HBO’s the Sleepers: How Spy Genre and Transnational Co-Production Challenged the Memory of Communism in the Czech Republic

Abstract

This study centers on the problem of transposition of historical reality into the artistic form. Using the example of HBO Europe’s Czech six-part drama Bez vědomí (The Sleepers, 2019), I would like to discuss how the transnational co-production, the effort to attract international audiences, and the selected genre influenced the portrayal of the past. In the context of Czech audiovisual production, the series represents a rather exceptional example. First, it reflects on the period around the Velvet Revolution, which has not been the focus of many Czech films or TV series. It is set in late 1980s Prague, and captures the time of political and societal changes that resulted in the collapse of the communist regime. Secondly, the series uses the spy genre, which is also unique in local production. Drawing from film and TV studies and from memory studies, I will explore the concept of transnational memory in relation to HBO’s original production. In particular, however, I would like to focus on the formative role of the genre and argue that the choice of the genre in itself contributes to challenging the prevailing narratives and already established interpretations of the past.

Keywords:

• 1989
• cultural memory
• genre
• HBO
• spy fiction
• streaming media

The Sleepers (Bez vědomí) is a Czech spy drama produced by HBO Europe. The six-part series premiered on TV in November 2019, symbolically on the 30th anniversary of the Velvet Revolution, which brought an end to the communist regime in former Czechoslovakia. Although the series presents a fictional story, it reflects on the historical context of 1989 and uses the Czech capital as a setting. The first episode opens a story of well-situated political exiles, Marie Skálová (a violinist), and her husband Viktor, who is an academic, and also works for the British Foreign Office. Back in Czechoslovakia, he was member of a group of dissidents led by Marie’s father. After Viktor had signed the Charter 77, he decided to leave Czechoslovakia and, together with Marie, fled to London. In October 1989, when political climate begins to change in Poland and East Germany, they start thinking of returning home. After 12 years in exile, it is mainly Marie who longs to visit her sister and niece in Czechoslovakia. Victor hesitates over the safety of return, but after receiving a mysterious letter from Czechoslovakia, he agrees to leave for Prague. Shortly after their arrival, they are hit by a black car on an empty street at night. Marie wakes up in a hospital with serious head injuries, and finds out Viktor has disappeared without a trace. He cannot be found in any hospital in town, and in addition, doctors claim no car accident was reported at all. A police officer later attempts to convince Marie she was found in front of a pub, and her injuries are therefore a consequence of intoxication. The car accident begins to appear not as a coincidence, but rather as part of a plan.

The plot then follows Marie’s struggle to find out what happened to her husband. After she finds out neither Czechoslovak police nor the British Embassy are willing to help her, she sets out to search for Viktor on her own. The more she follows different clues hoping to shed light on his disappearance, the more she, inadvertently, becomes entangled in a web of lies, cover ups and intrigue. Her homeland turns out to be interwoven with secret services’ networks: the Czechoslovak State Security (StB) and the Soviet KGB are struggling to maintain their influence in Czechoslovak power structures, while the British MI6 is trying to take advantage of the forthcoming political changes to gain more control. Individual agents, however, occasionally play their own games, which are not always in accordance with interests of the agencies they work for.

As Bondebjerg argues, transnational TV dramas have become an important part of contemporary media landscape: ‘there is no doubt that TV drama series constitute an important part of the transnational media Europe, and that such narrative genres speak to a broad audience. (…) One might think of national particularity meeting transnational co-production and audiences as a formula for what is developing in Europe right now’ (Bondebjerg 2016, 3). The aim of this article is to consider The Sleepers through the lens of screen studies and cultural memory. I would like to argue that the espionage genre series, through its specific representation of the past, significantly contributes to current dynamics of memory (Erll and Rigney 2009), because it facilitates what Bondebjerg (2016) calls ‘mediated cultural encounters’. Moreover, it can be used as a case in point to display the process of embedding local content into the international framework of SVOD systems. The series was produced by HBO Europe and is in line with the company’s long term strategy to ‘globalize local content’, and to use particular genres to enhance the ‘transferability’ of original production between different regions, as the HBO Europe director Anthony Root put it (see Economou 2021). The attempt by HBO and other SVOD services to engage local and international audience simultaneously (Scarlata, Lobato, and Cunningham 2021, 138), however, brings complex challenges.

The rise of streaming services has had a profound impact on the contemporary media ecosystem, but it has also deeply transformed the practice of activating, mediating and shaping cultural memory (Gambarato, Heuman, and Lindberg 2022, 2). HBO, Netflix, Amazon and other SVOD platforms produce and distribute high quality audiovisual content, which often deals with narratives about the past. The importance as well as specificity of encounters with history on screen has been recognised by many scholars (see, e.g. Rosenstone 1995; Edgerton 2001; Grainge 2003; Mazierska 2011; Landsberg 2015; De Groot 2015). Compared to other mediations of memory, historical dramas are appraised for their ‘ability to make the past come alive, to make us experience and imagine the past in a way that involves both knowledge, identification and emotions’. (Bondebjerg 2020, 13).

