Written by: Sonja Staničić
Photos: Ines Novković & Private Arhive
…
He’s been called the eternal youth of the domestic music scene, a master of chanson and schlager, a Don Juan of his time, and a cabaret icon—thanks to whom cabaret has experienced a revival in Zagreb’s nightlife.
Zagreb-born singer and songwriter Miro Ungar is a well-known name in the Croatian music scene and one of the few musical veterans who gained fame not only in Yugoslavia during the 1960s and 70s but also across Europe. His solo discography includes over 200 songs, and he recorded records in France, West Germany, Italy, Bulgaria, and the Soviet Union. He sang in Italian, French, English, German, and Russian, won first prizes at music festivals, and performed with the biggest stars of the era.
Starting in 1965, he built a successful career in France, and for nearly a decade lived in Paris with his then-wife, singer Tereza Kesovija, and their son Alan.
He performed under the pseudonym Tim Twinkleberry and, among other things, recorded his first solo record in Paris for the Barclay record label.
As a co-founder and member of the former Quartet 4M—one of the most popular European show groups of the 1960s, which included Ivica Krajač (“Mali”), Branko Marušić (“Medo”), and Željko Ružić (“Muki”)—he toured the world on concert tours with the band and recorded over 60 vinyl
records.
In addition to their top-notch vocal performances, the 4M members were also known for their humorous stage presence, pantomime, dance, and acting, which once made them an international television sensation. The chorus of their hit song “Idem i ja… Ne, ti ne” (“I’m coming too… No, not you”) is still jokingly quoted today—five decades later—in everyday situations.
Now in his 88th year, Miro Ungar still radiates charm, vitality, and optimism, and his passion for new projects and musical performances hasn’t faded. He openly admits to being a hedonist “of the highest calibre,” who cannot live without good food, fine wines, and French cheeses.
Always polished and distinguished, with gentlemanly manners and impeccable outfits in a sporty-elegant style, our interviewee evokes memories of true Zagreb gentlemen and old-school charmers. He strives to live actively, stay social, and keep up with cultural events, and is a frequent guest at theatre premieres, art exhibitions, book promotions, and jazz concerts.
He is often accompanied by his wife Sara, who, as he says, is his greatest support in everything—both privately and professionally. The media often comment with fondness on their age difference, but Ungar doesn’t pay much attention to it. “Well, you see, I’m young at heart and I get along great with young people, and Sara likes a more serious, older generation, so we’re a perfect match,” he says with a smile.
We meet Ungar at the Komedija Theatre Club (formerly the Jazz & Cabaret Club Kontesa), located at the corner of Ban Jelačić Square and Cesarčeva Street, where his popular cabaret shows have been running for the past seven years. He is the producer, director, and host of the show—writing scripts, choosing acts, and selecting musical numbers. From the first show, “Let’s Go to Broadway”, through “Cabaret à la Zagreb”, which brought the charm and warmth of early 20th-century Zagreb to life, to “Esprit de Paris”, infused with the spirit of Paris, and now his latest, “Orient Express”—Ungar’s cabarets are a hit across all generations and a guarantee of a great night out.
As we warm up for the interview and watch the crew busily preparing the stage for the evening program, Ungar smiles and jokingly complains about sore muscles he got from playing tennis yesterday. He’s been playing regularly for decades, he says—twice a week—but lately only doubles, as singles matches have become too demanding.
Few people know that in his youth he was also active in water polo and skiing. Do you still swim or ski?
“I swim, but not in pools—only in the sea, and only in my beloved Novigrad in Istria, where I’ve spent my summers for about 30 years. I was even declared an honorary citizen there and awarded a plaque.”
When it comes to skiing, I stopped completely about eight years ago.
Not so much out of fear of injury, but more to avoid catching colds. You see, it can get extremely cold in the mountains, and during a ski descent, you sweat quite a bit. Then, when your body cools down on the lift ride, you can easily get chilled.
In December 2017, I began working on my first cabaret show, Let’s Go to Broadway, which includes a dance ensemble, stand-up comedians, acrobats, and singers. The performance of all 15 of those people depends on my health, and I didn’t want to take any risks with skiing. And do you know how many shows have been cancelled in the past seven years? Just one! I was genuinely sick that time. Sure, there were occasions when I caught a virus during the week, but thankfully, that would clear up before the weekend. As soon as it was showtime—there I was, back on stage!
Audiences have enthusiastically welcomed your latest project in collaboration with the Komedija Theatre—Orient Express, which premiered in early April.
It features a cast of 14 dancers and top-tier singers, with you in the role of conductor and a kind of “Master of Ceremonies.” How did the project come together?
It was inspired by the famous train that ran from Paris to Istanbul from the 1920s to the 1960s. It’s a romantic musical journey that portrays and evokes ten cities through which the train passed—Paris, Lausanne, Milan, Verona, Venice, Trieste, Ljubljana, Zagreb, Vinkovci, Belgrade, Sofia, and Istanbul.
