Martina Skála on working with Forman and Polanski – and dancing with horses
Writer and artist Martina Skála grew up in Prague’s picturesque Malá Strana district before leaving for France in the mid-1980s and eventually settling in California. Skála, who studied history and set design, has also had an unusually broad range of jobs, from acting as an advisor to the female leads on The Unbearable Lightness of Being to literally dancing with horses.
You grew up in Malá Strana in Prague. Could you please paint a picture of the Malá Strana of your young days?
“Yes, of course. I grew up in Malá Strana in the communist period in a very old, shabby villa, falling apart, but in the middle of an absolutely stunning, beautiful garden.
“They were the most beautiful views that I ever had in my life, because from the windows I saw the Castle and St. Nicholas Church.
“I would walk down Vlašská and cross the Charles Bridge. I actually never saw a modern building in my childhood.
“This somehow gave me the ability to recognise the code of beauty.”
People say that Malá Strana was kind of like a village in those days. Was that true?
“Yes, it was a village. And still today when I come back from the United States I always live in Malá Strana.
“I would walk down Vlašská and cross the Charles Bridge. I actually never saw a modern building in my childhood.
“There are a few people who I still know from my childhood, but some of them died and a lot of people moved out.
“But for me Malá Strana is still beautiful scenery. It feeds my soul.”
Was it unusual to have a villa in that district?
“We were not the owners. Somehow my parents managed to get a permit to live in the villa.
“But because the villa was very big they had to ask their friends to stay there as well.
“So it was a very surreal situation, where my parents lived in the first floor, another family lived on the second floor – and I had to cross the second floor to get to my room, which was next to the bedroom of these other people.
“Basically we lived together, but totally different families with totally different values, especially the view of bringing up children.”
I understand that your parents were both bohemians with a small “B”. What did your folks do? What were their jobs?
“My father was an architect, and he was a social butterfly.
“He was absolutely the life of the party, and a wonderful womaniser; it was like a sport in those days, because you couldn’t make a career so what do you do? You finish your job at 4 pm and then… he was very good-looking so, you know, that was the life.
“And my mother was the head of the production department at the National Gallery and then at UPM, the Museum of Decorative Arts.”
I hope this question is not too personal, but when you did realise that your dad was a womaniser? And how did you feel about it as a girl?
“Well, I found out [laugh] in a maybe brutal way, but a funny way, at that age. And I wrote about it in my book The Club of Chamois.
“One day my mum was on a business trip. My room was on the second floor and in the evening I found that the living room was very beautifully arranged; there was a bunch of roses.
“The bedroom of my parents was on the first floor, but it was part of the library as well. And in the morning – I was 15 – I just decided I needed a book to take with me to school, so I went to the bedroom.
“But my father just stepped out of the door and said, Where are you going? I said, I just need a book. And he said, You are going nowhere.
“I said, C’mon I just need a book and pushed him away – and I entered the bedroom and there was this naked woman [laughs] on her belly with long blonde hair.
“I was shocked and I said, Who is it? And my father said, Oh that’s my friend, a man, Karel from Brno.
“I said, What?! He said, All the hotels in Prague were full, so I offered to let him stay at our house.
“I was absolutely mesmerised. It was like I was seeing my father for the first time in my life.”
That’s either the best or the worst excuse ever, saying that the woman was a guy from Brno called Karel.
“The funny thing is ‘Karel’ became the second wife of my father. And for many years he still insisted it was Karel.”
I understand also that your grandparents also had a relatively strong influence on you. You spent a lot of time with them?
“Yes. My grandfather was a historian and my grandmother was an art historian.
“They were kind of old-school. They spoke several languages. I have a very deep admiration for academic education – that you can talk about things not necessarily from everyday life.
“Also my grandmother took me to castles in Bohemia, because she was a curator of furniture and paintings, so I travelled a lot with her and it was wonderful relationship.”
I know you love horses. How did a girl from Malá Strana get into the world of horses?
“Because I had a boyfriend who rode horses and he took me to watch horses at the racetrack.