From the perspective of cultural memory, which ‘accentuates the connection of memory on the one hand and socio-cultural contexts on the other’ (Erll 2008:4), streaming platforms that operate on a transnational level offer unprecedented possibilities for production, circulation and accessibility of representations of the past. Co-production of films or TV shows is certainly not a new phenomenon but in case of SVOD services, the transnational storytelling becomes a new creative strategy (Bondebjerg 2016, 5).

In the case of The Sleepers, the transnational co-production did not take only technical or financial form. The story and the creative construction were mainly a Czech affair: the screenwriter, director, cinematographer, and most of the cast are Czechs. But HBO Europe’s production team also interfered in the creative process. The series’ director Ivan Zachariáš pointed out in an interview that some scenes were demanded by HBO producers, despite his and the screenwriter’s disagreement (Zachariáš and Nejezchlebová 2019). His statement is in line with how Tereza Polachová, the HBO Europe producer, described the approach of HBO to the production process: ‘it has not yet occurred that we would accept a screenplay for realization and not intervene in it. I think production dramaturgy is very important’ (Polachová and Hudský 2020). The Sleepers provides an example of a ‘historically conscious drama’ (Landsberg 2015, 68), in which national cultural memory and creative practices intertwine with transnational production strategies and reception contexts. The focus of this article is to explore how this intertwining manifested itself at the level of the series’ genre, aesthetic style, and narrative structure.

Imagining the ‘Dark Times’

The year 1989 has a prominent place in Czech and also European cultural memory. In the late 1980s, the communist regime had been losing its strength for some time, and the revolutionary events in East Central Europe finally brought an end to four decades of totalitarian rule. The interpretation of events and processes that led to the relatively smooth transmission of power in Czechoslovakia is still a subject of debate, as is the identification of the key forces that influenced the post-revolutionary development (see, e.g. Shepherd 2000). November 1989, however, has been mostly connected with optimism and the energizing democratic ethos, which is to this day revived at the annual celebrations of the Velvet Revolution. The atmosphere of The Sleepers offers, in this sense, a sharp contrast to the moods with which the revolutionary era is usually associated.

By focusing on the functioning of the socialist power apparatus and the world of secret services, the series offers a rather dark image of Czechoslovakia in times of rebirth from totalitarianism to democracy. The concept for The Sleepers was created by first time TV screenwriter Ondřej Gabriel, whose affection for the espionage drama coincided with HBO Europe’s efforts to give space to genres that are not common in local production. The appeal of spy fiction was underscored for example by Hepburn (2005, 22): ‘narratives of intrigue open up an array of psychological insights that might not be available through the discourses of political science or official history’. Or as Gabriel himself explained, ‘the spy genre provides enough space for constructing complex plots and attractive characters with ambiguous psychology. … It simply has the potential for a strong story’ (see Gabriel 2019).

In addition, the selected format of serial drama allows the story to unfold as a complicated espionage game full of unexpected twists and gradual revelations. Its narrative structure, ‘ongoing and meandering rather than closure oriented—opens up possibilities for the representation of history that are quite impossible in a film or even a history monograph’ (Landsberg 2015, 66–67). Gabriel’s script also had the advantage that it combined elements of multiple popular genres, including crime, historical, and espionage drama. Although Gabriel explicitly acknowledged the inspiration from classic spy stories, such as novels by John Le Carré, The Sleepers is not a classic spy drama, but rather a work that, at least in some respects, seeks an innovative approach to the genre (and to interpretation of historical reality as well, as will be discussed later). One of the innovations, compared to ‘classic spy fiction’ (see, e.g. Wark 1991; Hepburn 2005) lies in the relocation of the main story to a region that has mostly played only a minor role in spy dramas. As HBO Europe producer Matthews explains: ‘We’re so used to traditional shows where [John le Carré character] George Smiley and the Russians use Central Europe as a chess board to move people around … One of the first thoughts we had was, “Wouldn’t it be fun to see that story from the inside of one of those territories, rather than the outside?” That was one of the concepts from the start’ (see Pickard 2019).