Since the Orient Express connected half of the European continent, we close the show with Insieme by Toto Cutugno—a symbol of unity and a message to today’s world that we are stronger together.
Compared to my previous cabarets, this one has more dialogue, so the performers needed to have acting talent in addition to musical skills. That’s why I brought in two girls from the Zagreb Academy of Dramatic Art. In short, the entire cast turned out to be absolutely brilliant!
I set the story in the year 1929, when the world-famous cabaret singer Josephine Baker performed at the Esplanade Hotel in Zagreb, having arrived on that very train.
Since the Esplanade is celebrating its 100th anniversary this year—and it was originally built because of the Orient Express—the central act of the show takes place right in the Esplanade Hotel. The set design for that part is a replica of the Emerald Ballroom, which in my youth we affectionately called “Rundsala” because of its round shape.
So, in your youth, you had the chance to attend glamorous parties at the Esplanade?
Of course.
And did you ever personally ride the Orient Express?
Yes, I did, but at the time, it didn’t seem particularly luxurious. It was a relatively simple train, and the prices were quite reasonable—only slightly higher than those of regular passenger or express trains.
On one occasion, I travelled with 4M from London to Rome—we were heading to perform in a major show on Italy’s national broadcaster, RAI. We travelled to Milan, where we changed trains for Rome, and the Orient continued on to Venice and beyond. I’ve also ridden in the sleeper cars of the Orient Express from Zagreb to Belgrade…
Basically, we didn’t perceive that train ride as anything particularly special. It was only later that the Orient Express became a spectacle and an icon of luxury that few can afford today.
Your previous cabaret, Esprit de Paris, has been on the repertoire for over five years, yet audience interest still hasn’t faded. In addition to outstanding singers and a dance ensemble, the show also features a circus artist, a pole dancer, a hula hoop master, and a satirist—with you as the host. Do you feel that Zagreb lacks cabaret content and similar musical-theatrical formats?
Occasionally, you can find performances offering an alternative cabaret-style program, but they target a very different audience. At Kontesa, we’ve cultivated a very defined, classy, urban Zagreb crowd. People reserve tables, order drinks, and enjoy our program—they laugh, and even learn something. Our audience ranges in age from young people seeking a more sophisticated type of entertainment, to elderly gentlemen in their 80s. Which is not surprising, considering the host is 88! (laughs)
So cabaret is back in style! That must be exciting…
I believe I’m largely responsible for the revival of the cabaret scene. The whole story started in 2017 when I held a big concert to mark 60 years of my career, accompanied by the HRT Jazz Orchestra on the stage of the Komedija Theatre. Even before that, I would include visually striking numbers in my concerts—like Don Pasquale and Old America, where I sang, danced, and acted.
At that event, the then-mayor Milan Bandić was in attendance. Afterwards, he told me they were renovating a city space in downtown Zagreb to turn it into a jazz & cabaret club. After seeing my performance, he decided I’d be the perfect person to lead the project. He asked me to come up with a cabaret show by the end of the year—and that’s how it all began.
Thus, Cabaret à la Zagreb was born, perfectly timed with the booming success of Zagreb’s Advent. I incorporated lots of local flavour, songs from Tko pjeva zlo ne misli, from Grička vještica … It turned out to be a major hit!
You’re known for your talent in musical-theatrical performance, but it’s less known that you once studied at the Academy of Dramatic Arts in Zagreb.
Yes, I managed to pass the tough entrance exam, but I only stayed for one year. I had started performing intensively with 4M, and it became impossible to juggle classes and touring.
In my class were Uglješa Kojadinović, Fahro Konjhodžić, Edita Karađole, Julije Perlaki, Ivan Lovriček… They all stayed in theatre and went on to have great acting careers.
Do you ever regret giving up acting?
Not at all—it turned out to be a great decision! Later, I graduated from the Faculty of Humanities and Social Sciences with a degree in English and Italian. I’ve always had a knack for languages. I learned Russian in school, and it came in handy during a two-month tour with 4M across the Soviet Union in 1967. That’s where I really perfected it… by socializing with Russian women, of course. (laughs)
I also speak German quite well. When I was a kid, my parents would speak German to each other—especially when they didn’t want me to understand their more private conversations. My father was born in Zagreb, and my mother was from Đurđevac, in the Podravina region.
My mother grew up in Bjelovar. Her parents were well-off and sent her to a boarding school in Austria, so she often read books in German—even those printed in Gothic script.
With 4M, I later performed extensively in Germany from 1959 onward, especially at American military bases. We stayed in civilian apartments and rooms, socialized a lot with Germans, and that’s how I learned the language.
You lived in Paris for a full nine years. What led to the decision to move there? What memories do you carry from that time?
