have been the best of times, but it was our time).
One gripe: due to the episodic nature of the film, that final half hour tends to drag; Also: there’s an overreliance on Petr’s narration, and the film frequently tells us things that it should be showing us instead.
Making up for the faults is a gorgeous production design that faithfully recreates the era, alongside excellent Martin Štrba cinematography. Even when the plot lags, Občanský průkaz is a beautiful film to look at.
But best of all is the soundtrack, with original music by Petr Ostrouchov and a variety of period hits, local and foreign; most notable is Bob Dylan’s Most of the Time, used as an infrequent anthem. My favorite: Dobré ráno blues, by Luboš Beňa & Matěj Ptaszek, who also appear in the film.
