I wasn’t looking for him, but I wasn’t even closing my laptop when YouTube accidentally played me the next interview in which he was a Alex Reed. I don’t like his books and the way he speaks – especially his “trade mark” – the raucous laugh is not to my liking (actually, every time I hear Patrik laugh, he pulls my ears uncomfortably), on the other hand, he appeared to me in interviews as a quite pleasant and straightforward weirdo with a sometimes almost childish demeanor. But why not, we’re all different and we all have different tastes and we like different things, that’s the beautiful diversity of us people.
But what he performed on the last competition night this Saturday at Stardance, where he is fighting for the post of king of the dance floor together with other well-known faces, already seemed beyond me.
I’ve been watching Stardance for many years, it used to be a family tradition at our house when I was still living with my parents, and I still love this dance competition. I like all the shiny tinsel, the hairy celebrities in beautiful dresses, the agility of the dancers, the effort of the “non-dancers” variety who show that they are not just there “for fun” but really want to learn and watching their progress is inspiring and some of the choreography they have created is beautiful. In fact, I am most interested in the last mentioned in the whole show, I don’t enjoy the jury’s evaluation or the “talkative”, hypercorrect “cotton wool” of the moderators in most cases, and I often engage in some other activity during it.
But I watch this series on Stardance quite continuously, so I can evaluate Patrik Hartl’s performance continuously. At first, it seemed to me that he was the type who came to the competition mainly to enjoy it, and although some of his statements sounded strange and I believe that they could have had a disrespectful effect on someone (Eben’s face, etc.), for me until the last evening of the competition nothing major happened on his part that I would feel the need to dwell on. Gradually, however, his “dibbling” and the vaudeville expression of individual dance creations began to impress me, that it is not so much about the immediacy of a “pure soul”, but that Patrik is trying at all costs, and often to the point of strength, to appear crazy and eccentric.
As if he fit the role of a royal jester.
Even that can still be cool, as I wrote at the beginning, we all have different tastes and I believe that there are many people who like it. But this Saturday I found his behavior not only borderless and embarrassing, but lascivious and disgusting.
When their dance number ended (this evening they danced a couple of quicksteps), and Patrik Hartl and his dance partner Tereza Prucková came to Mark Eben for a short pre-judge interview, the writer was jumping around like a yo-yo (reminding me very much of my former childhood clients who suffered from ADHD, and I deliberately looked in some interview to see if he mentioned something like that in any of them, but I only found that he was diagnosed with obsessive-compulsive disorder in childhood, from which, according to his words, he “grew out of it”), and he acted very nervous.
In the evaluation of the jury, it was heard from the mouth of Jan Tománek that the writer’s pelvis was “a little behind” when dancing the quickstep, after which Hartl’s eyes widened in astonishment and asked: “Where should I put the pelvis?” Yeah, yeah, I already know!” He grabbed his poor dance partner Tereza Prucková, who was clearly not feeling well about the whole situation, pressed her close and indicated the predicted forward movement of her pelvis. Or a live demonstration of how children are made.
The jury laughed convulsively, and in order to maintain the impression that nothing was happening and that she actually found it funny, Prucková also forced herself to smile. Marek Eben subsequently commented on it with a request that the writer should not perform it again.
I honestly felt sorry for Tereza Prucková and I was ashamed of Patrik Hartl. It occurred to me that for this act, the nice Mr. Writer deserved a good kick in the balls instead of a forced smile. It’s different, of course, when it happens in a dance interaction between partners, but this was during a conversation and it was completely inappropriate.
In my opinion, this was no longer about some innocent childish immediacy and boundlessness, with which Patrik Hartl is often associated, but about rudeness, indecency and obscenity.
Because there is nothing at all charming about him treating others without boundaries, without caring about their feelings, and I think the writer could use at least a little self-reflection.
Or the kick in the balls to make him understand that he can’t afford everything.
https://www.ceskatelevize.cz/porady/12701251153-stardance/224544160450005/
https://radiozurnal.rozhlas.cz/novy-film-podle-me-knihy-bude-punk-vsichni-herci-budou-nazi-rika-spisovatel-8174107
Patrik Hartl: A Dance Floor Delight or Disaster?
Ah, Patrik Hartl, the man who waltzed onto the Stardance stage like he was the reincarnation of a hyperactive Victorian jester. Don’t you just love it when YouTube gives you a sneak peek into someone’s life that you never asked for? It’s like a surprise party where the surprise is always mildly uncomfortable. I mean, we all have that one friend, or perhaps an acquaintance—maybe even a cousin twice removed—who can’t help but crack a raucous laugh that sounds like a blender caught in a thunderstorm. And yet, here we are, thrust into the world of Hartl, a literary figure trying desperately to pivot from bookworm to ballroom star.