I arrived in Paris in 1965, just a week after finishing my military service. Actually, that military stint was quite an adventure—I served in Belgrade along with my bandmates Muki, Medo, and our pianist Branko Bulić. Ivica Krajač wasn’t with us; he got out of it due to an injury he’d sustained as a young gymnast.
We were stationed in the Army House (Dom armije), sleeping in a large hall at the top of a tower in central Belgrade.
Word soon spread around town that 4M was serving the army there, and we were invited to perform with the Army House’s large ensemble. Bulić replaced Krajač on vocals. It was a revue-style orchestra, and we toured with them through then-Czechoslovakia, Poland… all while still in uniform! Can you imagine? We were even allowed to change into civilian clothes for performances.
Eventually, we were invited aboard the ship Galeb to travel with Tito to Algeria on an official state visit to their president, entertaining the guests. We performed only on the first night because as soon as we entered the Mediterranean, we were hit by a violent storm—giant waves tossed us around for four days and we were all terribly seasick. I’ll never forget that trip. The return journey was a bit better, but Tito decided to fly back by plane instead! (laughs)
By that time, our quartet was already winding down, and I made my way to Paris, where my then-wife Tereza Kesovija was waiting with our two-and-a-half-year-old son. She was building her career there and recording albums.
Apart from merci and bonjour, I didn’t speak a word of French. I enrolled in a French course for foreigners and slowly started looking for gigs. It wasn’t easy. I managed to land a few jobs in restaurants and cabarets, and my first performance was at a cabaret-style restaurant called Tsarevitch, which focused on Russian and gypsy music.
I had learned a few Russian songs and performed them as part of their show. While waiting for my turn, I’d chat with the other performers and pick up French along the way.
But I didn’t stay in that course for more than three weeks—I didn’t have the focus or patience to sit and study. I picked up the basics and learned the rest through conversation…
Eventually, my music career started picking up steam, and in 1968 I recorded my first record in Paris for the renowned Barclay label. That’s the same label where Serge Gainsbourg, Charles Aznavour, and Jacques Brel recorded.
I performed under the pseudonym Tim Twinkleberry, which was given to me by my artistic director, an Englishman. I wasn’t too fond of the name, but he insisted on it because of my Anglo-Saxon singing style. That’s the only name I’m remembered by in France.
I returned to Zagreb in 1974. I had separated from Tereza a year earlier, but stayed in Paris with our son until he finished school.
During that time, we had help from Tereza’s cousin Marija, who looked after Alan while I occasionally travelled to perform in Russia and East Germany.
In the French capital, you attended numerous spectacular cabaret performances. Is that where your love for the art form began?
My connection with cabaret actually began much earlier—in Zagreb. With 4M, I performed at the Varieté (today’s Satirical Theater Kerempuh), where actor and comedian Viki Glovacki organized such programs. We became incredibly popular.
Soon after that, we got a gig in Vienna, in 1958, at the Casanova cabaret, followed by performances at the Viennese variété in the Ronacher Theater, in a show that gathered some of the world’s top performers.
We performed for a full two weeks in Antwerp at the Ancienne Belgique concert hall alongside French singing star Line Renaud.
As a soloist, I performed in 1976 at Friedrichstadt-Palast, a massive venue in East Berlin that, interestingly enough, once hosted Hitler’s speeches before being converted into a concert hall… All of that left a deep impression on me and led me to truly fall in love with cabaret.
Next year, you’ll mark 70 years in your career. Could you highlight some of the most memorable moments and recognitions you look back on fondly?
That’s a tough one, but here’s a few:
A special memory for me is winning the Music Cup in Bern in 1970, together with Ljupka Dimitrovska and Tereza Kesovija, where we took first place among competitors from 12 countries.
I also fondly remember the Viña del Mar music festival in Chile, where in 1971 I won first prize competing against 27 nations. That was a truly stellar moment for me.
Taking second place at the Golden Orpheus festival in Bulgaria was a major stepping stone for my career there. After that came first prize at the Bratislavská lýra festival and third prize at the Spring in Tel Aviv festival.
Which international musicians do you admire the most? Who left a lasting impression on you? And what do you listen to today?
I remember being really impressed by Johnny Hallyday, the French singer who always stood out with his spectacular, grand performances. In the world of pop singers, he had the energy of a true rocker.
I was also blown away by Sammy Davis Jr.—the American singer, impersonator, and showman. In my opinion, he’s the greatest entertainer of all time. I saw him perform at the Olympia in Paris.
He, Frank Sinatra, and Dean Martin—they were real icons.
I’m proud to say I had the chance to perform for three days in Chemnitz, Germany, alongside Caterina Valente, the greatest European entertainer and singer of her time.
Even today, I love the late Tony Bennett. My wife and I saw his concert a few years ago at the Olympia in Paris.