“It started with my starting to take care of them, to brush them, to give them water. Then I was a hot walker.
“The next step was I was sitting on them and in the end I got a jockey license, so I could race.
“But I didn’t race because I left Czechoslovakia before the first time I could really seriously race.
“But I was working every day and I was exercising thoroughbreds at the racetrack.”
Your brother [David Skála, drummer] was in the band Psí vojáci, who were very well-known and highly respected. Did you hang out with them?
“A tiny bit. Not much, because all of us lived a bit in the fast lane. My father, my mother, my brother and me.
“So I was more at school, my brother was more at concerts or [laughs] at the police station.
“We kind of merged and then once again went in different directions. I was riding these horses at 6 am, when my brother was coming home.”
You studied both history and set design. Were you able to work in either of those fields after you graduated in Prague?
“Actually [laughs] my first job after I got my PhD in history was cleaning houses in Malá Strana. I was sweeping and washing staircases.
“I was also working as an exercise rider for the stables in Chuchle.
“Because the history of my family, we were not Communists…”
So your class background wasn’t going to lead interesting or appropriate work?
“No. But during my studies I did work at the National Gallery as a guide, on weekends, and I did costume design for the theatre Rubín, on Romeo and Julie, but it was very little.”
In 1983, around Christmas time, you left Czechoslovakia for Paris, where you stayed. When you went to Paris were you planning to remain there? Or did you decide once you get there?
“No. I am a little bit of a person who reads signs – I have a lot of imagination – and I thought that I would see how it goes. I had only one week for this decision.
“But somehow all the doors had closed for me in Prague. I couldn’t get a decent job.
“I went to Paris and was waiting for a sign and the sign didn’t come, so I just let the train go back without me to Czechoslovakia.”
“I really wanted to be a jockey, but my trainer told me I was a little bit too old for it, which was true. I started to ride when I was 19 and all these young jockeys were there since they were 15 or 12.
“He was right, and it was very hard work too. So he warned me.
“And then I couldn’t get a full-time job at the National Gallery, so it was kind of bleak.
“So I went to Paris and I was waiting for a sign and the sign didn’t come, so I just let the train go back without me to Czechoslovakia.”
You couldn’t speak French when you arrived. How did you make a life for yourself in Paris?
“Well, I was a babysitter – you don’t need to talk much [laughs]. Then I was a cleaning lady once again.
“Then, because I worked with horses, I was working on a farm in Normandy. And then I was dancing with a horse in a kind of weird circus in Chantilly, which is one hour from Paris.
“So I did these jobs where you don’t need to talk too much.”
You have to describe more how you dance with a horse. I’ve never heard of dancing with horses.
“Actually the owner of the castle where it was loved to introduce the history of riding through the centuries, so he did this dressage very well.
“He had costumes and he created a show where he was on his white horse, a largo, and he was doing pas espanol, and he did all this dressage, and I was dressed in a ballerina outfit, with little tiny shoes.
“And in this deep sand I was doing the same movements as the horse. So if the horse was doing pas espanol, I was doing that with my legs and hands. And then when he was cantering, I was cantering next to him, exactly in time to the music of Mozart.
“It was weird but it was a lot of fun. But all these professional dancers refused to do that, because they can’t dance in deep sand. So this is why I got the job.”
You eventually got into the movie business, through Miloš Forman. How did you reach him, or what was your connection with Forman?
“Miloš was in Paris, introducing Amadeus, and the Czech community organised some dinner and it was a lot of fun.
“We had fun were talking about his dog and I just suggested that we should write a postcard to the dog.
“And Miloš said, Yeah, let’s write to Zeman – we will write to my dog.
“So we wrote it and everybody signed it, because Miloš missed his dog very much.
“Then he put the address on it. But it wasn’t his address in New York. It was his address in Connecticut, his farm, which was very simple.
“It was so simple that I memorised it. Not that I wanted to – I just have a good memory.