A Show of Shiny Tinsel and Celebrity Shenanigans
Stardance! Where shiny tinsel meets the not-so-shiny underside of celebrity. This show has a unique way of turning your average Joe into a dancing diva—or at least attempting to. It’s always been a family tradition for many. A time when the living room transforms into a makeshift ballroom, and rather than dancing ourselves, we become experts in couch-side critique. Grab the popcorn; it’s like watching Strictly Come Dancing but with more sequins and questionable haircuts.
As a long-time viewer, I appreciate the dedication of these “non-dancers” who leap onto the dance floor with the agility of a sloth on a sugar high. The effort is inspiring! Sadly, the real joy often lies in the choreography created by professionals, while the celebrity antics leave me reaching for the remote during the jury’s evaluation. And then there’s Hartl: a wild card who entered the competition, embodying the spirit of a kid in a candy store—frantically excited, completely oblivious, and mostly just a tad too much.
When the Line is Crossed
Initially, I thought Hartl was just there to enjoy himself—and why not? We’re all different, right? But as his overzealous “dibbling” started to impress me (not in a good way), it became apparent that he wasn’t merely being his quirky self; he was working a persona that veered dangerously close to a royal jester—without the regal bearing. I mean, a jester should know when to deliver a punchline and when to quit clowning around!
This Saturday, however, I witnessed something that made my toes curl. After a lively quickstep, rather than basking in the glory of performance, Patrik took to the post-dance chat like a dog with a steak. His eye-widening, gaffe-inducing reactions were a rift in the fabric of tasteful entertainment. It wasn’t just innocent spontaneity; it was more akin to an episode of “America’s Funniest Home Videos,” where the punchline makes you question why you’re still watching.
When Humor Turns to Humiliation
The cringeworthy moment came when Hartl misinterpreted the judges’ feedback about his pelvic positioning. In a bizarre attempt at humor, he handled his dance partner like a marionette—complete with awkward thrusts that appeared more suitable for a college frat party than a classy dance competition. And poor Tereza Prucková? She smiled through sheer embarrassment, reminiscent of those poor souls caught in a dad joke spiral.
Laughing pandemonium erupted from the jury—because who wouldn’t want to watch a man demonstrate pelvic thrusts live, right? That’s “entertainment” at its finest, except it wasn’t. It was a cringe fest where the laughter masked discomfort, leaving many, myself included, mortified at the lack of decorum.
Closing Thoughts: Self-Reflection Needed
After such an episode, I had one overwhelming thought: Hartl might need a little self-reflection—or perhaps a swift kick in the proverbial balls. Because treating colleagues and partners with such disregard is far from charming; it smacks of indecency and obscenity. We can appreciate quirks, but there’s a line. And Hartl, you’ve crossed it—possibly doing the cha-cha while you were at it.
So, here’s hoping that Patrik Hartl learns to reign it in a little next time. We can all agree that we don’t need to see a live demonstration of where the pelvis goes during an already awkward interview. Let’s keep the dance floor fun and respectful, shall we?
I hadn’t been specifically searching for him, yet as fate would have it, I didn’t even manage to close my laptop when YouTube inadvertently queued up the next interview featuring him as a Alex Reed. Despite my distaste for his books and his peculiar speaking style, particularly his distinctive raucous laugh that I find grating (each time I hear it, it feels as though he’s tugging at my ears uncomfortably), I must admit that during interviews he comes across as a rather likable and refreshingly candid eccentric, exhibiting a surprisingly youthful demeanor at times. It’s important to acknowledge that we all possess unique tastes and preferences, and therein lies the beauty of human diversity.
However, his performance during the recent competition night on Stardance this Saturday left me utterly perplexed. As he competes alongside various other prominent personalities for the coveted title of dance floor king, his actions seemed to transcend my understanding of acceptable behavior.
Having been an avid viewer of Stardance for many years, I fondly recall how it became a cherished family tradition while I was growing up with my parents. The glitz of shimmering decorations, the vibrant sartorial choices of the celebrities, the elegance and agility of the dancers, and the earnest efforts of the so-called “non-dancers” striving to prove they were not merely participating for fun but genuinely wanting to learn, all continue to captivate me. Their progress is nothing short of inspiring, and many of the choreographies they craft are truly exquisite. My primary interest throughout the series tends to revolve around the choreography itself; I often find myself disengaged during the jury’s critiques or the overly polished banter of the moderators.
