Original subtitles

The house will stand

The house has a soul

We'll start the fire

It'll burn like coal

It's our new goal

To place bricks even higher

All my love goes into my house

My boyfriend gets only a bit

He's a bricklayer, you see

He must have two pairs of hands

He is better than anyone else That's for sure

How did she get here?

THE NATIONAL FILM ARCHIVE PRAGUE presents

BLACK AND WHITE SYLVA "Love Amidst the Tower Blocks"

Starring

Story and screenplay Music / Set design

Editing Sound

Camera Assistant

Costume Designer Make-up Artist

Lighting

Recorded by Sound effects

Directed by Photographed by

Producer

Comrade police officer...

- Senior Sergeant. - Glad to meet you. I'm Sylva.

Be so kind, please, how do I get into a film?

The company club at your workplace,

or experimental groups in educational institutions,

the fashion house, a film club,

look out for advertisements and practice every day.

- Hi, Zuzka. - Greetings, Comrade.

Are you making another bricklaying film? With whom?

- You mistake me for someone. - What's this?

- I think you've mistaken me. - You're such a rascal, Zuzana.

You're behaving like a jerk, Comrade.

Well... Are you not Zuzana Stivínová?

- The actress? - I'm Sylva.

From Marie Volfová's work group.

Stay there and keep an eye on her.

I'll get the journalists and TV. Don't let anyone near her, clear?

But she makes me feel... You must understand.

You don't expect that the thing you've written would materialise.

What? No, no, I won't go there.

What?

It's easy to say for you. I'm virtually her...

Spiritual father! Yes.

Look. I'll be the spiritual father then.

It's more natural, anyway. I, as the director...

I've had enough! In a second, Comrade Poroba.

You fall off the screen and you think we're going to fall on our...

So. What?

You're history to us, Miss.

You're an antiquated artistic mistake.

I only speak to you out of Christian love.

You're a stinking clericalist.

And Christian love is a veil to cover your bourgeois egoism.

Me? A clericalist? You've turned me into a Muslim, Miss.

Religious outlook does not hinder understanding people.

- If you're a Muslim I can... - Enough!

I tell you that we don't provide for heroes fallen off the screen.

But...

An old Hussite marshal could fall off as well and demand his rights.

Or even Žižka himself.

He'd want to become the Minister of Defence.

Look, Miss. Go to the screenwriter, to the director.

Go to the Arts Council.

Go even to the Central Film Lending Office.

But go now!

Okay, Comrade. Where is the nearest building site?

A building site... You mean like scaffolding?

Concrete panels, mixers, singing, blue sky, a bricklayer!

- Would you... - Well, of course.

- I want to be with people. - What?

Oh, dear. Crickey, we're in trouble.

In a minute, Comrade.

Sit down, Miss.

The director. But quick.

How do you like Prague?

Thank you. Prague is a city of a hundred spires.

Oh. What? At least.

Vavřinec speaking. Is the director there?

What? He isn't? When?

Yes.

What can we do for you?

How about operating the clapper board?

- Well... - Sit down, please.

You could clap for a few months, then become script supervisor,

and then a director would marry you.

You want me to marry an intellectual?

No way! You'd just be with your people.

- My place is on a building site. - Of course, Comrade.

Comrade...

Excuse me, but what is your name?

I'm Sylva.

- But your surname? - What?

Your surname. Like Knapová, Štíbrová, Juráčková...

- I don't know. - You don't know.

"Love Amidst the Tower Blocks"? Well...

Sylva, a young bricklayer. Nineteen years old.

So you don't have a surname.

We, girls from Marie Volfová's work group, could manage

with less important things than a surname.

Why couldn't I...?

You couldn't.

Yes, couldn't.

This is an ordinary world. Among ordinary people.

- It's not like in your world. - Let me go to a building site.

Do you have a surname? You don't.

- Do you have a permanent address? Do you have an ID card? -I don't.

Do you have a certificate from your last job?

You see.

So what? Do you want to be a clapper girl?