If we take into account common espionage tropes, as they were listed for example by Hepburn (2005, 5): ‘recruitment, codes, thrills, chases, fear, bodily durability, violence, enmity, darkness, and disappearance’, we can note that The Sleepers exploits all of them, with only one exception. The plot is completely devoid of chases, fights or any other situations that involve fast action. The pace of the narration is fairly slow and comparable to Nordic crime TV dramas rather than to most spy movies. Because the series’ focus is on the bureaucratic side of espionage and on actions that must go unnoticed, the story involves no Bond-like attractive action heroes with perfect physique, but mostly ‘hard-faced men in shabby clothes doing dirty work’ (Enker 2021). The thrill in The Sleepers comes from different sources than dangerous action scenes. Rather, the suspense is born from the overall atmosphere of paranoia and vulnerability. The characters are constantly eavesdropped on, watched or followed by secret agents, and uncertain about who they can and cannot trust. Although the plot does not avoid the depiction of extreme violence, the role of kidnappings, interrogations, torture or murders in the narration lies in their psychological effects, not in adding dynamic action.

The feeling of a threat and dense atmosphere is to a large extent evoked also by the visual style. The camera often zooms in on faces of the characters, which supports the impression that they are constantly spied on. The city of Prague is shrouded in a grey fog, and especially in the first part of the series, most scenes in exteriors take place at night. The characters move through the streets with mostly grey, weathered buildings or find themselves in darkened interiors, which are tuned to shades of brown and green. The shots of Prague usually encompass either huge stone historical buildings, or disconsolate architecture of the socialist era, which makes the city seem somewhat inhospitable. Only the rare wide shots of the city skyline provide an image of Prague that might be more familiar also to international viewers.

The visual style adopted in the series shows a distinctive stylization and employs particularly dark imagery, that resembles the visual features of the ‘Nordic noir’ (see, e.g. Creeber 2015). ‘We wanted to use the most realistic locations possible and then move them to a completely different level by lighting and composition’, explained the director Zachariáš (Zachariáš and Stejskal 2019), who was also a lead director of HBO Europe’s acclaimed series Wasteland (2016). The look of the locations indeed works as an apt visual metaphor of the gloomy social climate and effectively transmits the dense atmosphere of the communist era. It also makes a perfect setting for crime.

In spite of the fact that the series presents a fictional story and uses an expressive aesthetic style (reduced colour tonality, dim lighting, zoom shots, etc.) to conform the setting to the creative intent of the filmmakers, some aspects of the production design were treated with the utmost precision to be historically faithful. The props, setting, costumes and characters’ hairstyles provide an authentic picture of Czechoslovakia in the era of late 1980s and indicate detailed research not only of everyday life in the period, but also, for example, of the various technical devices that were used by the secret services. This seems to be a signature element of HBO’s original productions that deal with historical events or periods (see also Gambarato, Heuman, and Lindberg 2022, 5). In the case of The Sleepers, the ‘surface realism’ (Dhoest 2010, 185) obviously resonates especially with local audiences, who still remember what things and people looked like in 1980s. Recognizing familiar details is likely to increase their willingness to accept the fictional story as credible, and maybe even historically accurate.

Narrating History: StB, KGB, MI6 and Unconscious Czech Society

Providing the ‘meaning’ of a story by identifying the kind of story that has been told is called explanation by emplotment. If, in the course of narrating his story, the historian provides it with the plot structure of a Tragedy, he has ‘explained’ it in one way; if he has structured it as a Comedy, he has ‘explained’ it in another way. Emplotment is the way by which a sequence of events fashioned into a story is gradually revealed to be a story of a particular kind. (White 1973, 7)

Hayden White’s note relates to historiography but the same can be applied to audiovisual narration (this is not to say that they are based on similar foundations, only that any attempt to represent the past is a process of construction). We can then assume that framing a story, which is based (however loosely) on discernible historical reality, as an espionage drama implies different kinds of ‘explanatory affects’ (White 1973, 10) than other kinds of emplotment. The HBO series provides an example of historical imagination that appropriates the past era, and by employing tropes and narrative practices specific for the spy genre, transforms its inner structure.

In case of The Sleepers, the genre optic is deeply inscribed in the narrative about the fall of communism in Czechoslovakia it transmits. Espionage drama by its own nature establishes a critical approach to the past, because it exposes the power struggles and the behind the scenes games. Within spy fiction, ‘History is being freshly shaped by ideological clashes, by combative intelligence agencies, by internal conspiracy and deception and by tests of loyalty and acts of corruption’ (Wark 1991, 7). The emphasis of the series is quite aptly suggested by both the English title, The Sleepers (used for foreign markets) and the original Czech version, Bez vědomí (coined by the screenwriter Ondřej Gabriel), although they are not an exact translation. Bez vědomí can be understood in multiple ways. It can mean that something is happening without the knowledge of someone or it can designate the state of unconsciousness (bezvědomí), which links the title specifically to Marie and her condition after the car accident (and thus underpins the significance of her character).

