Introduction to 'Modern Film Scripts: Closely Observed Trains' - (By Bohumil Hrabal - 14th January, 1971) - Movies - http://maxpages.com/czechcinema/Bohumil_Hrabal_and

In the creation of the film script for "Closely Observed Trains", apart from the role played by myself and Mr. Menzel, a substantial part was also played by objective chance- the chance that according to Leon Bloy is the second name of the Holy Spirit. When the Barrandov production group had decided to go ahead with making "Closely Observed Trains" into a film and I had written the film treatment, they asked the director Ewald Schorm to have a look at it and see whether he would like to shoot it. But after some time Mr. Ewald said he didn't know how to go about it. Then Mrs. Vera Chytilova came forward of her own accord and said that she would like to have a go at it, especially since as a young girl she had lived in the Bohdanec railway station where her parents used to run a restaurant. But after spending some time on it she also came to the conclusion that the theme did not fit in with her poetic vision at all. So the production group asked Mr. Menzel if he would know what to do with the "Trains". Mr. Menzel said yes, he knew what to do with it all right, although only some time later did he reveal that he hadn't had the slightest idea at that time. And so it happened that the two of us met for a second time, as we had already worked together on the story "The Death of Mr. Balthazar".
Our co-operation on the "Trains" was always marked by mutual trust and humility. We went for strolls, and I used to listen to what Mr. Menzel fancied the literary script ought to be like, and Mr. Menzel in turn listened to how I imagined the film ought to be made. So whilst we enjoyed our strolls, each of us was fishing in his imagination, trying to find something that could constitute a common father to the baby, which in this fashion grew steadily, nourished by two umbilical cords. And of course the two of us were constantly smiling with the happiness which we felt at being in this blessed state of expectancy with the film. We wanted to get into the film all that had already appeared in the novel, which made me think of myself as being pregnant with the exterior of things, and so I saw myself as less of a writer and rather more of a recorder, an editor. As for what Mr. Menzel was thinking about during those walks, he has told me only today so I am putting it into this letter: 'My tutor at the Film Academy, Mr. Otakar Vavra, taught us to think of cinematography as an art that is far too young to be able to represent the events of this world with the same completeness as literature does; according to him those films which manage to do just that without any help from literature are generally exceptions that confirm the rule. And so, rather than waste energy on seeking out and formulating new materials, it is far better, as my tutor used to say, to borrow from literature and by translating it into the language of film to test our ability to express an idea in a stimulating way, in other words to see how well we are able to think in images.'
So we went on working, me and Mr. Menzel, taking our walks and talking about what should be in the script, and mainly about what shouldn't be in the script, because the essence of good art is knowing what not to do. I wrote the first outline and handed it over to Mr. Menzel, and Mr. Menzel read it and added his comments. And again we took some more strolls during which we tried to work out specific shots and the picture as a whole; again I made a resume and rewrote the outline, and then Mr. Menzel filled in the remaining details and afterwards I went through it and rewrote it again until slowly Mr. Menzel came naturally to think as a director and began to have some faith in the script 'in statu nascendi'. As he told me today: 'Utilising the wisdom that was worked into me at the Academy and drawing on my own experience as a spectator, the first thing I did was to get rid of all aspirations to the title of Creator. The next was to respect what had already been written and to subordinate everything to the central aim, which was to translate the novel into film so that it remained accessible to the average cinemagoer who does not read, but at the same time to enable the educated spectator to enjoy this change of disguise from a literary one into visually concrete pictures and human faces.'
Then, one day, when our walking discussions were about to turn into an empty ploughing of the sands, I sat down and underwent a mental purgation in an attempt to throw away and forget about everything that had so far been said and written, and in a day and a half I wrote more than a hundred pages of the literary script. Today, while I was writing this letter, Mr. Menzel told me: 'Although the novel is written in the form of flashbacks, Mr. Hrabal succeeded in translating it into the medium of film in a chronological sequence and thus avoided the danger of confusing the spectator. Contrary to the prevailing fashions in film making at this time, we attempted to keep the narrative clear and easy to understand.'
After that there was nothing to prevent Mr. Menzel from getting all the facilities and support he needed from Barrandov in order to realise the project in which he hoped and believed, and which he was afraid of too. During the shooting, whenever I met him in the street, he would hold his palms to his temples and lament: 'Mr. Hrabal, I'm messing up your little story, I really am!' And I would reply: 'Carry on messing!' I didn't go to the shooting- I only once spent a few minutes there and afterwards I felt as though a wave of horror had passed over me, because to me the shooting of a film is something so dreadful that at night it makes me jump out of my bed trembling in terror when I happen to remember it. Of course, chance continued to play its extraordinary tricks. Even before they started shooting the film, Mr. Menzel made a point of employing amateur actors, that is people who had never played in a film, or if so, only marginally. The title role remained vacant for a long time; ten, then fifteen Milos Hrmas dressed in uniform underwent a screen test, but each time they had to look for yet another candidate. Even Mr. Menzel himself put on the uniform and did the test shot, but after looking at himself on the screen he exclaimed: 'I'm too old for it, what a shame!' It was only after this that Mrs. Fikar, the wife of the production director, said one day: 'Last night I saw that Neckar lad, he would make a marvellous Hrma.' And he did too, regardless of the fact that he had one eye lower than the other and one of his ears sticking out bat-like. And so, thanks to chance, the jazz singer Vaclav Neckar, by virtue of his unused talent, and above all because of the way that Jiri Menzel saw it, became the dispatcher Milos Hrma and so contributed to the success of the film "Closely Observed Trains" not only with the public but also with the critics; and it was through chance- that other name for the Holy Spirit- that the first feature film made by Mr. Menzel received the highest distinction a film can get- an Oscar.

P.S.: In your letter you also asked me which I liked better, the film or the novel. I would say that these two artefacts really complement each other, as there is a lot of reading matter in the film and even more of the visual in my prose writing. I think this is because I rely basically on dialogue and the eye; I am in love with that facet of reality which is represented in the form of an event or story, and even its transcendent and slightly metaphysical elements I try to translate into the language of action which, I feel sure, has always been present at the very origin of all our thinking and therefore of art too. I like the film better than my novel, perhaps because at the time Mr. Menzel and I got on so well together, because Mr. Menzel, then only half as old as I was, still managed to find a common denominator with me, who was then twice as old as he was. Perhaps that is why even now we keep complementing each other, like two mirrors flashing at each other with the reflections of our poetic vision. But these reflections do not run parallel, their paths cross just like the swords in the emblem of Meissen china, and perhaps that crossing point will give rise to yet another remarkable encounter and produce another film wherein we will try to say what it is that interests us in this strange world, in which we hope and believe.
-Prague, 14th January, 1971
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