We also attended a concert by American star Barry Manilow in London—I have ten of his albums at home.
So, you’re a vinyl lover as well?
Of course. Vinyl is vinyl.
And which Croatian musicians do you hold in special regard?
I admire the older generation of singers—Massimo, Gibonni, Oliver. They stood out with their singing styles, musical expression, and unique vocal colour. They are truly in a league of their own.
They’re true interpreters—you can feel the sincerity in their music.
That’s what makes them different and special.
As a little curiosity, I can mention that in 1975, Oliver Dragojević accompanied me as a musician on a tour through the USSR…
You’re often described as one of the “old-school serial romantics,” having been married four times. From your first marriage, you have a son; from the second, a son and a daughter; and you’re also a proud grandfather to five grandchildren. Have any of your descendants inherited your musical talent?
My older son, Alan, is very musical. When he sings among friends, it’s a show! When he was seven years old, we recorded the song “Tata, Ti me voliš” which remains a hit to this day. We recently sang it at the Voltino Library for Father’s Day. Children, parents, even grandparents sang along in unison. That song will live forever—it’s so warm. I was on the verge of tears, completely overcome with emotion and nostalgia.
My younger son, Daniel, doesn’t sing, but he’s a top-tier athlete and a certified tennis and ski coach—he’s always winning trophies…
With my grandson Martin, who’s a rapper under the stage name Lermi, I perform his song “Maksimir.”
After a lively life, you finally found a peaceful harbour and great love in your current wife, Sara, with whom you’ve been happily married for 25 years. You once said that for a relationship to work, you need to accept your partner’s flaws and habits—even if they drive you crazy. So, what are your flaws that Sara, so to speak, has accepted?
If it weren’t for my wife, I probably wouldn’t be doing what I’m doing today—I wouldn’t be this vital or this happy. She keeps me young, fills me with her cheerfulness and positive energy, and I can talk to her about anything. She also helps me tremendously with logistics, organization, and marketing.
And what bothers her about me? Well, for one, I’m the kind of guy who looks for a hair in the egg—when someone’s explaining something to me, I question every little detail to the point of driving them crazy. And then there’s another… let’s call it a “flaw.” In recent years—which is pretty fitting for my age and for the frequencies I’ve been surrounded by my whole life—I’ve been hearing a bit less. We’ve dealt with that recently by getting me a small hearing aid. Now I can’t pretend I didn’t hear my wife anymore! (laughs)
Sara also gets pretty exasperated by the fact that I’ve always been a “last-minute person.” I get ready at the very last moment, I’m constantly rushing, but I always make it—at the last second. Like today, half an hour before this interview, I was still at home. Sara was already in a panic, losing her mind, because she’s someone who can’t stand being late and always leaves early.
She suggested we call a taxi, which I refused, because from Ilica—where we live—it’s a five- or six-minute tram ride to the Square. And look, we arrived even ahead of time.
You ride the tram?
Of course! I’m a citizen of this city and I often use public transport. I have no problem riding “with the people,” unlike some others. I love Zagreb—I live it with my whole being. Zagreb and I are two charmers, as my song says.
I also have a song called “Zagrebacki krovovi stari,” which I recorded some time ago and still perform often. I also recorded “Grade moj”, and—
“Hey, My Zagreb.”
Together with my grandson Martin, I perform his previously mentioned song “Maksimir.” I sing about this city—I was born here, my father was born here…
And then it happens that the Zagreb City Department of Culture, in last year’s grant competition for co-financing the cabaret “Orient Express”—for which I submitted a detailed synopsis in which Zagreb plays a central role—didn’t award me a single cent.
Clearly, they don’t have an ear for this kind of work, even though my cabaret performances enrich the cultural offerings of our city and bring high-quality, distinctive content. That truly saddens me.
Do you generally feel that you gained more recognition and more ambitious engagements abroad than at home?
Looking back, I do feel that I’ve been somewhat overlooked by radio stations, which seemed to pigeonhole me into the “schlager and cheap entertainment” drawer. Yet I recorded very high-quality songs—over 200 of them—for Croatia Records, for Aquarius Records, but for some reason, they rarely got airplay. Of the 12 songs I recorded in Paris, not one ever aired on Zagreb radio.
Maybe I’m partly to blame—I never pushed myself, never tried to force my way in. Maybe I even unconsciously neglected the domestic scene a bit, since it was easier to earn a living abroad, and performances were often more exciting, with stunning stage production.
In that context, just the other day I asked myself: why have I never once been invited to perform as a guest on the show A strana?
Still, when I add it all up, I can’t say I’m not satisfied with my career. I’m proud to have performed all over the world—and not just for the Croatian diaspora, as many do today—but for the native audiences of all those countries.
And it brings me great joy that, even in these later years of life, I am still creating, still writing, still singing, and still performing.