Both language versions, however, shift the attention not particularly to the intrigues of secret services, but to those who, in a sense, become their victims, because someone is acting behind their backs. This can be seen as the essential idea of the whole series. There are some processes taking place that at least part of society has no idea about. It is not clear though, if it is because people cannot know, or rather do not want to know. The unfolding of the story maintains this ambiguity of interpretations and does not provide a clear answer. In any case, as both titles suggest, the series attempts to show the past in an unusual light. If the prevailing tendency is to interpret the Revolution as a victory of citizens over the repressive apparatus of political power, the fictional story reverses the situation and deprives citizens of their power (or ability) to see, and thereby also to act and influence the course of events. Behind the scenes games of secret services, on the contrary, become the driving force of political and societal changes.

As already mentioned, the story of The Sleepers is based on historical realities, but the characters and plot are fictional. The first two parts, which had a preview screening at the Karlovy Vary and the Toronto film festivals before the series’ TV premiere, focus mainly on Viktor and Marie and their return to Czechoslovakia in 1989. To clarify the reasons for their emigration, the plot goes back several times to 1977. The episode when Marie and Viktor meet for the first time is used as an opportunity to show the secret meetings of dissidents in private flats, and to bring up the Charter 77, as well as the bullying of dissidents and their family members by the StB. Another flashback returns to the moment when Viktor and Marie decide to leave Czechoslovakia and flee across the border, under the fire of Border Guards. These reminiscences serve to recall the atmosphere of the normalization era and to present the practices of StB in times when the repressive power of the communist regime was in full force. The first two episodes therefore place the events of the story in the appropriate historical context for viewers who might not be familiar with it.

In the third part, the plot shifts its focus to operations of foreign secret services and the activities of individual agents. Similarly to other cold war spy dramas, the series exposes the competition between the Soviet KGB and the British MI6. In this case, the KGB has a clear advantage because it exercises influence through the local StB. The StB, which served as an intelligence as well as counter-intelligence agency in communist Czechoslovakia, is depicted as an institution that is on one hand losing its vigour but on the other still remains an important part of the state apparatus.

It has been pointed out in several reviews published in the Czech Republic (Fila 2019; Ptáček 2020) that unlike most Czech films, the HBO series does not resort to stereotypical or schematic way of depicting StB agents. Fila (2019), for example, appreciates that they are neither anonymous, nor demonic, nor masters of power games, but rather ‘relatively normal, intelligent, skeptical guys trying to do their job’. The two significant representatives of the StB, colonel Václav Vlach and his subordinate Honza Berg, are portrayed not just as servants of the regime, but as characters who also deal with private issues. The elder Václav, a KGB collaborator, is skilled in intimidation and extortion, but at home becomes a loving husband who takes care of his dying wife. He is not keen for the party, retires voluntarily and after his wife passes away, he loses the meaning of life and commits suicide.

The younger Honza seems more enthusiastic for his work, but not in a sense that he would harass citizens. He is more of a criminologist, who tries to figure things out. Despite the ban of his superior, he sets out in search of missing Viktor Skála. But the zeal to find the truth eventually costs him his life—the KBG tortures him to death during interrogation. Both StB agents have to face the pressure from the KGB at a certain point, and in a sense become victims themselves. In their portrayal, the series breaks down the binary distinction between victims and perpetrators, that has prevailed in Czech popular fiction dealing with the communist period. The political and ethical responsibility of agents in The Sleepers can be well characterised by Rothberg’s figure of the ‘implicated subject’. Rothberg coins the term to describe the subjects in historical events that are not completely innocent, nor completely guilty, but still ‘play essential roles in producing and reproducing violence and inequality’ (Rothberg 2019, 202).

The depiction of the British and the Soviet foreign services also deserves closer attention. The MI6 is depicted as a highly professional institution, whose effectiveness is nevertheless undermined by internal disputes between agents Susanne and Gerald. They are both based at the British embassy in Prague, but act against each other. The KGB, on the contrary, is portrayed as more tenacious, and has a clear lead in the character of Vladimir Volkogonov, a ‘pragmatically cold-hearted technologist of power’ (Ptáček 2020, 60). Although there are some differences between the secret services—for example the ‘Russians’ are more brutal, use drugs during interrogations and assassinate anyone who stands in their way without reluctance—the series is hesitant to suggest that Western secret services are distinctly ‘better’, in terms of their methods or values. Here the series adheres to customs of the genre, because as Wark (1991, 185) notes, ‘for most of the history of the genre, spy fiction has tended to describe conflicts between intelligence services which were essentially similar in outlook and methods, however different they appeared in ideology’. In The Sleepers Viktor makes this idea explicit when he explains to Marie why he publicly lies about his kidnapping: ‘Imagine what would happen if people now learned that the West, our great role model, sometimes behaves like the Bolsheviks’. This point is reinforced when he says to Gerald: ‘You only have better clothes and better schools, that’s the only way you’re different from the StB’.

