Rock 'n' Roll (5 page)

INTERROGATOR
Unless she was following instructions.

JAN
Lenka? You're kidding.

INTERROGATOR
Who knows? But you'd think that two or even one and a half doctors of philosophy would consider the possibility, (
closing the file
) You're not clever, you're simple. And if you're not simple you're complicated. We're supposed to know what's going on inside people. That's why it's the Ministry of the Interior. Are you simple or complicated? Have another biscuit.

JAN
Excuse me, but—

He stops and takes a biscuit, holds it.

JAN
(
cont.
) Thank you. Excuse me, but when will I get my records back?

INTERROGATOR
That's what we're here to talk about.

Blackout and ‘All Over Now' by the Plastic People of the Universe.

Optional: projections of photos of the Plastic People.

Smash cut to:

Prague. April 1969. Jan's living room.

Jan is busying himself, putting beer on the table, looking through his record albums.

Jan's record player is playing ‘Venus in Furs' by the Velvet Underground.

A lavatory flushes.
FERDINAND
,
a young man about the same age as Jan, enters.

FERDINAND
That's better.

JAN
How were the Beach Boys? Did they do ‘God Only Knows'?

FERDINAND
They did everything. What's that?

JAN
Velvet Underground. ‘Venus in Furs'. What do you think?

FERDINAND
I don't get it.

JAN
It's okay. I'll…

Jan takes off the record and puts it reverently into its sleeve, which has a picture of a banana. Ferdinand looks through the other sleeves.

JAN
(
cont.
) Got given it by a girl in Cambridge last year. Andy Warhol did the banana.

FERDINAND
(
enviously
)
You
bastard …
Sergeant Pepper,
Cream, the Kinks …

JAN
You're welcome to come and make tapes any time.

FERDINAND
(
for the beer
) Thanks.

JAN
So, how were the Beach Boys?

FERDINAND
I have to say they were great. They dress like the children of apparatchiks but when they play you can't argue with it. They dedicated ‘Break Away' to Dubcek. He was in the audience.

JAN
Dubcek was in the audience?!

FERDINAND
Well, he's got nothing else to do now Husák's taken his job. The Beach Boys live at the Lucerna! It's a historic moment.

JAN
I suppose so. (
takes his beer
) Cheers.

FERDINAND
Cheers. The Beach Boys.

JAN
The Mothers of Invention. Cheers.

FERDINAND
The Stones.

JAN
The Rolling Stones live at the Lucerna.

FERDINAND
At Strahov!

JAN
(
in pain
) Stop, stop. Should I put on a record?

FERDINAND
Why not?

JAN
So … why, erm … what are you up to, Ferdinand?

FERDINAND
Right now? Actually, I'm collecting signatures.

Ferdinand produces a single page. Jan reads it. It's brief.

JAN
Right.

Jan gives it back and resumes choosing a record.

JAN
(
cont.
) Fugs or Doors?

FERDINAND
What?

JAN
Fugs or Doors?

FERDINAND
I don't care.

JAN
Right.

FERDINAND
Dubcek was shunted aside still telling us the reforms are on track. He said it again last week. Are you listening?

JAN
Yes.

FERDINAND
And now they're stalling on the censorship thing just like they stalled on the trade (union thing) …

A blast of music obliterates Ferdinand. He jumps up and stops the record.

FERDINAND
(
cont.
) What are you doing?

JAN
Listening to the Doors—what are
you
doing?

FERDINAND
Well, forget the Doors for a minute. This concerns you. You're a journalist.

JAN
I'm a university lecturer. I just write articles.

FERDINAND
That means you're a journalist.

JAN
Okay, I'm a journalist, but nobody's censoring me.

FERDINAND
Not up front, and that'll be next.

JAN
You're such a defeatist!

FERDINAND
I'm
a defeatist?

JAN
You can't face life without a guarantee. So you convince yourself everything's going to end badly. But look—when the Russians invaded, you would have bet on mass arrests, the government in gaol, everything banned, reformers

thrown out of their jobs, out of the universities, the whole Soviet thing, with accordion bands playing Beatles songs. I thought the same thing. I came back to save Rock ‘n' Roll, and my mother actually. But none of it happened. My mum's okay, and there's new bands ripping off Hendrix and Jethro Tull on equipment held together with spit. I was in the Music F Club where they had this amateur rock competition. The Plastic People of the Universe played ‘Venus in Furs' from Velvet Underground, and I knew everything was basically okay.

FERDINAND
What the fuck are you (talking about)—?

JAN
I'm trying to tell you. For once this country found the best in itself. We've been done over by big powerful nations for hundreds of years but this time we refused our destiny.

FERDINAND
It's not destiny, you moron, it's the neighbours worrying about
their
slaves revolting if we get away with it.

