Actor, politician, citizen. The lieutenant in End of the Lonely Farm Berhof, the stoker in the film Good Pigeons Return, the prince in Rusalka. One of the prominent faces of the Velvet Revolution – a man constantly on the move between Bratislava and Prague. Milan Kňažko. He’ll turn 80 this summer, yet he doesn’t look it. He arrived for our Prague interview straight from the airport, wearing a striped shirt and blazer – slim and in good spirits. His cheerful mood occasionally turned serious – especially when the talk shifted to politics. Although nowadays, he observes it from afar.
You left politics some time ago. Is it a relief to just be an actor again?
I enjoy it. I left politics in 2002, and since then I’ve devoted myself solely to acting. I also ran TV JOJ for four years, but eventually I became fully freelance. Now I perform in various theaters in Slovakia and Czechia. In the beautiful yet challenging play RED, I’m appearing at Na Jezerce; with Emilka Vášáryová in Studio Dva in Love Letters; and with Emil Horváth in False Note at Divadlo bez masky in coproduction with the National Theatre. And I mustn’t forget – at Bratislava’s Astorka, we’re staging the tragicomedy Halpern Johnson with Vlad Černý, which will come to Prague in September. All delightful projects.
Do you ever get the itch to intervene or say something, watching the Slovak political scene?
I haven’t been active there for 23 years. When I can’t stand it anymore, I write something – mostly so we can have a laugh, since we’re all funding this circus. If someone asks, I’ll say what I think about the given situation. And since I know the gentlemen in politics well – many of them have stayed too long because they forgot to leave – I’m happy to speak out. I don’t avoid any meeting or interview; I think everyone should be active. It’s harder for those who perceive an open society as the enemy.
Luckily, Czech-Slovak relations remain strong. Do you agree?
Yes. I’d even say they’ve never been as strong and genuine as they are now – especially in the cultural sphere. Some say, “despite the split,” but I’d rather say, “because of it.” All reasons for misunderstandings, tension, or possible conflict have vanished – no one can complain anymore about how money is divided, who subsidizes whom, where basic products are made or finalized, tax differences, and so on. Czech-Slovak reciprocity includes human bonds too. There are many mixed marriages, and it’s rare to meet someone in the Czech Republic without family ties to Slovakia. If I had to use the word “despite,” it would apply to the direction of our governments. We have good relations – despite Slovakia’s current government drifting away from the values we once shared. I hope we’ll return to those shared values in time – specifically, Europe, an open society, and Western-style liberal democracy, which we want to be included among. I definitely do.
You left acting for a long time – you were gone for seven years from theater and sixteen from film. What was your return like? Did you feel uncertainty?
It was gradual. Milan Lasica called me one day and said, “How about we do something just for fun?” That’s an offer you don’t refuse. So, we thought about what to perform, who could direct it, and who might be the third actor. We invited Marián Labuda and staged Art by Yasmina Reza – a great success. We played it for quite some time. Then tragedy struck – first Marián’s mind started to slip, and not long after, he passed away. I am very sad about that.
Was there a role you wanted that never happened?
For me, it was more important what we performed. Theater is the art of today – of this moment. Like a menu. What good is it a year later? It’s no accident that theater artists address current events – like we discussed before. Even when playing historical figures. They speak to you about love, truth, lies, and relationships. It always connects to the present – just like under the totalitarian regime, when we marveled at what made people laugh while performing Chekhov. Those subtextual messages worked – they elicited applause and laughter from the audience.
Politicians sometimes feared those plays…
Of course. They were also performing – but with worse scripts than Shakespeare or Molière. Their lines are written by hacks, and they can’t act on top of that. When I hear them occasionally, I think: Go see a play once in your life and get it through your head that a lie in everyday life or politics isn’t theater, it’s just a plain lie. In theater it’s theatrical truth – there is an audience, a curtain, a beginning and end. In politics there are victims, not an audience. That’s the big difference. That’s why I dislike it when someone says that politics is theater. That word doesn’t belong there.
You have a close relationship with France. In 1968, you even considered staying in Paris – you had work offers there and a partner. What brought you back?
Yes, I love France. It’s true – I didn’t want to return initially. I had other plans. I was there on a one-year internship and worked as a waiter. But several things decided my return – especially my mother. We were three brothers, and she cared for us alone because our father was imprisoned for political reasons. After the August 1968 occupation both my brothers left the country – one to Canada, the other to Australia. It was very hard on mom. She developed health issues, including arrhythmia, and was hospitalized. I couldn’t leave her. Also, I had an offer to collaborate intensively with director Vladislav Pavlovič. So I came back.
Did you ever regret it?
I did – almost immediately. The film fell through because the director committed suicide, and I ended up in mandatory military training in Levice. One day I was sitting with coffee in Paris’s Latin Quarter, and the next I was having my hair cut in the barracks courtyard – while they shouted that I was an idiot and needed to learn discipline. The difference between night-time Paris and night-time Levice was truly enormous.