Where the story outlines, on the contrary, a noticeable distinction, is the level of influence of the two superpowers in the territory of Czechoslovakia. The fact that Czechoslovakia was a vassal state of the Soviet Union until 1989 justifies the supremacy of the KGB in the pre-November era. But the series transmits the idea that the supremacy continued even after the change of political regime. Gerald, for example, clarifies to Susanne that ‘Russia’ is ‘better prepared’ for the coming changes, and the subsequent course of events proves him right. Viktor, who reappears on the scene right after the revolution, becomes a well-known, recognised personality because of his dissident past and the hardship he went through. But the public is unaware that he is in fact a double MI6 and KGB agent. When faced with the choice with whom he will continue cooperation, he opts for the Russians. The KGB then secures him a post at the Ministry of the Interior, and thus establishes the continuation of the Russian influence in the post-November power structures of Czechoslovakia.

Here the scenario deliberately diverges from the established historical interpretations. ‘The image of motivated Soviet services preparing for a new round of confrontation with the West in 1989 does not, however, correspond to historical reality’, writes Pinkas (2020, 36) with reference to The Sleepers. This is, nevertheless, not the only case when the series attempts to offer a not so established interpretation of the past. It also presents the rivalry between the Soviets and the British, or between the East and the West, not as ideological antagonism, but as a geopolitical fight. It is aptly expressed in the dialogue between the two British agents, when Gerald says about the coming changes: ‘Nothing is going to change. Cause we weren’t actually fighting communism’. To Susanne’s question ‘What then?’, he replies: ‘Russia. And Russia will stay’. Ideology itself seems to play a negligible role for the Western as well as the Eastern secret services. Even Volkogonov says to Viktor: ‘after all, it doesn’t matter who will be in charge here, just that everything will continue as it should’.

In this case, it would not be accurate to claim that the series contradicts historical discourse, since there has been an ongoing debate about the actual role of ideology in the Cold War (Kramer 1999; Wohlforth 2000; Warner 2014). For example Kramer (1999, 539) examines whether the war was ‘a contest of two ideologies—liberal democracy and Marxism-Leninism’, or whether it was ‘driven mainly by considerations of power and material interests’. However, the view offered by the HBO series can be considered less widespread, in terms of historical discourse, as well as in popular (espionage) fiction.

Representation of the Past or the Present?

The more the series emphasises the historical role of the secret services during the revolutionary era, the less it acknowledges the generally accepted contribution of dissidents and Czech cultural elites to the political transformation. The only dissident characters that are given more space in the story are three men from Marie’s immediate environment. Her father, her ex-boyfriend Petr, and her husband Viktor. None of the dissidents, however, gets the opportunity to take part in the post-November political development. Marie’s father dies during her London emigration, years before the revolution takes place. Petr enters politics in the end of 1989, but is assassinated by a KGB agent, while Viktor takes his post at the Ministry of Interior. It is therefore only Viktor who becomes part of the power structures of the newly born democratic state.

But as the plot had previously revealed, Viktor is in fact a secret agent, whose participation in dissident activities, and even his marriage to the daughter of a well-known dissident, was orchestrated by the KGB (through the StB agent Václav, who created Viktor’s fake identity). From his dual engagement for the Soviet and the British secret services, he later commits himself to working solely for the KGB. It is a coerced cooperation (the KGB threatens to harm Marie), but it nevertheless points out what influences, according to the creators and producers of the series, prevailed in Czech politics after 1989. From the perspective of memory, this is perhaps the most controversial aspect of the The Sleepers’ interpretation of the past, and it casts doubt on whether the series actually ‘presents an image of 1989, or rather of our present’ (Pinkas 2020, 36).

After all, this uncertainty was referenced by the creators and producers themselves. The director Zachariáš acknowledged that ‘it is very important to me that one cannot be completely sure of who rules us now, what methods he uses and who he is controlled by’. Alluding to Czech politics, particularly to the governing style of president Zeman and then Prime Minister Babiš, he sees the series as a kind of cautionary tale that could make viewers pay more attention to what is happening around them and beware of political manipulations and fake news (Zachariáš and Spěváčková 2019). According to HBO producer Polachová, the familiarity of the fictional setting is the result of present tensions between Europe, the US and Russia on the one hand, and the rise of state propaganda and fake news on the other. ‘It’s a period piece but it’s actually happening now’, she concludes (Pickard 2019).

