Abstract
As the Cold War passed into history, communication scholars quickly lost interest in the communist media of Eastern Europe. Area studies specialists turned to post-communist media reforms, and most of the prominent media scholars from the region followed suit. Unpacking the logic of communist media cultures no longer mattered. Among historians, however, interest in mass communication under communist rule was slowly but surely gaining ground. When looking for new avenues into Cold War historiography, scholars concerned with understanding communist societies were increasingly turning to issues of culture and everyday life, as well as to the media. Paulina Bren’s beautifully written, engaging and entertaining book forms part of this broader endeavour.
It is important to clarify that Bren did not set out to write a history of television as such, but rather stumbled on the little screen inadvertently while looking for clues that could help her untangle the nature of Czechoslovak society after the 1968 Prague Spring. Once it became clear that the records found in the newly opened Communist Party archives were not quite as revealing as initially expected, it was television that provided her with the much needed ‘prism’ through which to interpret the reality of late communism in Czechoslovakia (p. 7). Yet rather than turning to overtly ideological media genres, Bren chose to focus on entertainment programmes, and above all on the serials written by Jaroslav Dietl (1929–1985). These hugely popular serials, argues Bren, provided ‘an acceptable stage for negotiating the world of late communist normalization and for working out one’s relationship with the state’ (p. 9), and hence offer an ideal venture point for unravelling the logic of state–society relations in post-1968 Czechoslovakia. In particular, Bren seeks to challenge those scholarly and popular accounts of late communism that reduce the reality of the period to black-and-white contrasts between oppression and dissidence, public compliance and private rebellion, truth and falsehood. Drawing on her own reading of key characters and plots, as well as on a wealth of archival materials that elucidate the production and reception of the serials and the broader political and cultural context, she argues that the relationships between the communist regime and its people were far more complicated than standard interpretations of the period would allow.
The first two substantial chapters of the book chart the key events that culminated in the Prague Spring and the Soviet invasion, as well as the subsequent purges that set the stage for post-1968 ‘normalization’. From early on, Bren argues that Czechoslovak television played a central role in these developments, first as a stage for increasingly frank debates about the rights and wrongs of communist economy and politics, and then as a key instrument of containment. Starting with Chapter 3, Bren begins teasing out the key elements of late communist culture, using an account that weaves together a narrative of relevant political developments and an analysis of television serials. Four interrelated features of post-1968 culture emerge from her analysis: a new reading of history that presents the events of the 1960s as a form of mass madness; a state-endorsed celebration of quiet life and the emergence of ‘privatized citizenship’; the prominence of women as key agents of normalization; and an emphasis on non-materialist values as an essential ingredient of a socialist way of life. Key among these is the privatization of citizenship, exemplified in the emergence of everyday life, work and familial relationships as prime arenas of citizenship engagement.
Television serials, argues Bren, played a key role in inculcating these new values, for instance by eschewing the dilemmas of public life and focusing instead on stories involving ordinary citizens and their daily lives. One of the biggest hits of Czechoslovak television, The Hospital at the End of Town (1977–1981), thus centres on the daily dramas of nurses, doctors and patents in a local hospital, while the similarly popular The Woman at the Counter (1977) depicts the lives of employees in a self-service store, tacking issues such as divorce, marital problems, child rearing and workplace relationships. This focus on the everyday and the personal, argues Bren, was retained even in serials dealing with political issues such as agricultural reform (The Youngest of the Hamr Dynasty, 1975) or urban planning (The Man at the Town Hall, 1976). In each case, political dilemmas were introduced from the perspective of private citizens and daily life.
Despite the emphasis on the ordinary, the way of life depicted in Dietl’s serials was of course removed from the realities faced by Czechoslovak citizens – in many ways, the serials depicted life as it should be, rather than life as it was. Yet while acknowledging occasional critical responses, Bren insists that viewers largely ‘saw their lives in the story lines’ and ‘identified with the state-approved characters played by state-approved actors’ (p. 202). While they may have disagreed with official values and found ways to circumvent regime expectations, audience responses to Dietl’s serials nevertheless suggest a measure of agreement with state-endorsed ideological imperatives. In short, what emerges from Bren’s analysis is a portrait of late communism that is devoid of sharp contrasts between truth and lie, the oppressor and the oppressed, domination and resistance. What we see instead is a way of life – centred on the private, the everyday and the familial – ‘on which the regime and its citizens in part colluded’ (p. 207).
This is an intriguing account, and one that opens up a myriad of questions that are of relevance not only to those concerned with the history of media and communism, but also to media and communication scholars more generally, especially those seeking to ‘internationalize’ the field of media research. For instance, can the contradictions of late communist media culture be interpreted by drawing on the existing roster of concepts such as hegemony or dominant, negotiated and resistant readings, or do these theoretical tools need amending? Next, how can we account for the intriguing similarities between the privatization of citizenship in post-1968 Czechoslovakia and the petering out of mass public engagement typically associated with the 1970s in the West – while at the same time keeping an eye on relevant differences? Finally, thinking more narrowly from the perspective of communist media history, how exactly does the media culture of the 1970s relate to the tumultuous 1960s? As Bren herself notes, traits such as the emphasis on the ordinary and the everyday were not the exclusive domain of late communism. Is it possible that the culture of late communism stemmed from the same sources as the upheavals of the 1960s, rather than being its exact opposite?
To answer such questions, however, we will need to do more than just reject the logic of binaries, and move on to develop a more precise set of analytical categories and arguments, drawing on a closer engagement with existing literature. The Greengrocer and His TV does not go quite as far, but this does not detract from its value. Bren’s book certainly merits becoming standard reading on advanced courses on media history and popular culture.