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Jankovec's operetta "Lojzička" (1935) belongs to the set of film musical comedies (1936) that were essentially identical to each other. Adaptations were often made within two years, and the key was the contrast between the village and the modern city with all its ills. The specific case of Lojzička is interesting from several aspects. Jarmila Beránková finally got a big role matching her nature, Zita Kabátová continued her collaboration with Jára Kohout, Jiří Dohnal played the male version of the Czech-American woman from At St. Anthony's in the French version and finally, Světla Svozilová used her sex appeal.

The Golem is a classic example of two different approaches to one substance. Werich came closest to the original V+W rendition in the early 1950s. In the mid-1930s, Duvivier had the upper hand and the Czechs could at least partially come close to the great historical films from abroad. Yet the Jewish legend of Prague as performed by the French will always be something a little different, precisely because of its view from the outside. However, thanks to some local actors in supporting roles (led by Truda Grosslichtová aka Tania Doll as Madame Benoit), a pleasant compromise was reached.

A long-unavailable film, which was broadcast on TV in 2009 and released on DVD shortly afterward. Together with Frič's Jánošík and Špelina's A Mother's Confession, this biography of M. R. Štefánik is one of the few feature films of the 1930s to emphasize the Slovak part of Czechoslovakia. There is a lot of emphasis on the legionary storyline and thus multiple reasons for pathos. This work features a very good performance by Zvonimir Rogoz in the lead role.

As Frič later revealed in Going for a Fag with Martin Frič, this film was not that expensive. It was worth it to him particularly for the V+W episode.

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.