NinadeL

This amusing fragment based on the novel "Babičky" by Božena Němcová was its first adaptation. However, when compared to the pathetic sound version and the crazy color version, I consider this a good experiment. The cheerful, bearded huntsman would not have had a chance to charm, let alone pick up any girl, except Elén Hadrbolcová, for whom he might have been fatal.

Lovely. And as with many of the better films of this era, Cutting It Short benefits from fewer reruns.

Prince Bajaja is Kachlík's dark and gothic version of the classic fairy tale by Božena Němcová. This more modern Bajaja offers a certain romantic civility in a fairy-tale setting. The circumstances of the casting of many Slovak actors and their previous work with Vláčil are interesting, as is Magda's princess Slavěna. She’s not passive or emancipated, instead, she’s just cheerful, ethereal, and charming enough. The ending in the ferns is very tender and it made me hold my breath. The film as a whole is better suited for older, more thoughtful children.

This is a Hřebejk film? I'm pleasantly surprised. It is fantastic what he has been able to achieve, especially from the return of Jana Brejchová and Jiří Schmitzer. Aňa is traditionally great, but alongside Josef Abrhám she achieved a new position. Bravo!

The great return of the great Menzel. Jiří hasn't done much in the last 20 years, but when he has, it's been worth a look. Personally, I adore The End of Old Times and The Beggar's Opera, so I have no problem accepting I Served the King of England into this rank. He attracted well-deserved attention and reminded people in a poetic spirit that the period during Second World War was not black and white. For that alone, he deserves my thanks. This is because all the other essential ingredients like the setting and overall period believability were fulfilled to the max. Of the actors, I would particularly single out Huba and Dulava.

A strange film that Hřebejk considered to be his best of his time. In it, there’s a strange mix of scenes, situations, over-familiar actors, and bad color filters. However, Miloš Forman praised it, and his brother also appeared in it.

A world of poetic rhymes in the Werich style adapted for the 1960s. It is difficult to assess whether it was wise to look for an intersection between the Liberated Theater and Jasný and Passer.

It’s too bad Lucy Lawless doesn't work at Pegasus more often because I'd go there more. Or, in other words, all attempts at continuous viewing failed due to the fact that D'Anna Biers only appears as a guest in the second season. Now I’m choosing to selectively watch only the episodes she’s in and then it will be mission accomplished. _ Then I'll break out in real mourning for Lucretia. As a reporter, D'Anna cleverly snuck onto the Galactica to get to know her enemy. After a time, she returned to reveal her true Cylon nature. She's immortal, sexy, has a wonderfully ironic facial expression, and is a murderous revenge machine. What more could you want? There's about as much ancient mythology here as there is in Andromeda. Sorry, Battlestar Galactica. You're trying so hard but you're just not Spartacus. _ The whole story about humans fighting robots that got out of hand seems to have been told countless times before. The characters are still the same, the morality is still the same, collaboration is still the most pressing problem, and belief in God is not the same as belief in gods. Will the two leading storylines save the child-bastard?... No. Just no. I don't need a sci-fi interpretation to get me through the search for my own answers to questions about each war and how much it can change its participants beyond recognition. Moreover, I'm not really happy about the frantic lighting, the wild camera, and the hallucinogenic editing.

In elementary school, I was under the impression that when I went to college, I would experience something similar to this film. Although Dziga Vertov is also my bread and butter, my reality after thirty years is somewhat different from the poetic version. In this film, however, Pecháček provided a picture of higher education in Czechoslovakia like no other and as such he receives the order of Fellini and Antonioni, whose conception of sex is indeed diametrically opposed. A quack or a medic, they all have the same diagnosis. Only the sexy Casanova, played by Jiří Štěpnička, remained de facto fictional. "Bronstein reduced the redundant number of textbooks from three stacks to two."

A series of immortal humor in a unique package of illustrations by Stanislav Holý. Every scene is a gem. Every idea is a golden fund of typical Czech absurdism. It would be a sin to mess up cramming Filipovský, Somr, Císler, and Navrátil in larger roles into one film, and to always complete their etudes with something as automatically apt as the presence of Kořínková, Kretschmerová or Štěpánová. Fortunately, however, it’s co-directed by the Klein-Pecháček duo, who have extracted a successful hexalogy from the original idea from "Amatéři."