Culture, Italian-style

On Sunday evening, braving the cold like a latterday Robert F. Scott (I've abandoned the whole Thoreau thing, by the way) I traveled to frosty Zizkov, lured by the twin beacons of Italian culture and cheap beer. (Not that I'm suggesting Scott's trip to the Antarctic was inspired by either of these things, we all know Scott went to the Antarctic to see those adorable penguins).

I did get a beer, but the Italian culture component of the evening proved problematic.

The idea was to watch "Il Partigiano Johnny" ("Johnny the Partisan") on the bar's flat screen televisions. The visuals were fine (and for one glorious moment, having caught the scent of tomato sauce, I was convinced the flim was being presented in smell-o-rama, but it turned out the woman next to me had ordered a plate of spaghetti which she was eating in the dark, which I like to think is typical of Italian movie theaters).

The audio was the problem -- we were treated to the director's commentary. In Italian. As the friend I was with said (when he could stop saying, "I'm so glad I didn't bring a date.") is there anything crazier than giving an Italian a microphone and asking him to talk at length about his own film? We were convinced there was probably a bonus disc, containing no footage at all, just more commentary.

Despite the director (who would NOT shut up), the film kept us interested for the entire first section, "Autumn." Then a menu popped up giving the viewer the option to click to the next section. Instead, some unseen projectionist clicked back to "Autumn," and the film began all over again -- this time without the director's commentary (amen) but also without the English subtitles.

And that's when we left for the bar behind the big church at Jiriho z Podrebrad where they have even cheaper beer and although they don't offer Italian cinema, they do have pole dancers, herna machines, and televized snooker. Sometimes, that's almost as good.