“Then a year later I was working on a farm and it was very hard. I was sitting among these animals, sheep and dogs, and I wrote a letter to Miloš Forman, just describing what’s around.
“They started doing The Unbearable Lightness of Being in Paris and Miloš [Forman] recommended me to the production.”
“I regret I don’t have this letter. And the letter ended, Mr. Forman, please if you would know about something better than this, let me know, Martina.
“Then they started doing the movie The Unbearable Lightness of Being in Paris and Miloš recommended me to the production.”
And you were kind of coaching the actresses, who were French; at least Juliette Binoche was French [Lena Olin was Swedish]. What exactly were you doing with the actresses?
“That was such a weird job. Actually they hired me to be Czech, so Juliette Binoche and Lena Olin, would get inspiration from me.
“It went to such an extreme that if, let’s say, I would bring a squirrel every morning in my arms to the production office everybody would believe that’s what the girls in Prague do.
“I had unbelievable abstract power [laughs] over what it is to be a Czech girl.
“So I was going out to dinner with them, we talked, they were learning my accent, they were asking questions.
“It was very abstract work. I didn’t have a contract for it, but [producer] Saul Zaentz told me, You will stay on the movie as long as you are good.
“So [laughs] I was fighting for my life, because I badly needed the money. I invented many ways to be Czech.”
Including bringing a squirrel in the morning.
“Exactly. I did anything. They even watched how I walked a staircase, because you do it differently – how you hold a spoon, how you drink, what you do, how you smile.”
There were a few Czechs involved in The Unbearable Lightness of Being, right? The great actor Pavel Landovský appeared in the film. Jan Němec also worked on the film – what did he do on the movie?
“Jan Němec was the Czech advisor. We had an office together and then I worked with him later on a movie of his, in Sweden; that’s another story.
“Our office at the studio in Paris had ‘Jan Němec’ and ‘Martina Skála’ on the door, but when you opened the door there were two completely empty desks, not a single picture on the wall – nothing.
“There was an untouched screenplay on the desk, which Jan never opened.
“All the other assistants had photos and everything was filled with references to Prague, but we had nothing.
“One day the director Philip Kaufman said to the crew, If you ever are depressed, just go to the office Skála–Němec [laughs].”
How was it working with Němec and Landovský?
“Well, they were eccentric. They were extremely talented people and I loved to work Jan Němec because of his imagination, and we were very close.
“We really understood one another very well, so I was doing storyboards with his ideas, for his project.
“He was very, very smart. Landovský was a lot of fun, but together they were kind of [laughs]… I think the American crew were a little bit afraid of them.
“They were really very strong and very imaginative. I remember we were in Dijon one day and we just did these little Czech sausages, špekáčky, on a fire, just behind the hotel – it didn’t matter that it was five-star [laughs].
“So it was… how would I say it? It was like Carousel: Every day brings a new adventure.”
You also worked with Forman directly on Valmont. What were you doing on that movie? Were you a set designer for that?
“Yes, there were three art directors and I was one of them. It was great work, it was in France and we worked at French castles.
“It was a great atmosphere. It was a wonderful, wonderful experience.
“I can’t imagine that today, in Europe, a movie would happen in similar conditions.”
You also worked with Roman Polanski. Tell us about your connection with the Polish director.
“I worked with him on several projects, but a few of them never happened unfortunately, like The Master and Margarita, which was fantastic.
“Polanski has unbelievable charisma – just to watch him cross a corridor is an event.”
“Then I did the set design for Death and the Maiden, with Ben Kingsley and Sigourney Weaver.
“I liked working with Polanski very much, because he’s very visual. He’s a very good illustrator and I like when people have this vision –they can see things, they can draw them on paper.
“He’s extremely smart and has unbelievable charisma – just to watch him cross a corridor is an event. He’s got something about him.”
And it was through working with Polanski that you met your French husband?
“Yes, I met Francois. He was a still photographer on the movie and we started to date on the movie, which wouldn’t be possible today.”
Because of protocols?