Although it is logical that HBO, in its original productions, prefers to accentuate ‘matters that are most relevant and engaging to audiences in the present’ (Edgerton 2001, 4), making such parallels between past and present is not unproblematic. Comparing power practices and manipulation strategies from the period of the totalitarian regime (albeit already losing its vigor during the late 1980s) to the present situation is media-attractive, but inadequate. A specific link to current Czech politics was, however, also introduced in a marketing campaign, within which HBO released a deep fake video featuring Czech president Miloš Zeman. In the video, we see Zeman, who has been criticised for his pro-Russian stance, giving a very unlikely speech about the legacy of 1989. After a while, his face and voice turn into actor Jan Vlasák, the protagonist of StB agent Václav in The Sleepers, who completes the speech by cautioning: ‘what if, in fact, we live unconscious. Unconscious about where the truth turns into a lie, within the blink of an eye’.

The controversial video must, of course, be understood primarily as an attempt to draw attention to the series. However, as the authors of the study on HBO’s Chernobyl note, ‘all comments, discussions, and controversies are important in turning the series into a memory-making fiction’ (Gambarato, Heuman, and Lindberg 2022, 11). The same applies to the situation around The Sleepers. The use of references to communism and 1989 to stir up debate on contemporary issues has a significant memory-making effect. Not only does it call attention to the past, but drawing clear-cut parallels between the two periods transforms both the understanding of the present, as well as the view of the past.

1989 and the Prospects for the Future

This article explores The Sleepers in relation to cultural memory, as a transposition of historical reality into fictional work (Sorlin 1977). It may be important to note that such an approach is not the same as judging the work according to criteria of historical accuracy. It acknowledges that TV drama, as well as any other representation of the past on screen, is always partly truth, partly invented (Rosenstone 1995). But even though the story of The Sleepers uses invention and artistic license, it is set in a ‘clearly discernable historical frame’ and as such can be considered a relevant source of historical knowledge (Landsberg 2015, 69).

As Edgerton argues, ‘the language of TV is highly stylized, elliptical (rather than linear) in structure, and associational or metaphoric in the ways in which it portrays images and ideas’ (Edgerton 2001, 10). The format of TV series offers the kind of understanding of the past that is therefore ‘more a consciousness of an ethos of a period or era than an attempted reconstruction of events’ (Landsberg 2015, 64). Accordingly, our focus here is not so much on the extent to which different aspects of the story correspond to historical reality, but rather on the general meaning the series conveys. Or as Landsberg (65) puts it, ‘what kind of historical argument is being advanced and towards what end’.

Through emphasizing the role of secret services and exposing intrigues that affect the course of history, the series balances on the edge of conspiracy theory, suggesting that ‘November 17 was not a completely spontaneous event, but the secret services knew in advance how to prepare for it’ (Fila 2019). The conspiracy, however, has a major rift. The pivotal moment in the plot is the car accident, which leaves Marie injured and results in Viktor’s disappearance. Here, the story uses a frequent narrative trope of spy fiction. As Hepburn notes, ‘In the absence of a body, interpretations of motive and meaning ramify. Foul play is suspected more often than not’ (Hepburn 2005, 232). While this event initially seems part of the intrigue of the secret services, it later turns out that it was not part of anyone’s plan. It was, indeed, an accident, caused by the boss of Tuzex, who was driving drunk. The lies and unlikely explanations that Marie encounters in the hospital and at the police station are nothing else but attempts to cover up guilt of the influential official.

The focus of the plot is the rivalry between secret services, but the key event that mobilises them to action is not part of a plan of either party. The course of events is fundamentally affected also by fate. This point is quite important, as it changes the message of the whole story. It indicates that in the course of history, people are not only unconscious, as the Czech title suggests, but they are also, and maybe above all, powerless. ‘Webs of intrigue prohibit individuals from making a difference (because they feel impotent before the vastness and invisibility of ideological might). They lapse into indifference (because no course of action exists that has not already been mapped out in advance according to the scripts of covert operations). For this reason, espionage is often figured as game-playing’ (Hepburn 2005, 90). In The Sleepers, it seems impossible for people to make any difference not only because of the web of intrigue, but also due to the element of chance, that also plays against them. This combination deprives actors of responsibility for the course of history, and does not give good prospects for the future.

Moreover, the HBO series somewhat contradicts the genre traditions in that it does not offer the expected final catharsis. According to Hepburn (2005, 46), ‘as readers or viewers of espionage narratives, we experience catharsis as confirmation of ideological authority, since the murderous, foreign agents lose in this power struggle’. In the case of The Sleepers, the most murderous of the secret services confirms its supremacy. Viktor, a KGB agent, who lies about his true identity to the public, as well as to his wife, becomes an important and publicly recognised figure of the post-November politics. Marie, though deeply shaken by her husband’s secrets, does not find the courage to leave him, so Viktor’s betrayal does not impact his personal life either. As for Marie herself, ‘her resignation becomes too visible a symbol of disillusionment with the staged Velvet revolution’ (Ptáček 2020, 59).