I can imagine. But your partner followed you to Slovakia, didn’t she?
She did – but as a Sorbonne graduate her degree wasn’t recognized. She’d have had to study socialist pedagogy and Marxism, which she refused. In the end she worked at Bratislava’s Literary Agency using her French skills. But as normalization advanced, fewer French books were imported. The director even suggested she could just read at work – they didn’t care. But that wasn’t her style. She wanted to work and stayed until 1975, which was admirable. Then she returned to France. I couldn’t blame her, and at that time I was busy working a lot.
Are stable partnerships even possible in the world of acting?
It’s not easy. When I worked full-time, it was sometimes 16 hours a day – radio, dubbing, film, TV, theater, touring various cities. I didn’t know the word fatigue – I was young. It takes great tolerance and personal sacrifice from a partner.
You’ll turn 80 in August. Honestly – you don’t look it. How do you stay fresh?
Well, I’m not that fresh. I’m not pretending that I’m still young and invincible. Movement is important. Slowing down – yes. I do that. But I try to keep moving, keep working. Once you stop, it’s over, you start falling apart
With Emília Vašáryová in the Studio Dva Theater play Love Letters.
What makes you happy?
Little things. Like strawberries ripening in the garden – and my little grandson coming to pick them. And my other one, thirteen years old, broadening his horizons. I once took him to Paris to see the landmarks: the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame, Louvre, and Montmartre. He said he also wanted to see Disneyland, which is nearby. On the way back he told me, “Grandpa, I liked Paris more.” That made me happy. Later he used it in a smart way – he said, “I’d like to go to a Green Day concert.” I asked, “What’s that?” I googled, found they’re a band – and said, “Why not?” But he told me they were playing in Paris. So we went to Paris – it was in one of the most beautiful concert halls in the world. Tickets were almost sold out, and the only ones left were expensive VIP seats. I bought them – nearly committing financial suicide – but we sat in the front row, about 25 meters from the stage. We could almost touch the guitars and keyboards.
How did you enjoy it?
I was thrilled. The concert had incredible energy – two and a half hours of superb music. Not just loud decibels, but melody too. Great professionalism. Green Day surprised me. I’m still a bit stuck in the Beatles and Doors era.
What would you like for your birthday?
After your forties you don’t need material gifts – you already have everything. I agree with those who say, “Please don’t bring anything!” But one thing would please me. I told my wife I’d like to go somewhere warm for Christmas with our son’s family – separately so each household has its space, but close together. The younger ones immediately suggested a sightseeing trip – and I told them, “Enjoy, but leave me out.” I’ve already seen it all. I’ll settle by the sea with a book and relax. I’d love the Dominican Republic – it’s beautiful there.
No film or TV show gift this time?
Czech Television started suspecting me of being a “celebrity.” So Petr Slavík is making a documentary about me. And a few months ago, Jan Hřebejk and I finished filming the series Forever Young.
That’s almost symbolic…
Indeed. Years ago, we made the show Lost and Found – when none of the actors were yet thirty. This new one is set in a seniors' home – but it’s nothing sad – with actors like Bolek Polívka, Jana Švandová, Juraj Durdiak, Pavel Nový, Zuzana Kocúriková and others – none of us are under seventy. So, I’m thinking that this might be my final TV show. After fifty-five years, the circle closes.
The author is a staff writer for Deník
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Milan Kňažko (born on August 28, 1945, in Horné Plachtince) is a Slovak actor and politician.
He studied acting at the Bratislava Academy of Performing Arts. For two years, he was a member of the drama ensemble of the Theatre Studio, from 1971 to 1985 a member of the New Stage, and for another four years he joined the drama ensemble of the Slovak National Theatre.
He briefly served as dean of the Theatre Faculty of the Academy of Performing Arts, in 2002 became president of the Bratislava International Film Festival, and from 2003 to 2007 was the general director of TV JOJ. In 2016, he was named Actor of the Year, receiving the Thalia Award for his role as Shylock at Prague’s Na Jezerce Theatre. In October 2024, he received the Thalia award for best foreign artist.
He was a member of the Federal Assembly and from 1992 to 2002, a member of the Slovak National Council, now the National Council of the Slovak Republic. In the 1990s, he was, among other things, the minister of foreign affairs and later the minister of culture of Slovakia. In 2013, he ran in the presidential election.
He lives in Bratislava, has been married three times, and has three children.
A title returned
In the late 1980s, the communist authorities refused to let Milan Kňažko attend a festival in Spain and even meet with the minister of culture. In response, he returned his title of Merited Artist – fully aware of what that would mean for him. “After that incident I came to the set of The Last Butterfly with director Karel Kachyňa – he looked at me sadly,” he recounts. “He hugged me and said, ‘What have you done to me, my son?’ He knew the film would go into the vault. I replied, “Mr. director, I’m glad that I got to do my last film with you.” And a month later the Velvet Revolution began. And so we finished the film and it hit cinemas.”
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