She never attempted to live up to expectations. Uršula Kluková gained notoriety on stage for her unique laugh and witty timing, but her refusal to sugarcoat life’s sacrifices may be her most defining characteristic off-stage. She is frequently characterized as being refreshingly honest—a lady who talks from an awareness of who she is.
She talks about Jakub Fiala, her only son, with remarkable emotional lucidity. Jakub, who was born during her first marriage to the late director Pavel Fiala, has followed his own route into maturity, slightly deviating from the norm. Throughout his life, Uršula has never complained about his decisions. Instead, despite her recognition that he is unlikely to produce her grandchildren, she expresses a sort of subdued appreciation for his independence.
Uršula Kluková – Her Son, Her Solitude, and a Life Unfolding Honestly
| Name | Uršula Kluková |
|---|---|
| Born | 1941, Nová Ruda, Poland |
| Occupation | Actress, Comedian |
| Notable Works | Semafor Theatre, Blue Code, Love on Demand |
| Children | One son, Jakub Fiala |
| Marriages | Twice married, both ended in divorce |
| Known Quote | “My son is just a Spartan.” |
| Reference |
She once stated calmly and definitively, “I believe that my son doesn’t even have the capacity to have a family.” Her voice has recognition in it, not resentment. Instead of making fun of him, she refers to him as “a Spartan,” painting a picture of an independent, possibly emotionally detached man who is uninterested in customary fatherhood or household duties.
Uršula has consistently opted for accuracy over the past few decades, when many actresses in her position could have sidestepped such concerns or padded them with hopeful optimism. As if to put an end to her story before anybody else could, she said, “I don’t even feel sorry that I’m not and will never be a grandmother.”
Having spent a lifetime playing characters with lots of personality, that type of emotional self-containment feels very pertinent. Her acting career was always about unique characters who were quirky but lovable and frequently rooted in something very human, not glamorous leads. Her reputation was established on her presence rather than her pretense.
Few would have imagined this career when she was younger. She was born in Nová Ruda, Poland, and the effects of the war had an impact on her early years. In pursuit of stability and safety, her parents left Romania. Long before she ever set foot on a professional stage, she completed her nursing training and worked in a tuberculosis unit. Not until her husband introduced her to Kladivo, an amateur theater group, did a creative spark ignite within her. Later, both she and the ensemble became professionals.
Theater helped her build lifelong relationships. The most notable of these is her long-standing friendship with actor Jiří Krampol. She once remarked, “When I moved to Prague in 1974, he was the first actor I ever performed with.” Because their friendship was never sexual, it stayed unusually steady despite their shared stages and occasional turbulence, including cohabitation after a divorce and international tours.
Nine years were spent in her first marriage. Also, her second ended. She has openly acknowledged that she doesn’t match the stereotype of a conventional wife. She eventually learned to love isolation rather than view it as a void. Regarding marriage, she stated, “I just wasn’t suited for that kind of life.”
She has backed off in recent years from the routine of back-to-back filming or daily rehearsals. But she hasn’t vanished. She starred in well-known shows like Blue Code and Doctors from the Beginnings, and more recently, she agreed to play a part in the movie Love on Demand. Her life still involves acting, but it no longer dictates her schedule.
Food still matters—possibly more than positions or honors. She is renowned for her enduring love of Czech food. She cooks because it gives her a tangible connection rather than for Instagram. While many other things have changed or diminished, such as marriages, phases, and expectations, food has persisted.
She does not convey disappointment or longing when discussing Jakub. Instead, a sort of mature tranquility emerges. Her approach is especially relevant—and remarkably effective in calming the din of cultural expectations—for a generation of parents coming to terms with the possibility that their children won’t be able to repeat their goals or start families of their own.
She has chosen to live alone. She seldom ever takes on long-term tasks. She no longer tries to impress and moves at her own speed. It appears that her desire to be honest about herself, her kid, and what she’s learnt to let go has significantly enhanced her legacy as an artist and a woman.
Uršula Kluková reminds us that presence, perspective, and honesty can contribute to meaning in a society that is too eager to associate parenthood with fulfillment. And that raising a mirror image is not always a requirement of motherhood. Raising a Spartan sometimes entails loving him for who he is.
