2024-10-04 22:32:05
František Palacký scratches his forehead and exclaims with the expression of a deaf grandfather: “Havlíčková? Is that the one from Havlíček?” But this national great is not the only one who in the new TV series Daughter of the Nation seems to have wandered here from a completely different work.
The first original domestic project of the Canal+ station, which can be seen in its video library from Sunday and was created in co-production with Czech Television, takes history as a somewhat strange hostage.
In the opening scenes of the six-part Daughters of the Nation, the viewer definitely does not feel like they are at a meeting of Czech parliamentarians. Palacký played by Jan Vlasák, František Ladislav Rieger portrayed by Jiří Langmajer or František August Brauner played by Leoš Noha are more reminiscent of a meeting somewhere in an institution for the mentally ill. Men either cannot hear, or they explain things to each other in such a way that even the last schoolboy can understand the debate. It almost seems at times that Langmajer has forgotten himself as an actor in films of a completely different genre, i.e. those in which he acts most often and for which he likes to use the word “squirting”.
It will not be long before it becomes clear that director Matěj Chlupáček and screenwriter Lucía Vaňková are rather clumsily attempting a Czech version of satirical historical or ahistorical miniseries such as HBO’s Veliká.
The heroine, the daughter of Karel Havlíček Borovský Zdeňka Havlíčková, looks a bit like Catherine the Great from this comedy. He also finds himself in an unknown place, not at the Tsar’s court, but in better company than the poor orphan was used to. Prominent men of the Czech nation think that the descendant of the famous writer will serve as the necessary symbol of revival. And through the national lottery, which is supposed to provide this teenage woman with a living, they want to make her into a perfect puppet serving only the best national interests.
But while the screenwriter and creator of Velika Tony McNamara quite obviously, brazenly and anachronistically played with history, the Czech miniseries fumbles quite a bit in stylization. It is most obvious in the first parts. At first, it rather seems as if this was not an intention and the authors just did their research poorly, as a result of which they let the heroes and heroines act in a somewhat modern way. From annoyed sighs and gestures to greetings with a fist or an elbow like somewhere in a regular elementary school of the 21st century.
Prominent men of the Czech nation want to turn Zdenka Havlíčková, played by Antonia Formanová, into a puppet. | Photo: Stanislav Honzík
This is of course done on purpose, as the scenes in which the one thousand kroner banknote in the well-known contemporary design with Havlíčková on the front is shown later. And it is quite obvious in the third part, when the ball turns into a dance party with modern music and green disco lights.
However, these occasional refreshing glimpses – inspired, for example, by director Sofia Coppola’s Marie Antoinette – only heighten doubts about what the series is about as a whole.
The daughter of the nation wants to draw attention to the difficult fate of women at the time, who literally belonged to men, for example, they even went to prison for their debts, so that the culprit could earn money to repay them in the meantime. Because a woman practically couldn’t work if she didn’t want to be a seamstress, for example. The intention is therefore commendable, but it is difficult to say whether it will help him to depict Palacký and other men as one-dimensional caricatures. It is certainly a good thing if these outstanding figures of Czech history do not appear as perfect marble monuments. Dealing with them like this, however, does not sound light-hearted or subversive, but rather undignified.
“At least one day our national nature will be good for something,” Palacký praises in one scene the idea of holding an audition for a suitor for Havlíčková unofficially, using gossip. And then everyone laughs hysterically. Unfortunately, it feels awfully willful and prescriptive. Every joke seems to have a clue.
At the same time, the series is not a comedy, let alone a satire, or an unusual look at our history. It is primarily a romance playing with the popular contemporary concepts of fatal love from consumer reading of the time.
As a story for youth about rebellion against adults and unfulfilled love, Daughter of the Nation makes the most, and perhaps the only, sense.
After all, the narrative finally finds its own tone from the third episode, when the mood changes definitively and it becomes primarily about love. The last three parts, directed by Cristina Grosan, are more reminiscent of historical soap operas, such as Bridgerton. And here the creators are more at home than in a digging look at history or an attempt at a refreshing reversal of perspective.
In the role of Havlíčková, Antonie Formanová can be a self-confident heroine, a bit of a teenager, a bit of a stickler for the daughter of her famous father, who also refused to compromise during his lifetime. It’s a shame that the protagonist is being chased by such an annoying group of powerful people that any necessary tension or humor disappears from the series.
Perhaps history has been in the grip of men for so long that it now needs to be balanced with the most radical reversals possible. Nevertheless, the sight of dismembered Czech actors who look like they can’t count to five doesn’t seem like the happiest way to turn the barometer of history that has been unfair so far. Or maybe it’s just tricky to want to create caricatures of these men before Czech film and series historical dramas manage to give them a complex and stimulating serious face.
Miniseries
Daughter of the nation
Directed by: Cristina Groșan and Matěj Chlupáček
The miniseries can be seen in the Canal+ video library.