By letting the KGB win the power struggle between the Soviet and the Western secret services, the series deviates not only from the conventions of the genre, but primarily from historical reality. We can ask why the creator-producer HBO team chose particularly this kind of denouement of the story. The narrative of the fight of secret services, set in 1989, could very well work as an attractive spectacle even without such a dark ending. In fact, it might have worked even better, providing a desired moment of catharsis, which would result ‘from the expulsion of otherness, not its integration into a political process’ (Hepburn 2005, 46). The choice can therefore be interpreted (also with regard to the released deep fake video) as using the past to make a warning statement about the present. Instead of portraying 1989 as the decline of Russia’s control over Central East Europe, the series brings continuity to the historical development. And this continuity makes a strong political argument. If Russia succeeded in maintaining hidden political influence in Czechoslovakia even during the reformation era, it is quite possible it still pulls strings in current Czech politics.

But the continuity which blurs boundaries between pre-November and post-November era is indicated also in other aspects of the story. Viktor, as a representative of new political elites, speaks publicly about freedom and independence of the country, but he himself is only a pawn in secret services games. Although he hides the truth about his own past, the ordinary citizens trust him, even admire him. In effect, the lies and manipulations continue. However, one of the most disquieting moments is the very last shot of the final episode. We see Marie and Viktor in the dining room of their new home. As they are talking, their voices are suddenly heard through the crackling of a technical device. At the same time, the camera zooms in on the chandelier. It is clear that even though the political regime has changed, the eavesdropping is still going on.

The representation of the recent past in The Sleepers is probably more complex and adequate than in other Czech popular fiction, especially in depicting operations and methods of the secret services, the portrayal of StB agents, and for exposing the extent to which the power apparatus affected lives of ordinary citizens. But at the same time, the ‘artistic license’ taken in the series led to extremely one-sided portrayal of the social atmosphere of the revolutionary era. As a prominent example of ‘Czech noir’ (see the categorization of The Sleepers on IMDb), The Sleepers present a narrative of despair, gloom, and powerlessness. The revolutionary euphoria is suppressed to an absolute minimum (few shots of demonstrating crowds), and citizens and cultural elites—the generally acknowledged driving force behind the political transformation—remain virtually out of the frame. The only exception is archival footage of Václav Havel speaking to the crowds, which briefly appears on TV as part of the plot.

The story is constructed as a complex narrative, which points to the many hidden forces that alter the course of history. However, due to the fascination with conspiracy, manipulation, and betrayal, it offers a very simplifying view of the past and its meaning. This somehow manifested itself also in the reception of the series in the Czech Republic and in foreign countries. The international public, most likely not so well acquainted with the historical context, has accepted the depiction of the past as uncontroversial. The reviews of film critics as well as users (for example on IMDb) mostly appreciated the authentic portrayal of the dark atmosphere of the communist era, and the series’ quality production.

The reception in the Czech Republic has not been without controversy. On the one hand, the spy drama has been acclaimed for being ‘eye-opening’, ‘revisionist’, and disillusioning (Šrajer 2019). On the other hand, it has been criticised for subordinating the past to the aesthetics of the genre by depicting Prague as much uglier than it actually was in late 1980s and by basing the story on ‘conspiracy theory’ (Chuchma 2019; Ptáček 2020, 60). The controversial reception can be understood as a response to the series’ attempted contestation of narratives of 1989 established in the Czech cultural memory. However, it can also be caused by the fact that the Czech audience perceives The Sleepers as a commentary on the present political situation, not only as an image of the past.

Conclusion

Regarding the fact that ‘1989 and the political and cultural integration of East and West that followed was a historical event of European and global importance’ (Bondebjerg 2020, 286), it is surprising how few Czech films and TV shows reflect on that period. In comparison to other European countries, especially Germany (see Bondebjerg 2020, 271–295), it remains largely unnoticed in Czech popular fiction. In that sense, the HBO series represents a rare example. It does not, however, provide a purely Czech view on the past. Given the transnational co-production of the series connecting the international HBO team with local screenwriter, filmmakers and cast it rather offers a perspective that results from the encounter of different mnemonic cultures.

Landsberg argues that HBO’s marketing strategy and effort to produce high quality show leads them (and other cable networks as well) to invest energy and their resources in historical reconstructions and give them ‘greater license to experiment with both form and content’. She also underscores that these networks invest ‘not only in writing but also in research’ (Landsberg 2015, 68). If we take into account also the growing impact of SVOD services, it makes their original production a unique memory-making platform. The willingness to search for original narratives and to experiment with different (usually mixed) genres opens up possibilities for revealing new dimensions of the past, that have not yet been much explored.

