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The same applies here as with the German version of You Don't Know Hadimrška. It gets one star less than the Czech version for Betty Bird, who is not bad per se but loses to Truda Grosslichtová on points.

For the blown bubble. We can think of it as another Bride and Prejudice, a film that will point you towards the real India. At least A.R. Rahman and Anil Kapoor are good here. Irrfan Khan is fine, and in retrospect, it appears that Dev and Freida have a promising future.

Annie Markart is simply not Suzanne Marwille. Otherwise, this film is a pretty wild version and it's basically a good thing they banned it. In any case, even without the support of Lamač, Frič proved that he could do it and was later able to independently make versions of Hero for a Night and Paradise Road.

The first Polish-Czechoslovak co-production was also the first film adaptation of the classic text by Ilf and Petrov, which was adapted for film by Karel Lamač. By 1945 alone, 6 more versions had been made. In the Czechoslovak-Polish environment, the theme was given to Vlasta Burian and Adolf Dymsza. Directed by the Mac Frič and Michal Waszyński duo, it created for the soloist Burian one of the few partnerships of his film career. Unfortunately, an incomplete print of the film is available today and therefore it is not possible to assess its true qualities. There is also a lack of comparison with contemporary Polish films, which would show that Waszyński, for example, had worked with Dymsza or Pogorzelska repeatedly. Formally, it is more of a slapstick sound film, which is unique in the contemporary context of Czechoslovak film.

After a long period of a distorted view of the history of Czech cinema, better times have indeed been dawning in recent years. Unfortunately, a treasure such as From Saturday to Sunday belongs to the category of displaced sound, which is particularly disappointing in the context of its experimental form. However, if we manage to remove this discord, along with the schematic view of the legend of Machatý as the author of only the films Eroticon and Ecstasy, we are then prepared for a great timeless work that functions without the slightest problem even after almost 80 years since its creation. The straightforward story of Nanny and Mary is as valid now as it was then, even the sparkly spoken word is much closer to Czechs now than the later uneven language of nationalised films. The charming casting of the spicy Jiřina Šejbalová, who moved from silent to sound film with this role, and the civil Magda Maděrová, who resumed her film career in the late 1950s, remains one of Machatý's few original muses in the form of a pair. The stenographers are perfectly complemented by the duo of seducers Rudolf A. Dvorský and Karel Jičínský, who seem to have accidentally dropped out of I Kiss Your Hand Madame, to give way to their exact opposite, the always original L. H. Struna. Hammid's work is then just the finishing touch to the symbiosis of the personalities of the director, the screenwriter Nezval, and the composer of the music Ježek.

Adaptations of Alois Jirásek’s works became popular in nationalized Czechoslovak cinema and the optimistic versions of The Lantern, the magnificent Dog's Heads, the classical Vojnarka, and the serious History of Philosophy, were slowly built upon. In the mid-1950s, Frič began to work on a proven substance, although he added only aided a work refreshed by mere technical development, in every way beholden to the most bombastic examples of films with a revolutionary maintext. Naturally, the acting is very routine and interchangeable thanks to Kurandová, Smolík, Průcha, Kopecký, and others. An honorable exception is the episodic participation of Marta Fričová, Frič's stepdaughter, who after the war was given a total of three etudes by Martin in Steel Town, in this film, and in Today for the Last Time.

Despite all the condemnations and criticism, Vilém Neubauer's original novel was very successful. That was not the case for the film, which was a flop.

A very funny late silent comedy of a coarser grain, which, although it took a step backward in its format, also allowed us to smoothly reverberate a great era and became the penultimate silent film to be released in Czechoslovakia.

It’s very cheap, but also very funny.

Egon Erwin Kisch and his works had been projected into film in various forms since the 1910s. This is a very successful film, and the shift in narrative possibilities and the overall more thoughtful work of all involved stand out even more compared to the older version of the film. Fuetterer is ably seconded by Czech actors - Rovenský and Svobodová as his parents, the charming Ly Corelli (who reads a newspaper with Anny Ondra on the cover), and the wonderful Zdena Listová and the lovely Lili Šturmová as his girls. Antonie Nedošinská then repeated her role as the brothel owner in Tonka of the Gallows the very next year, each time performing a very interestingly varied etude. Saša Dobrovolná was only routine, and the same goes for Vladimír Majer. Interestingly, the misfortune that first inspired Kisch happened in 1898, with the first novella published in a newspaper in 1911, and the novel version in 1914. The filmmakers, as they often did, adjusted the time of the story to their own present. It is a historical misfortune that the premiere of the film was not set until May 1930, when the sound film was already in full swing.