The sound arrives before the image. Up Again, a Czech documentary world-premiered at the Ji.hlava International Documentary Film Festival, opens in the dark with blades carving into the ice at high speed. It is a choice that immediately defines the perspective of director Eliška Cílková Andršová: portraying figure skating not from the stands, nor merely through competitive results, but from the physical and auditory standpoint of those living inside a discipline that consumes time, space, and relationships.
At the center of the film is Barbora Vránková, a young Czech figure skating champion. The camera follows her for three years, from age 15 to 18, as her journey takes on an increasingly international dimension: first the experience at a training center in Egna, Italy, then her time in the United States. The athletic trajectory is that of a rising talent, but the documentary also looks at the daily cost of that rise, for the young woman and her family.
The strength of the project lies in the tangible subject matter it chooses to portray. School classes take place online, days include physiotherapy and training sessions governed by strict discipline, while ordinary life must fit around the demands of competitive sports. A triple jump lasts just a few seconds, the director notes, but embodies years of physical preparation and mental solitude. It is in this gap between the brevity of execution and the duration of unseen work that Up Again finds its theme.
Access earned on the ice
Cílková Andršová does not approach the subject as an outsider to that environment. She competed in figure skating in the past, an experience that gave her familiarity with the discipline's technical vocabulary and scoring system. Meeting Vránková took place right on the rink, when the athlete was the reigning Czech national champion. That initial acquaintance grew into a gradual relationship with the skater and her family, ultimately earning the trust needed to film both the athletic journey and the most ordinary aspects of their lives.
That relationship is crucial for practical reasons as well. Elite figure skating is an environment that is scarcely permeable to outside presences, and the international center in Egna, where filming began, enforces particularly restrictive rules: on some occasions, not even parents are allowed to watch training sessions. Entering with a crew, and above all maintaining a presence discreet enough not to alter behavior, therefore required a delicate balance.
Furthermore, the protagonist is at an age where the boundary between personal identity and competitive identity is still taking shape. Following her between the ages of 15 and 18 means recording a transition that involves more than just an increase in technical difficulty. Expectations rise, travel pulls her away from home, and the entire family routine must adapt to an increasingly demanding athletic pursuit. The film chooses not to reduce this process to a linear narrative of success, allowing the pressure underpinning every step forward to surface instead.
The rink as a cinematic device
The footage on the ice is one of the production's most challenging elements. The director describes extremely difficult technical conditions: filming a skater in motion along fast, curving trajectories requires balancing precision, safety, and proximity. In the film, the camera accompanies Vránková across the rink, pursuing a physicality that conveys the acceleration and instability inherent to the routine, rather than merely documenting it from a fixed position.
This formal work is inseparable from the narrative. In figure skating, every movement is scrutinized in detail, and an exhibition must appear fluid even when it stems from rigorously controlled training. Opting for close, dynamic shots enables Up Again to capture that tension: the grace demanded by the performance coexists with the exertion, repetition, and the risk of making a mistake.
Sound plays an equally structural role. The scraping of the blades returns throughout the film as a recurring motif, because, according to Cílková Andršová, Vránková mentally remains on the ice even when she is elsewhere. Ambient sounds blend with the noises of the ice, never treated as mere background accompaniment. For the director, sound is a way to explore the complexities of performance, expectations, and the search for a personal place in a world that constantly measures individuals by results.
It is a sensitivity already present in the filmmaker's previous documentary, Pripyat Piano, dedicated to the acoustic landscape remaining around pianos in the abandoned homes of the Chernobyl exclusion zone. In Up Again, that method is shifted to a very different, more intimate context: not a place emptied of its inhabitants, but a young body constantly required to meet external standards.
The sports documentary beyond the podium
The audiovisual industry's interest in Up Again also lies in its departure from the most common models of sports storytelling. In the materials emerging from the festival, there are no indications of a narrative built on celebrating milestones or a string of victories. Rather, the film's core is the process: what is lost, what is negotiated, and what remains off-camera when a young girl attempts to turn a calling into an international career.
The three-year shooting duration allows the director not to force an immediate reading of the protagonist. Access to the family and continuous observation yield a narrative capable of bringing together training sessions, travel, and domestic moments. For documentary filmmaking, where access is often the condition that determines the depth and credibility of a perspective, this is a significant factor: intimacy is not achieved through a single interview, but built over time.
The debut at Ji.hlava places the film in one of the European contexts most attentive to forms of auteur documentary. For now, the world premiere marks the first public screening of Up Again; available information reveals no details regarding distribution, theatrical release, or platform availability. The festival presentation will therefore also serve to gauge the reception of a work that uses the story of a promising young skater to examine the relationship between excellence, adolescence, and the camera's gaze.
The decision to open with darkness and the sound of blades epitomises the film's approach. Before the flawless routine, before the score, and before any medal, there is a body moving across the ice. Up Again starts there to make visible what risks remaining hidden beneath the glossy imagery of competition.