Despite my usual continual viewing of the Stardance series, my assessment of Patrik Hartl’s participation remains ongoing. Initially, he gave off the impression of someone who entered the competition primarily to relish the experience, and while some of his comments struck me as odd—perhaps even disrespectful to others involved—nothing in particular prompted me to dwell on his actions until the final evening of competition. Gradually, however, his increasingly flamboyant and vaudevillian expressions during his dance performances began to strike me as less about genuine spontaneity and more as an exaggerated attempt to appear quirky and eccentric.
It was as if he were embracing the role of a royal jester.
While such antics may appeal to a segment of the audience, I found his behavior during last Saturday’s show not just excessive but also embarrassing, verging on lascivious.
After Patrik Hartl and his dancing partner, Tereza Prucková, concluded their quickstep routine, their brief pre-judging interview with Mark Eben left much to be desired. Hartl seemed to bounce around excitedly, reminiscent of childhood clients I once knew who struggled with ADHD. I looked for any mention of such a diagnosis in previous interviews but instead found he had been diagnosed with obsessive-compulsive disorder in his youth, which he claims he has outgrown. His overt nervousness during the segment was palpable.
During the jury’s feedback, Jan Tománek remarked that Hartl’s pelvis was “a little behind” while performing the quickstep. Hartl’s wide-eyed reaction was both astonishing and cringe-worthy, as he inquired, “Where should I put the pelvis?” before audaciously illustrating the dance move by pressing his partner Tereza closely against him, indicating the suggested forward positioning of her pelvis in a manner that felt incredibly inappropriate.
While the jury laughed awkwardly, Tereza, visibly unsettled by the entire exchange, forced a smile to mask her discomfort. Marek Eben, attempting to retain some semblance of decorum, urged Hartl not to repeat such an indiscretion.
Watching this unfold, I felt a wave of sympathy for Tereza Prucková and genuine embarrassment for Patrik Hartl. It seemed to me that he deserved a sharp reprimand rather than any forced laughter. There’s a stark difference between playful dance interactions and making inappropriate gestures during a serious conversation, and this was clearly the latter.
In my view, his actions had surpassed innocent spontaneity and veered into the realms of rudeness, indecency, and crude behavior.
There is ultimately nothing charming about him disregarding the feelings of his peers, and I believe that a touch of introspection would serve Patrik Hartl well.
Perhaps a sharp kick in the rear would help him realize that he cannot act without constraints.
A diagnosis, as his erratic movements and inappropriate humor danced dangerously close to the line of decorum.
What should have been a moment of triumph—the thrill of finishing a lively routine—quickly spiraled into a caricature of himself. As he grinned ear to ear, seemingly oblivious to the thresholds of acceptable behavior, I couldn’t help but feel a potent mix of cringe and empathy for Tereza. There she was, his partner, forced to endure the brunt of his exuberance, navigating the treacherous waters of dance and dignity in front of an audience.
Hartl’s penchant for humor, which in many contexts can be charming, turned sour when he misjudged the room. His attempts at levity following the judges’ critique felt wildly out of place. Instead of engaging in a respectful conversation about their performance, he launched into exaggerated gestures, mimicking and embellishing feedback that was clearly intended to encourage improvement. This wasn’t the light-hearted interaction typical of the show; it was an exhibition of his own self-amusement that overshadowed the shared experience of dance.
The environment of Stardance, which fosters a sense of celebration and togetherness among participants, seemed to falter under Hartl’s antics. The chaos his actions unleashed robbed the moment of sincerity, shifting the focus from the art of dance to a slapstick performance that detracted from the entire experience. The enthusiasm of others was dampened, and the laughter that erupted from the judges felt more like a misguided acknowledgment of a social faux pas than genuine amusement.
In retrospect, it’s evident that Hartl’s overwhelming need for entertaining appeared to eclipse the essence of dance and partnership. There’s an inherent beauty in the connection between dancers—a silent language expressed through movement and mutual respect. By overstepping boundaries and disregarding Tereza’s comfort, Hartl undermined what could have been a notable moment both for himself and for his partner.
This incident serves as a reminder that while exuberance and individuality are often celebrated in entertainment, they must be tempered with consideration for those involved. As viewers, we are drawn to the spectacle of Stardance not just for the performance but for the stories of growth, collaboration, and the sheer joy of dance.
In closing, venue etiquette is paramount. Keep the joy alive, Patrik, but let’s save the impromptu demonstrations for either rehearsals or a more private setting. Some lines, once crossed, are hard to erase, especially when they involve shared experiences meant for enjoyment and celebration. Let’s keep the dance floor a place of elegance, respect, and, above all, shared joy.
