Ondřej Štefaňák: Baví mě, když inscenace mají jasný názor a rukopis.

Ondřej Štefaňák and Simona Peková, photo shoot for the poster for the production Memory Burn (Rozložíš paměť), HaDivadlo
Photo: Hana Kubrichtová and David Stejskal

Justina Grecová: You are the artistic director of the X10 Theatre, but you travel a lot and direct at other theaters, not only in the Czech Republic but also abroad. What do changes of location, guest performances, and rehearsals in new spaces mean to you? Do you like to return to places you already know?

Ondřej Štefaňák: I am attracted to new challenges and I don't want to get stuck in one place. I always start from scratch. I am not methodical, I tend to use trial and error. It's similar with theater—I travel, I try things out, and either it works or it doesn't. I enjoy doing this because every journey is exciting and nothing is ever certain. I like it when the decision about what a production will look like is made collectively—in a specific place, with specific people. It starts with the choice of title. Then it's about the connections with the people I cast; I stage primarily for them. At the same time, I like to return because I become attached to the collectives, and I want to know how the production will develop further. HaDivadlo is one of those "to-be places." I want to be here and spend some time here because a lot of interesting people have passed through here. HaDivadlo has a name and a reputation, and I try and want to be in places like that. It's always a challenge for me. I'd like to have a methodology or a key sometime. A house is also built according to basic outlines, but that's not it. It lacks the excitement and lively ideas that arise during the creative process with specific people. If, at the beginning of the rehearsal process, I said that this week we would lay the foundations and then build the next part with bricks, it wouldn't be as exciting as when you can think through a specific group of people.

You have experience directing in Germany, at Schaubühne Lindenfels, which means you also have experience rehearsing in another language. Is language essential for you when working with actors and the team?

The final production was in German, but I found it more comfortable to communicate with the actors mainly in English, although German was also used. That's because I feel more comfortable in English. I don't have the vocabulary in German to be able to name certain things. I enjoy working with associations and seeing how far I can take them. In Leipzig, it was a great advantage that the team and I were on the same wavelength very quickly. They didn't reflect negatively on the fact that I was from somewhere else. In the end, language was not a barrier at all. It was generally more complicated because I had three versions of the script. One was in Czech, the second in German, and then there were notes in English. Coordinating these individual language barriers was challenging, but it wasn't a big difference.

You studied at DAMU [theatre academy] in Jan Nebeský's class. How did this period influence your directing practice? What experience was formative for your approach?

A formative experience took place at the high school in Boskovice, where we had a poetry theater led by our teacher, Mrs. Prosová. As students, we put on performances based on texts by J. H. Krchovský and Daniil Kharms, for example. Those were quite unrealistic foundations. What fascinates me about Nebeský is the way he thinks. How he is able to translate situations into his refined language. I have never taken the path of realism, I don't enjoy it very much. Rather, I try to arrive at my own or collective language of expression for the production. That is the basic premise for me. I want to be specific, and then I automatically tend towards a final form that is different from everything else. What has always attracted me to directing and dramaturgy is when productions have a clear opinion and style, a clear message, where you can see that someone has thought about it and it is not impartial. There is an opinion in it, whether about the world or the perception of relationships between people, anything you might be confronted with. I don't really enjoy looking for things like whether a production is well lit or well constructed, but rather whether I feel a sense of individuality in it. Nebeský is definitely one of those personalities who has a specific language. It's not generic theater. At the same time, the drama program at DAMU taught me the basic principles. When I don't know what to do, I remember what a dramatic situation means and what can happen when a third character comes on stage. This helps me organize and professionalize my own creative chaos. When you're in creative distress, it's good to remember from time to time that there are rules you can follow. It helps you avoid collisions. I generally move a lot between the position of director-designer and madman who says what should happen on stage. These two lines clash a lot within me. It's chaos and order, intuition and reason.

Trip to Přerov, rehearsals for Memory Burn, HaDivadlo
Photo: Dag Markl

What is your relationship to Moravia? What role does it play for you that Memory Burn (Rozložíš paměť) takes place in Přerov?

I was born in Brno and grew up in Boskovice and the surrounding area, which is nearby. So I know Brno well, even though I've been living in Prague for quite some time now, which I probably know better. I feel like my roots are somewhere around here. The fact that we're preparing Memory Burn in Brno is also related to the theme of escape and return. What I like about the novel is that, even though it has a very specific setting, the basic situation speaks to and describes much broader human stories. The fact that the story takes place specifically in Přerov is, of course, very well thought out, but for me it is more of a metaphor for a place you don't want to return to, a place with which you have negative experiences.