“Because of protocols. I followed him to Hollywood and now before every movie Francois has to sign some sort of sexual harassment rules.
“It’s really funny because they show little videos of some situations and you have three choices: A, B, C.
“I said, Francois, let’s do it without looking at the suggestions and just as we are.
“So we did it – and we failed. I’m telling you, we wouldn’t be together today.”
You moved to California with your husband. I presume that was also a big turning point in your life.
“It was a bigger shock for me to move from Paris to California than to move from communist Prague to Paris.”
What was so shocking about it?
“There is no culture. And in Los Angeles there is no centre – these endless boulevards – and everything is so impersonal. You don’t walk.
“We lived in the Hollywood Hills, not far from the Hollywood sign and in Prague and Paris you hear church bells – there you hear helicopters.
“It was very impersonal. I was very lonely. Also the references aren’t the same.
“I have very good friends in America, absolutely – now I live one hour from San Francisco – very nice friends, but I believe I need some sort of European background and references and the past.”
Today what are your main activities?
“I’m a writer and an illustrator and painter as well. I do both.
“I just published two novels for adults. Last year it was The Club of Chamoix. It starts in communist Prague, it goes through Paris and it ends in Hollywood.
“And yes, it’s based on my life, but it’s about freedom. In Prague in the communist time we thought that freedom was if you leave the country.
“And the story is if you leave the country, things are not black and white and then you find another form of imprisonment; there are so many forms.
“So the question in my novel is, what is freedom? Can you find it? And if so, where?”
What language do you write in?
“In Czech. I have to write in Czech. Because I like to play with words, and also it’s the language I was born into.
“No, I couldn’t write in English or French.”
You also do children’s books, is that the case?
“Yes, I write them and I illustrate them. Actually my first book was about music, about classical music, and I wrote it for my son, Alexander.
“It was when I was in Hollywood and I felt really, really lonely.
“I was a single mother in Paris and I had a lot of friends and I was working in the movies. And all of a sudden I became a housewife in the Hollywood Hills and I was really depressed.
“So one day I thought, Today I can vacuum, I can walk the dog, I can feed the cat – or I can write a book. I wrote a book.”
A lot of celebrities write children’s books. I guess it’s easy for them, or somebody does it for them and they just add their name to the project. Is that annoying to you as an actual children’s author?
“No. I have my favourite children’s books writers or illustrators, but I really don’t much attention to what’s around.
“I do it because I have to do it. It doesn’t matter if it’s published or not. I have projects that were not published, but I enjoyed writing and illustrating them very much.
“Actually I write and illustrate them every day.”
Have you continued riding horses over the decades?
“Oh yes. Actually when I was 60 years old I was thinking about how to celebrate it, so I crossed the Pyrenees on an Andalusian horse.
“And since then every year I do some sort of adventure ride. So I was in Morocco, we were riding Berberian stallions – that was a crazy ride.
“Then I went to Ecuador and we went up to 4,000 metres above sea level on horses. And last year I crossed Mongolia on a horse, yak, camel and reindeer.”
Amazing. Do you spend a lot of time in Prague these days?
“Yes. Now I’ve been here for three months and I will come back. Because I just need to be in Europe a bit more than before.
“California is very beautiful. The country there is among the most beautiful I have seen. But I need culture.”
You told me your son lives in Prague now.
“California is very beautiful. The country there is among the most beautiful I have seen. But I need culture.”
“Yes, he’s been here for 10 years and he’s working here.
“It’s funny to see Prague through his eyes. Because he’s fluent in Czech, and he speaks fluent French and English, but he didn’t grow up here.
“He has a very international crowd around him. He has a lot of Czech friends but he has a lot of French and German ones too.
“I would say he uses Prague differently than I did. I’m still a little in the old mode.”
My final question is, how do you feel today when you walk around Malá Strana?
“I feel the same. I still see myself as a little girl.
“I don’t care about tourists, I don’t see them. They bump into me and I don’t like these little wheels [on suitcases] – you hear the noise.
“But it doesn’t really affect me.”