- But I won't marry a director. - Okay, you'll clap till you retire.

I'll go to the personnel department. Let's move it.

In a second, Comrade.

Sylva, I think I could help you.

I've seen many like you, but us, girls from Marie Volfová's...

Hold on.

Hold on!

- Seven times eight. - Fifty-six.

- Can you read? - Yes.

Show me. Open your fist.

Good.

And remember:

Don't be surprised at anything, don't speak to people, ask quietly.

Come.

Come on.

Close your fist.

What kind of posture is that?

Sprightly and optimistic, Comrade. My shift is over.

Oh. He's not there?

Can I? Film Academy? Director Brych.

You are responsible for the behaviour of Poroba.

That was the doorman. He'll call when Poroba arrives.

I want her to be used for promotion.

Film is not only art, but also a product.

Let's hope she doesn't get lost.

Only small things can get lost.

- But she's so daft... - That's fouling one's own nest.

- I didn't make her up. - But you agreed with the screenplay.

But in it Sylva was a correspondent.

Yes. In the second version.

In the first version Silvester studied nuclear physics

and invented a kind of...

Really? Why did you never tell me?

But the script editor recommended he should be a she.

But not a bricklayer. It was he who...

I had to consider the screenplay half finished.

It's my right, isn't it? Besides,

each screenplay is influenced by circumstance and the Arts Council.

That's no excuse.

I beg your pardon. I'm proud of her.

And you'll see what happens when we show her to the world.

Comrades, I'm so happy I'm among you!

Ornamentalism has been long obsolete, Comrades.

- Who's fault is that? - Matyáš Rejsek.

What Matyáš Rejsek? Who was...?

Matyáš...

And the general investor?

Vladislaus Jagiellon, Miss.

So you're working for the private sector.

But that's a moonlighting job.

Sylva!

Come down.

Please.

- Come on, girl. - When is that Rousek coming?

Such disgrace in the town centre. You should be ashamed!

- But careful, please. - Let go of me, jerk!

Don't drop her. It would be a real pity.

- The sole case in history! - You'll pay for this.

And Mr Rousek will see. And that Mr Jagiellon, too!

You should be ashamed!

Someone answer that.

State film.

Hold on. They've arrived already.

At the Film Academy.

Brych speaking.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Don't let her out. Nor that Poroba.

I'll be right there.

Thank you. Let's go!

She makes me, like... Shy.

I first need to, like... Recover.

It's our last chance, man. You're stomping on your happiness.

Me? I don't need any happiness.

You little Czech screenwriter.

She's silly, she speaks in phrases, she lacks judgment.

She has a limited range of interests.

If she hadn't fallen off the screen,

no one would be interested in her.

But as she's become a tangible stupidity,

she is of great value for cinema studies.

I'll write a seminar essay on her:

"The Question of Truthfulness of Film Characters."

And we'll teach her to be normal.

We'll kill two birds with one stone.

Yes, there are too many birds.

Man, what are you doing with her?

That's what you do. Have you never seen it?

Does she eat?

No idea.

Lads, do you know what I think?

That we probably can't turn her into an average girl.

At least a bit.

Because she's an embodied idea.

And when an idea is violated, it disappears.

So she will...

She could physically disappear if we violated her.

You fool. He's just a theoretician.

An idiot.

Shouldn't we return her?

Let's start with the morning.

Lie down.

- Shall I...? - Yeah.

Yeah, lie down.

- But I... - Lie down.

Thank you.

- Do you sleep like this? - Yes.

Boys, let's do this.

Do you sleep like this?

Alarm clock.

That's enough.

Please, show me, how a normal person gets up.

Rise and shine!

- Rise and shine! - That's good.

Good.

Did you see that?

No one must find out.

When Poroba returns her, we'll... Where's Brych?

He went to see her. At the Film Academy.

I tell you, he has class.

What?

Someone else would be affected,

but he forces himself and goes for it.

No sentiment, no hesitation.

Do you know what happens now?

Do you know what he'll do with her?

He'll make it big!

That's something I can't do.

Let's go. Quick.

