A blog formerly known as Bookishness / By Charles Matthews

"Dazzled by so many and such marvelous inventions, the people of Macondo ... became indignant over the living images that the prosperous merchant Bruno Crespi projected in the theater with the lion-head ticket windows, for a character who had died and was buried in one film and for whose misfortune tears had been shed would reappear alive and transformed into an Arab in the next one. The audience, who had paid two cents apiece to share the difficulties of the actors, would not tolerate that outlandish fraud and they broke up the seats. The mayor, at the urging of Bruno Crespi, explained in a proclamation that the cinema was a machine of illusions that did not merit the emotional outbursts of the audience. With that discouraging explanation many ... decided not to return to the movies, considering that they already had too many troubles of their own to weep over the acted-out misfortunes of imaginary beings."
--Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

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Friday, July 17, 2026

Diamonds of the Night (Jan Nemec, 1964)

Ladislav Jánsky and Antonin Kumbera in Diamonds of the Night

Cast: Antonin Kumbera, Ladislav Jánsky, Ilse Bischofská. Screenplay: Arnost Lustig, Jan Nemec, based on a novel by Lustig. Cinematography: Jaroslav Kuchera, Miroslav Ondrícek. Production design: Oldrich Bosák. Film editing: Miroslav Hájek. Music: Vlastimil Hala, Jan Rychlik. 

Two young men escape from a Nazi transport at the start of Jan Nemec's Diamonds of the Night, and the camera follows them in a breathless run through the fields toward an uncertain destination. And in a sense that destination remains uncertain, even though they manage to cadge a hunk of bread from a woman in a farmhouse and are eventually captured by a group of old men with hunting rifles. Nemec gives us two visions of the young men's fate at the hands of their captors. His first feature film, a little over an hour, is laced with memories and ambiguous images and touches of the surreal. At its best, it's almost hyperreal. In the scene in which the old men celebrate their capture, for example, the soundtrack is filled with the slightly disgusting noises of eating as the victors scarf down their lunch. It's possible to interpret Diamonds of the Night as allegory, as a fable about escaping from Nazi terror only to end up under Soviet repression, but it stands on its own as an example of the innovative use of cinematic technique that marked the brief period of liberation experienced by Czech filmmakers in the 1960s.