Czech documentarian Tatana Markova says she became intrigued by her subject in “The Kingdom of Soap Bubbles” – an ancient, almost forgotten, great bohemian dynasty – after meeting one of its potential heirs.
“One of the protagonists in my latest film, ‘Libussa Unbound,’ was the American director and producer Constantin Werner. He told me family stories and I found them so appealing that I wanted to know more about the Schicht family from which he came.”
The name Schicht was once known in every household in what is now the Czech Republic and Slovakia – and far beyond. It rose to prominence during the final days of the Habsburg Empire, built around the phenomenal success of entrepreneur Georg Schicht, who founded a soap factory in what is now Rynoltice.
With bold innovations such as Elida cosmetics and Kalodont toothpaste, sourcing coconut and palm oil from Africa, brilliant branding and marketing with a wholesome billboard and clever silent film promotions, the Schicht brand eventually became synonymous with “easy, cheap and clean” in homes around the world.
And its flagship product, “deer soap,” known for its distinctive leaping deer symbol, was almost as recognizable in the early 20th century as Apple or Starbucks are today.
Today, only a shell remains of the family’s industrial base and its neighboring mansion in the Czech town of Usti nad Labem – known during the family’s Habsburg heyday as Aussig.
And it is in the dark halls and corridors of these buildings, almost bare, that Markova’s camera turns as her documentary opens, in competition in the Czech Joy section of the Ji.hlava film festival.
She started writing in 2019, just in time to deal with the challenges of COVID lockdowns, Markova says, but she soon faced another difficulty almost as great.
She wanted to film the company’s heirs venturing into the old family home, she says, but “the descendants of the Schicht entrepreneurial family are spread all over the world and are very busy. It is not possible for them to travel to the Czech Republic often.”
There was also a long way to go: the founding of Czechoslovakia after World War I “did not benefit the Schichts,” as the film recounts, plunging them into the middle of a linguistic power struggle in which the German language was no longer to be officially used and many resented anything that was not Slavic.
The Schichts managed to survive and thrive, starting the company, merging with Unilever, founding a cinema, building international networks and even taking flight in airplane races.
But with World War II looming and the company located in the middle of what Nazi Germany would call the Sudetenland, the family would find themselves in an increasingly dangerous world – in fact, with the advent of the Third Reich, the Schicht company was under pressure to prove itself Aryan – and even to work on V1 rocket components, Markova says.
Didn’t she have the right to ask questions about any of these topics? “No,” Markova said. “They were very open.”
After the war, Czech citizens of German origin were expelled from Czechoslovakia and their land and property seized.
“This collective guilt applied to the whole family,” says Markova. “Georg Schicht’s Ústí nad Labem property was confiscated after World War II, despite the fact that he lived in London, held British citizenship and his sons had fought in the British army.
“I use memories from Eleonore Schicht’s diary and a written recommendation from Foreign Minister Jan Masaryk in the film to demonstrate this fact.”
With the country soon under Soviet control, successful capitalists such as the Schichts were considered public enemies – and the factory became the state-owned Setuza. Moreover, after the Velvet Revolution of 1989, Czechs whose property was seized by the state were allowed to recover much of it through a restitution system – but not ethnic Germans who lost it under the postwar Benes Decrees.
“The Benes Decrees, which legally expelled Germans from Czechoslovakia after World War II, were never repealed; there were no procedures for restitution of the property of Czech Germans.”
The Schicht family moved into other businesses and investments in London, Zurich and even Brazil after World War II, and eventually did well enough to be able to buy back the old family home in Usti, which they plan to open to the public, they say.
In this town, at least, they were never forgotten, Markova says, in part because the company was known for its socially responsible local investments, building housing for its workers, a community pool, and much more.
“In 2006, the so-called ‘Soap King’ Johann Schicht won a local survey,” says Markova, “for Australia’s most important citizen over the last 150 years, so many people know his name. Apart from Ústí nad Labem, there aren’t many.”
“Johann Schicht (the company director in the generation after founder Georg) was a visionary and a philanthropist. He had a connection to the place where he had his business, his son Heinrich as well. This is not the case with many contemporary entrepreneurs.”
“A once-famous name may fade into oblivion, a large industrial empire may burst like a bubble, but some intangible values, such as social responsibility and philanthropy, can be passed down from generation to generation,” says Markova.
“It is a beautiful act of respect towards the ancestors to purchase their villa with the vision of opening it to the public.”