JAN
Yes, and we scared the shit out of them—they thought they'd started World War Three. Because instead of some Czech stooge ready to take over like in Hungary in '56, all there was was a handful of Stalinists in hiding from a reform movement that refused to roll over. Now they're looking for the exit, and we're still in charge of creating socialism with a human face.

FERDINAND
Except for Dubcek, you mean.

JAN
Dubcek's a nice guy, but basically Cliff Richard—he had to go. Husák'll keep the hardliners on the B side.

FERDINAND
I'm a bit—I feel a bit (dazed)—Let me tell you about defeatism. Defeatism is turning disaster into a moral victory.

JAN
(
getting angry
) Can't you function unless you're losing? Czechoslovakia is now showing the way—a Communist society with proper trade unions, legal system, no censorship—progressive rock …

FERDINAND
They closed down your paper!

JAN
And we protested, and now we're publishing again.

FERDINAND
With conditions.

JAN
(
dismissively
) That's only about not being rude to the Russians—Husák's a realist, keep them off our backs.

FERDINAND
So you won't sign.

JAN
No.

Jan restarts the Velvet Underground record on the track ‘Waiting for the Man'. As Ferdinand walks out without a word …

JAN
(
cont.) (shouts
) What you need to do, Ferdinand, is cheer up.

Blackout and ‘Waiting for the Man' continuing through amps.

Smash cut to:

Exterior. Evening. February 1971.

A man dressed for February, fur-capped and mufflered into anonymity, carrying a plastic bag, stands waiting.

Jan in cold-weather gear enters in haste.

JAN
I am so sorry! It started late, and—anyway, here I am—how are you? You should have waited inside! Come in—come in—it's upstairs—

He talks through the light change into his flat, where they remove their outer clothes, caps, scarves, gloves, Jan helping the man, who is revealed to be Max.

JAN
(
cont.
) Is it warm enough? I went to a lecture. On Andy Warhol. Well, to be frank, the lecture was illustrated, you might say, with Rock ‘n' Roll. How was the …? What—anniversary thing?

MAX
Somebody giving a speech for the so-many-years of…

JAN
Of what?

MAX
I forget. I didn't go. With these jamborees, if you want to know the score, it's best to skip the official programme.

JAN
So now you know the score.

MAX
Yes.

He looks Jan over.

MAX
(
cont.
) You look all right. But you're not teaching any more.

JAN
No.

MAX
Serves you right.

Jan laughs.

MAX
(
cont.
) How do you illustrate a lecture on Andy Warhol with Rock ‘n' Roll?

JAN
It's a little complicated. There's this band I like, the Plastic People of the Universe, last year they lost their professional licence—undesirable elements, you know …

MAX
Undesirable how?

JAN
Their songs are morbid, they dress weird, they look like they're on drugs, and one time they sacrificed a chicken on stage, but otherwise it's a mystery. So now it's illegal for them to make a living from concert bookings. But Jirous, he's like their artistic director, he's legally an art historian, so
he booked the Music F Club for a lecture on Andy Warhol, but—(
He plays air-guitar.
)—illustrated.

Max laughs.

JAN
(
cont.
) Thank you for, you know, finding me.

MAX
(
holds up the bag
) I promised Esme.

Max gives the bag to Jan, then goes to his stuff and takes a bottle from his topcoat pocket.

JAN
(
investigates the bag
) Oh … thank you! And Eleanor … is she …?

MAX
She's… doing fine. Glasses.

JAN
Good!

Jan goes for two glasses.

JAN
(
cont.
) Please tell her, from my heart, and to Esme also. How is Esme?

MAX
Nineteen and pregnant, and living in a commune.

JAN
Oh. But a Communist!

MAX
Yes, we've done that one. She's trying to persuade Eleanor to live on wild garlic. Skol.

JAN
Skol. Why?

MAX
The cancer came back.

JAN
Fuck. I'm so …

MAX
Yes.

JAN
Is she …?

MAX
Still teaching. Throwing up and bald as a coot, but you know Eleanor …

JAN
Yes. Bold as a …
coot?

MAX
Not bold, bald. She's lost all her hair.

JAN
Oh … yes.

MAX
And you. You've still got work at the paper?

JAN
Technically yes, but now I work in the kitchens.

Max laughs.

MAX
Husák certainly made a fool of you.

JAN
(
shrugs
) I was an optimist for … nine months. It was great. I had my own column.

MAX
A column about what?

JAN
Anything I liked.

Max smiles at him broadly, mirthlessly.

JAN
(
cont.
) It was a question of which way to be useful. It's not useful to be a critic of what is over and done. I was a critic of the future. It was my socialist right. But when I refused to sign the loyalty pledge I was purged into the kitchen. Kitchen porter! That was some purge, hey? Twelve hundred scientists. Eight hundred university professors!