Nonsense.

We can't go out with her. We're responsible for her.

- To whom? - To the people!

Come on, what do they care?

A work of art is property of the society.

But she's ours.

We can do what we like with her.

If I want, I can break her leg and nothing happens to me.

- But... - No, nothing.

They'll lock you up for bodily harm.

- But laws only protect people. - Is she a giraffe?

Does the fact that she walks and speaks make her a person?

Babies don't walk and speak and they're considered people.

But babies have an official stamp, whereas she...

- She wasn't even born. - Lord!

In that case she can't even die.

She's immortal. That's that.

Don't be daft.

- Nothing can happen to her. - Well, it can't!

Let her climb up and jump.

Lads, don't be silly.

You'll be expelled from the Socialist Youth Organisation.

There's time for that.

Let's go out!

Where is she?

What do you think this is?

A brick, Mr Valenta.

Is it? That's what I used to think.

Look.

I'm no candymaker, you see?

I've never made gingerbread houses, and I never will.

We're behind schedule, Mr Valenta. Be reasonable!

In my time, they were bricks like bells.

The plan would be easy to fulfil.

Comrades, you are deserters.

You run when the building site needs you most.

You're afraid of difficulties.

- What are you doing here? - I've come to help you.

We, the girls from Marie Volfová's group, never mind bad bricks.

- Mr Valenta, please. - Leave him. He's not a bricklayer.

What did you say?

You're a bricklaying prig.

Our group has built a whole estate from even worse bricks.

- Where would we get if we were all like you? -Damn.

- You're from the papers, aren't you? - How dare you? I'm a bricklayer.

- Say it again? - A qualified one.

Anyone could say that, you hussy. Get lost!

Sylva!

Sylva! Hurray!

Excuse me, gentlemen. Film director Brych.

- What do you want? - The girl, if you excuse me.

- Are you her father? - Well, sort of.

If she says once more that she's a bricklayer...

But she really is. I can testify that.

Are you also a builder?

No. But I know the trade.

That's marvellous, Comrade.

Take your coat off, we'll show them.

- Christ, I'm gonna show her. - Slow, slow.

Don't talk to him. I'll help you.

Get lost, both of you, or there'll be trouble.

Finally! Come here, boys, and tell the people who I am.

- It doesn't matter. - Take the brat and go!

Here you see what a Czech film director has to put up with.

Please. Come, Sylva.

Comrades!

She's running!

Jerks!

Stop! What are you doing?

They want to turn me into an intellectual.

I don't want to be one. No, I don't want to.

And it's over with.

I don't want to. Comrades!

I won't marry an intellectual. Jerks!

Stop it! No!

That's the director. The one next to him is a laureate.

And the other one is a screenwriter.

Such big shots. Is the girl worth it?

No one is going to lecture me.

My seminar essay is gone.

Let's look abroad.

What would a capitalist producer... Listen up.

What would a capitalist producer do with our Comrade here?

He'd try to make as much out of her as possible.

Wouldn't he?

She'd become a sensation.

TV, receptions, fashion shows, spa resorts.

Striptease.

What would be the end of her, Comrades?

Like Adua and her companions.

But not in our country. You're the child of our dreams.

Of our wishes, ideas. Of our wakeful nights.

We all have something in common with you.

That's why we're glad to make you happy.

What can be greater happiness for you

than a life among people who understand you,

where you feel at home, who are like you?

Please, Comrade.

Lads!

Comrade.

Comrades. You're so kind to me.

You'll feel best there.

First I wanted you to...

- Here's a flower. - Thank you, Comrade.

- Be happy. - I will.

Say hello to Marie Volfová. I did a good job on her.

Stop!

I have a permit from the Minister.

- Are you coming with me, Comrade? - No.

When my child is born

The image my loved one

It will never suffer a thorn.

Oh, concrete for you I myself adorn

I want to build everything under the sun.

To labour is to live

Life is a brick cemented with passion

Life is short, no strife

No one by himself is wise

More people Means more for all

Means more for all.

THE END