Synopsis

The Roma (often disrespectfully called “Gypsies”) are members of an underprivileged ethnic minority persecuted all around the world. But there is one cultural trait for which they are celebrated globally: their music making. This has been reflected extensively across cinema – classic and contemporary, fiction and documentary – with Romani musicians becoming magnets for various enduring fantasies and prejudices. Hopa lide takes a radically different approach to depicting Romani musicianship. Based on ten years of research in the community of Slovak Romani musicians, it is a collaborative documentary consisting of three chapters. Each depicts the creation of a music video, the musicians leading their self-representation by taking on the role of directors. Uniquely, the camera is always on the move, always improvising. It joins the musicians as they move from the spotlights of large venues to intimate backstages, capturing a mixture of wit, mundane struggle and unfulfilled dreams. From these bittersweet musical lives, deeper questions emerge: What actually is Romani music? What is it like to be a Romani musician? And what does it mean to be Roma in today’s world? The film invites the audience to question deeply rooted stereotypes about Roma from its unusual position as a documentary made with rather than on Roma.

“We don’t like Gypsy music, this is what we like!” Barna exclaimed, trying to make himself heard over the loud funk music playing in the car. There is nobody in Hnúšťa and its surroundings who hasn’t heard of the Romani family band Barnovci. In the 1980s, the patriarch Barna and his band travelled all around Europe, getting acquainted with what he calls “modern music.” He is famous all over the region for singing Queen covers in their original keys; his friends call him Mercury because of his vocal range and showmanship. As is customary in Romani families, Barna’s son Martin also took up the musical craft. The two enjoy performing together, whether in the family band or as a part of the well-known Romani outfit Sendreiovci. But with opportunities around his hometown limited, Martin needs to leave his wife and four children for large portions of the year to perform on cruise ships in Germany, where he entertains rich non-Roma from Western Europe.

This first chapter documents the making of a music video for Barna’s most famous song, a Slovak and Romani cover of Queen’s “I Want to Break Free.” This version gives things a very different twist; the new hook “I Want to Sing Now” is an expression of overcoming prejudice through musical bonds. The documentary portrait of Barna and Martin draws out a hidden aspect of Romani music: the hardship, precarity and tough human labour from which many from this underprivileged region can hardly break free.

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Nestled among the deep forests and high mountains of central Slovakia, a hundred kilometres from the nearest McDonald’s, lies the village of Klenovec. The first Roma came here in the second half of the eighteenth century, summoned by a nobleman who sought the entertainment of their musical craftsmanship. Dalibor is a young successor of those Romani forebears and carries forward deep musical roots. The current generation not only preserve the craft but also the musical styles, genres and even musical instruments from the past. Dalibor plays the unusual 133-string folk instrument that was the flagship of the eighteenth-century Romani music of this region, the cimbalom. He hammers its strings with a confidence outstanding for someone just turned twenty. But Dalibor doesn’t seem to only want to preserve the ashes of an ancient tradition; within him burns the fire of a unique musical voice. This voice speaks for an entire generation of young Roma born in this, one of the poorest and the most underdeveloped regions in all of Europe.

This second chapter documents Dalibor’s song-writing debut in form of the ballad “Tak šancu daj” (So Give It a Chance). His writing and playing reflect his life dreams, as if the music were a way of searching for his place in the world. In his musical voice, we hear a faith in humanity and commitment to improving the understanding between people of different backgrounds. Ringing through with clarity is Dalibor’s desire to convert his faith into a voice for change.

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“Hopa lide to everybody” shouts a dapper figure jumping into a Cadillac and disappearing over the horizon. This is how it usually goes with Vladimir Sendrei from Kokava nad Rimavicou. It’s almost impossible to keep pace with this man of many talents and professions. He started his career as a professional footballer, later moving into pro-Romani activism and NGO work, before becoming the lead singer of one of the most famous Romani bands in Slovakia today, Kokavakare Lavútara (a.k.a Sendreiovci). He never stays for long in one place, and filling people’s hearts with music has become an almost sacred vocation. Vladimir takes this vocation so seriously, though, that he hardly ever gets proper sleep.

This third and final chapter portrays Vladimir and his band as they make the music video for the title song of the film Hopa lide. Its Romani lyrics poetically hint at many little-known truths about Romani music and musicianship. There is its higher (almost spiritual) meaning for most Roma (Devlestar amen trajinas – with God, we’re getting closer) and reminder of the necessity for musicians to travel from one place to another to perform this extraordinary craft (palo svetos amen phiravas – we roam the world). Most importantly, there are the peculiar dynamics of relating with the non-Roma (gádže) audience. As Vladimir told me: “This is how it goes with gádže. You give them one catchy phrase that stays in their minds, and they will sing and dance along until morning. Hopa lide!”

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