NinadeL

It needed some time away from it. I've always considered Just a Gigolo as a rather negative film, a big departure for Marlene Dietrich. And this really is not the best film to watch. Yet it becomes much more interesting if we place it among the series of films from the 1970s that spontaneously began to admire interwar decadence. Whether European or American. There is indeed a bit of Cabaret and The Great Gatsby with Redford in Just a Gigolo. We get a nicely wooden Bowie in the lead role, and a spectacular Dietrich, right up to the end of her days. Then there are the legendary hits "Johnny" and "Ich Küsse Ihre Hand, Madame," but unfortunately they are included in new and worse arrangements. The more interesting performances are given by Sydne Rome (in the hands of worse directors a stripped actress, while the better ones have her wearing clothes) and the darling Curd Jürgens. The icing on the cake is the endearingly intractable problem of two different versions left over after the original material was cut by more than half an hour. In this way, the audience can argue forever about which version of Just a Gigolo is better. I'm looking forward to Kästner's novel anyway.

One of the best reflections on the phenomenon of contemporary girls' literature and related media outputs. A funny experience that is not tasteless. It’s clever in so many references and in working with the individual actors. The cute Hanka Vítová and her girlish group of flower girls are full of popular faces, led by Helča Bušová and seconded by Božena Šustrová and Marie Norrová. It's also wonderful to watch Schránil and Veverka in roles that are the opposite of what they usually play. A separate category of ingenious humor is the naive "gentleman" of Vlasta Hrubá. The queens were the old ladies Nedošinská and Májová. There is much to admire here, not least the work with advertising and the appeal of gossip or single motherhood. "I'm a woman who knows what she wants!"

A slight disappointment. The idea is fine, and the individual details are wonderful (the idea of a children's detective story, the attractive setting of the castle, the social motif), but the whole thing somehow just fails. It is better to evaluate it as an amateur endeavor, as in a mixture of everything that came from Brno of the time. It's almost unbelievable how even such children's films become great compared to this Moravian mistake. I'm sorry to have to say it, but it was a waste of decent actors (for example Vlasta Hrubá, František Paul, Jindřich Plachta or Miloš Nedbal), alongside naturals (Jarmila Urbánková or Jan Purkrábek). And of course, the kids needed better guidance, not to mention the poor technical quality.

Beautiful. This type of film turns golden over time and must be seen in the context of Švankmajer's works because sheer love of E. A. Poe or the Marquis de Sade does not really suffice in this case. It’s a wonderful demonstration that even the most popular actors can stand on their pedestals rightfully. Today, it is also charming that some of the perverse props from this film adorn the National Gallery's exhibitions.

A follow-up tale from the Kmínek cycle, which had a downward tendency. However, despite the smaller budget, the smaller cast, and the overall enthusiasm, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs feels less scary than The Gingerbread House. After all, it's better to just guess what the cottage of the seven dwarfs looked like inside, given that even Ela Šárková only needed the castle garden to play out all the important scenes.

Probably the only thing to compare these tales with is the theatrical recording of The Bartered Bride from the same year. These are not pure films but from today's point of view stage-media archaeology. Kmínek's The Gingerbread House is a truly unique experience, and to rank it mechanically among Czech feature films is a separate topic for the debate group.

This is a beautiful example of a hybrid film that shows us what other late silent films might have looked like if they had not only been given sound retroactively, but also re-shot. It is intoxicating to watch the straightforward romance with L. H. Struna at the center of it, a representative of the purest lovers, who do not need to be placed in luxurious environments (even Machatý used him as a contrast to the fake world of night bars), but can break hearts even in a simple cabin in the middle of the forest. Aša Vašátková could have been more successful as a protagonist of exclusively silent films because the dialogues did not suit her. On the other hand, it is quite a pity that Anita Janová did not continue in sound films. She was a beautiful girl. The final question pertains to the talent of Zdenka Palečková, whose scenes with the unusually negative Pištěk have a different charm.

Rovenský's ambitious project, taken over by Kubásek, and turned into a very risky production. Indeed, the great Slovak nature is attractive in and of itself and Jarda Blažek understands it. The story is engagingly old-world, simple, and humanly powerful. However, it is difficult to judge Želenská and Klapuch in the lead roles, who have never really taken root in Czech cinema, but here they were natural enough and if given more opportunities could have turned into popular stalwarts. But that didn't happen. The morality of the main characters is comparable to Klecanda's earlier novels. It is, after all, an interesting example of a lyrical film.

A delightful civilian film, which could teach us that there is nothing more natural than a normal family in the 1920s. That is, the song of the harsh mother, the hen-pecked father, the spoiled older daughter, and the bratty younger daughter is as universal 100 years ago as any time since. This is a Marion Davies production, so logically Marion as the titular Patsy shines as brightly as she can. She even successfully parodies her fellow actresses Mae Murray, Lilian Gish, and Pola Negri (and borrows a few good Charlie Chaplin gags).

Although the first sound adaptation of Jirásek was a somewhat more demanding production for Innemann, the result is still worthy of attention. The whole thing stands and falls on the authenticity of Bedřich Karen as Jan Sladký Kozina from Oujezd. The whole cast is very unbalanced, Kozina's mother is played by Leopolda Dostalová and his wife by Marie Grossová, and somewhere in the jumble of the Chodov people we also find Truda Grosslichtová, Rovenský, and Fiala. The only one in his place, given his typology and experience, is Theodor Pištěk as Lomikar. However, compared to Frič's later version, this one boasts a successful script by Wasserman and tasteful pathos.