Jaroslav Fišer's film posters

The movie posters of today are unlikely to bowl anyone over with their imagination, wit or craftsmanship. Most posters are computer-created, populated largely with the faces of famous stars - almost certainly Ryan Gosling at the moment. Now, a new exhibition in Prague remembers a time when a movie poster was much more than just a marketing mechanism.

Wandering around the foyer of Kino Světozor, where an ongoing exhibition showcases the film posters of Jaroslav Fišer from the 1960s, it's easy to see why the 1960s through to the end of the '80s have been branded the "Golden Age of Czech Film Posters." Fišer's artworks - and artworks they are - may not always be dazzlingly beautiful, but the kooky charm and individuality of each and every one of the 104 posters on display is overwhelming. These posters represent an unlikely benefit of communism: a time when censorship forced poster makers to think outside of the box (office).

"The magic of these Czechoslovak film posters is that they are unique," exhibition curator Pavel Rajčan tells The Prague Post. "And Jaroslav Fišer is one of the most prolific and interesting people who were creating original film posters."

Fišer's is the 14th exhibition to be held in the city by vintage artwork experts Terry Posters, who sometimes use the Aero and Bio Oko cinemas as showcase spaces. Fišer, a Prague-born artist, struggled for a great portion of his career under the constraints of Soviet rule. Not only were film posters (and book covers, some of which are also on display) a rare opportunity to show off talent, they offered a chance to earn some money, too.

Like the other designers of his day, Fišer used almost any materials he could get his hands on, collage being a popular method. In one poster for the 1963 Italian film La visita, he uses scraps of newspaper (interestingly, a New York Times) to form what looks like an odd-shaped creature with humanlike feet.

Fišer was also a dab hand with the pen. Rajčan's personal favorite from the Fišer collection is for American classic The Magnificent Seven, in which a cartoonish 10-gallon hat and a pair of pistols form a skull-and-crossbones motif over a black background. It is simple and extremely effective. This particular poster is also extraordinary in its own right: Very few American films found their way through state censorship and into Czechoslovak cinemas.

Golden Era posters had no official connection with the films they represented, and it wasn't unusual for the artist not even to have seen the film before setting to work.

"Here, we were behind the Curtain," Rajčan says. "The designers were forced to create their own film posters. Sometimes they'd be sent the film, sometimes not. Sometimes they simply based the poster on the title of the film."

Therefore, apart from the obvious differences between the handmade posters of then and the homogenous ones of today, there is one big distinction in approach. Fišer's posters are his own interpretations of the films - either what he took away from the theater or otherwise deduced from its title. Today's posters, with few exceptions, are mercenary: their goal not to intrigue or delight, but merely to sell. They have no individual voice.

"Fišer's kind of poster finished after 1989, and since then, it's the same here as the rest of the world," Rajčan says. "Nowadays, the film production company will deliver the poster to the cinema, which is obliged to use it by contract."

Because of their rarity, Fišer's posters have become expensive collector's items today, with many fetching from 40 to 150 euros.

"When you want to buy such a poster, it's expensive because they're old, and there's only a limited number. It's considered a piece of art," Rajčan says. "Today, any graphic designer who has Photoshop can do something."

Will Noble can be reached at
wnoble@praguepost.com