Do you identify with Marek in any way? Why did the story appeal to you?

Like Marek in the novel, I also ran away. You uproot yourself and plant yourself somewhere else. But it always catches up with you somehow. This basic situation appeals not only to me, but certainly to many other people as well—precisely because you can never escape your family history. Trying to return to your roots and attempting to overcome your fears, to fight them. What I enjoy about the novel Memory Burn and our approach to staging it is that we confront all of this.

Memory Burn is sometimes referred to as one of the first titles of Czech queer literature. How do you approach queer themes in your work? Are they important to you?

I definitely address them, they are important, but themes never stand alone. Just because something is queer doesn't mean that something else isn't queer. These structures and worlds collide and create certain conflicts. Memory Burn is not necessarily just about queer themes. The theme of return is very broad. What is specific is definitely the fact that a certain group is ostracized. It's certainly not easy to grow up as a gay person in Přerov, or perhaps anywhere where it's not possible to be accepted or to come out and say, "I am who I am, respect me." For me, it's something like colors and spectrums. These stories are intertwined.

You know Marek Torčík personally. Does that influence how you approach his text?

I appreciate the trust Marek has placed in us. At the same time, I believe that theater has the power to interpret, and I personally enjoy searching for everything in the theatrical medium that – the Germans have a term for this, Denkspiel, or the play of ideas – is entertaining to see in new connotations and layers. We named the basic starting situation – at 3:38 a.m., your mother, whom you haven't spoken to in a long time, calls you and tells you that your grandfather has died, you start staring at the ceiling and thinking about having to go home, and suddenly you find yourself returning there in all your memories. That's something that holds it together and reformulates the novel into a different language. I don't think this concept detracts from the basic message. On the contrary, the confrontation can reveal some things that the book doesn't reveal so strongly.

Sara Venclovská, shooting the poster for Memory Burn, HaDivadlo
Photo: Hana Kubrichtová and David Stejskal

What is your opinion on autofiction?

I heard in an interview that the term autofiction is a literary-critical concept. I started thinking a lot about what autofiction is through Memory Burn and through conversations with Marek Torčík. For us creators, autofiction is somewhat entertaining, even a little tabloid-like. The places mentioned in the story are still accessible, so you can imagine a lot about what might have happened there. Just as the author of autofiction interprets his life, we interpret autofiction. It's a kind of "fun" chain. We also work with the theme of autofiction in the production. Of course, it is also somehow related to memory.

Would you ever be interested in working on your own autofiction?

My life is definitely not interesting enough for me to write about myself or create theater. But it always finds its way into my work somehow. I enjoy drawing on other material that I can work with and then leave my mark on.

What other literary, film, or visual sources did you draw on or were inspired by?

Since it's about people who were growing up at the beginning of the millennium, around 2007, we're working with the time and style of that period. That's also when I was growing up. But we drew most heavily on the motif of a journey, a trip, whether physical or mental, so also Sarah Kane's 4.48 Psychosis. We also draw inspiration from B-grade horror movies. And I browsed through various forgotten amusement parks, haunted houses, and adventure attractions, because I think it's actually a bit of a trippy experience to visit these places. And also The Blair Witch Project, for example. But the process is inspiring, and every day offers something unexpected.

You have collaborated repeatedly with Ondřej Novotný, who dramatized the novel. What is it like working with Ondřej? How does his writing style influence your directing?

I think Ondřej is an excellent author. What attracts me to him is his poetic sensibility. He is an author and a poet. His feel for language and situations is so unconventional that I am often surprised by how unconventionally his adaptations and plays are constructed. It's not exactly easy going. He creates challenges so that you can mature together with him into this very specific stage language. He often knows and quickly understands what I want each adaptation to be about. It's also very good when you don't write the text yourself. For the most part, it is then finalized during rehearsals, but I can rely on the basic structure, whether positively or negatively. I can tear it all down and rebuild it, but I always have material to lean on. Ondřej has very good empathy, not only within the team, but also towards the authors he adapts. He tries to dissect and understand them, to get into their perspective, and I think that's a rare thing.

Asking questions was Justina Grecová, the dramaturge of the production.

The premiere of Memory Burn will take place at HaDivadlo on February 21, 2026.