previously published on Cineuropa
What does a small provincial hotel need? Some staff and some guests. The more, the better – though their characters have to be balanced too. If the characters and types turn out too ordinary, they risk being boring; if they're too weird, they risk seeming outlandish. Of course, one can always spice things up with, say, ghosts haunting the grounds, or aliens paying a visit. And, voilà – here is the blueprint for a bulletproof hotel comedy.
Czech stage actors, directors and playwrights Miroslav Krobot and Lubomír Smékal did exactly that, and then some, for their A Report for Minerva 2 project. It began as a stage production by the amateur troupe Divadelní spolek 23, credited here as one of the producers, before morphing into a film that retained the entire cast from the original show. It premiered at the 60th Karlovy Vary International Film Festival, as one of the Special Screenings.
Of the two receptionists, one is grumpy because her acting career has ended, while the other is emotional, expecting to give birth any day. The Ukrainian cleaning lady is also grumpy and prone to lashing out at guests, burdened as she is by both work and prejudice. The house painter idles at work, musing on various topics. And one chambermaid keeps appearing, disappearing and teleporting, as though she'd wandered in from a different, more romantic time. A takeover by new management looms, and two "solid" gentlemen (played by the filmmakers themselves) appear – though they act rather strangely.
The guests can be pieces of work too. There's a health-obsessed bore with a touch of OCD, forever pestering his wife, fellow guests and the hotel staff about what's right and what's wrong. A virginal, nerdy loner tries to strike up conversations with women, as does a sex-obsessed slacker, though both chicken out at the crucial moment. A tourist from Slovakia finds herself discriminated against, made to wait for a room to clear despite having a reservation, while a clarinettist is chased from one place to another for "disturbing the guests," even though nobody has actually complained. A beautiful young woman draws the eyes of every man in the room, though all she wants is a sincere conversation. And, finally, there's an alien who must report back to his homeworld, Minerva 2, while still getting to grips with human ways, and the spirit of a Nokia 3310 ("an older model," she notes), lying on the floor in the corner, its battery slowly draining.
Yes, it sounds like an endearingly bizarre ordeal, and its lean 68-minute runtime seems appealing enough. On stage, it might well sustain a longer running time. On screen, though, the translation from one medium to the other is far from smooth. The amateur actors struggle with line delivery more than they would on stage, and the directing duo – of whom only Krobot has any prior filmmaking experience – throw every trick in the book at making the space and the interplay between actors and setting feel livelier and less theatrical, but without much consistency or method behind the individual craft choices. The biggest offender, though, may be the monologues: every character, human, spirit or alien, is given one to voice their inner thoughts, and while these might sit comfortably in a theatre, on screen they feel entirely artificial. In the end, A Report for Minerva 2 comes across as a sincere, honest, but not entirely successful effort; one likely to appeal mainly to existing fans of the stage show.