The Sleepers, which reflects on what happened just before and right after the Velvet Revolution, shifted the attention to behind-the-scene games and a gloomy atmosphere. It offered an alternative to Czech popular fiction which portrays the communist era with humour and nostalgia (see Pehe 2020, 46–63), such as Kolja (Kolya, 1996), and to recent films that focus on heroic role models, namely Havel (Havel, 2020), the biopic of the playwright who became the first democratically elected president, or Hořící keř (Burning Bush, 2013), an HBO series recounting the story of Jan Palach. If, on the other hand, we were looking for analogies, the psychological thriller Pouta (Walking too fast, 2009) or German drama Das Leben der Anderen (The Lives of Others, 2006) would allow for comparison, as they deal with StB agents and show the dark side of state socialism.

The genre also enabled the addition of a transnational, if not global dimension to a story which is locally anchored. As Jenner (2018, 220) notes, ‘the importance of exports for the economy of television means that the transnational appeal needs to be coded into the text’. Espionage is by definition a transnational phenomenon, that transcends the specific historical and geographical setting of the fictional story, and is therefore likely to support the engagement of audiences across multiple HBO territories.

But the genre is not the only manner in which The Sleepers integrate the local and the transnational. The show features also other elements of what Jenner (2018, 219–240) calls a ‘grammar of transnationalism’, referring to a strategy that makes the original production of SVOD platforms viable across transnational markets. This ‘grammar’ finds its expression, for example, in The Sleepers’ aesthetics, characterised by a dark, though visually appealing atmosphere (created through using disconsolate locations, dim lighting, etc.) or in the slow narration. In many aspects, these stylistic and narrative elements correspond to the ‘Nordic noir’ (see Creeber 2015), which has become part of the paradigm of ‘quality TV’ (see, e.g. Creeber 2015; Jenner 2018). The selection of Prague as a key location, the props, the look and behaviour of characters, as well as short excerpts of archival footage, on the other hand, serve to position the story as nationally specific.

The transnational optics of The Sleepers, consisting both of transnational co-production and of the effort to attract an international audience, contributed to the reinterpretation of the past, at least in a sense that the series avoids some of the stereotypes that can be found in Czech popular fiction. The series offers a view of the late 1980s completely devoid of nostalgia, but also devoid of the revolutionary euphoria and optimism about the political and societal transformation. The convergence of different mnemonic cultures, which is somehow paralleled in the convergence of genres (a spy story with transnational aspect, but set within the framework of local historical reality) certainly brought a fresh, though disillusioning look at the recent past.

However, I would like to argue that the meaning conveyed by the series involves a certain paradox. The show’s key message can be interpreted as a call for action: the narrative transmits the idea that important decisions and events often take place without the knowledge of citizens. Therefore, they need to wake up, be more attentive to what is happening around them, and not allow themselves to be manipulated. At the same time, the narrative gives little hope that individuals can interfere in the course of history. The story introduces a number of Czech characters who represent different social groups (‘ordinary women’, dissidents, StB agents, and an intellectual, who is introduced as a dissident, but later turns out to be a secret agent). The way their micro-stories are told implicates that agency of an individual has no significant impact in the course of events. Those who attempt to search for the truth or defy the power system are either murdered or threatened. Others are deprived of illusions, and their situation can be best described as resignation. The course of events, as well as the destinies of individual characters, seems to deliberately contradict the motto of the Velvet Revolution in Czechoslovakia: ‘truth and love will triumph over lies and hatred’.

On the level of cultural memory, the narrative presented by The Sleepers enforces, probably unintentionally, what historian Timothy Snyder (2018) calls the cult of innocence. It means that the source of evil is the external enemy (Russia), while Czechs’ own failures can be defended as victims’ strategies for survival. This view has manifested itself in Czech cultural memory in relation to different historical contexts. The external power could be Russia, Nazi Germany or France and the UK during the Munich crisis. The series also points to the fact that Czechoslovakia is not in Central Europe (‘that’s what they like to think of themselves here’, says Gerald), but positions it in the East. The underlying premise is clear. The Czech Republic does not belong to the Western world, but rather in the territory of Russian influence.

The case of HBO Europe’s The Sleepers indicates that the production of TV dramas by international SVOD services can ‘lead to transnationalisation of authorship, script writing or even clearly transnational stories’ (Bondebjerg 2016, 5), but does not necessarily presuppose the production and circulation of narratives supporting the idea of an integrated Europe. These dramas, however, enrich cultural memory by drawing attention to the broader, international context of local historical events, which is often neglected in national narratives about the past.

Disclosure statement

No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author.