NOTE: The below Blu-ray captures were taken directly from the Blu-ray disc.

ADDITION: Second Run Blu-ray (March 2025): Second Run have transferred Peter Solan's The Barnabas Kos Case to Blu-ray. It is cited as "presented from a new 2K restoration by the Slovak Film Institute." It is on a dual-layered disc with a max'ed out bitrate and looks pristine in 1080P. Shot by Tibor Biath - whose career spanned over four decades, significantly shaping Slovak and Czechoslovak cinema, it’s stark black-and-white, Czech New Wave to the core - crisp, unadorned, with a documentary edge. Bratislava’s drab - blocky buildings, gray streets - mirrors the story’s soul. Close-ups show detail catching Kos’s sweat and swagger while wide shots dwarf him against absurd props (those giant triangles). The steelworks scene’s industrial ballet - metal gleaming, workers bemused - amps the farce. Well-layered-contrast tones echo the film’s sharp humor and social critique. This is a fabulous HD presentation with fine grain and impressive crispness.

NOTE: We have added 64 more large resolution Blu-ray captures (in lossless PNG format) for DVDBeaver Patrons HERE

On their Blu-ray, Second Run use a linear PCM mono track (16-bit) in the original Slovak language. The Barnabas Kos Case's soundscape - crafted by, relatively obscure, composer Ľudovít Hašan and sound designer Ondrej Polomský - amplify its biting humor and critique of bureaucratic absurdity. Hašan’s original score is minimalist and mischievous, perfectly tuned to the film’s satirical tone. It’s not a lush orchestral sweep - sparse, playful, and slightly off-kilter, a sonic wink at Kos’s delusions. The music’s built around strings and woodwinds, with a jazzy edge typical of 1960s Eastern European cinema. There is audible ambient noise: Bratislava’s pulse - tram rattles, distant horns, wind through concrete blocks - seeps in, grounding the indoor farce. Office scenes hum with typewriter clacks and paper rustles, a bureaucratic drone. It all sounds quite flawless via the uncompressed transfer. Second Run offer optional English subtitles on their Region FREE Blu-ray.

The Second Run Blu-ray offers The Invincibility of Absurdity: a newly filmed introduction by Rastislav Steranka, Director of the National Cinematographic Centre at the Slovak Film Institute (SFI). Clocking in at around 5 minutes, Steranka offers a scholarly yet accessible overview of the film’s significance. He frames The Barnabáš Kos Case as a pinnacle of Slovak cinema’s satirical edge, tying it to the Czech New Wave’s absurdist streak and Peter Solan’s broader oeuvre. Nemecká (1974) is a short film by Peter Solan. This 9-minute documentary, directed by Solan nearly a decade after Barnabáš Kos, explores a rural Slovak village’s life under socialism. With original music by Zdeněk Liška - a Czech composer famed for Marketa Lazarová - it’s a quieter, reflective piece compared to Kos’s farce. Promotion (Postup, 1968) is a 6-minute animated short by Viktor Kubal, Slovakia’s animation pioneer (The Bloody Lady). Postup (meaning “promotion” or “progress”) is a wordless satire on career climbing - think a stick-figure everyman scaling ladders, only to tumble. Portrait: Jarmila Kostova is an 8-minute featurette spotlighting Jarmila Kostova, a Slovak acting legend who doesn’t appear in Kos but ties to Solan’s world (e.g., Before Tonight is Over, 1966.) Lastly, the package has a 32-page booklet featuring essays by Jonathan Owen (Avant-garde to New Wave: Czechoslovak Cinema, Surrealism and the Sixties,) a Czech/Slovak cinema scholar (Avant-Garde to New Wave), and Peter Strickland, the UK filmmaker (Berberian Sound Studio). Second Run’s booklets are meaty - this one’s no exception.

Peter Solan's The Barnabas Kos Case is a middle finger to socialist inefficiency. Kos’s promotion reeks of quotas or nepotism - merit’s irrelevant. It’s Kafka meets The Office - a system so warped it hoists a nobody to power, then shrugs when he flops. The steelworks scene - Kos slapping triangles—mocks industrial fetishism, all effort for nothing. His evolutionary arc is textbook: modesty to megalomania. It’s probably less about socialism than human nature - give anyone unchecked sway, and they’ll turn tyrant, however petty. Lead actor Josef Kemr is a revelation - mousy at first, all hunched shoulders and nervous smiles, then puffed-up, eyes glinting with delusions. He’s not a villain - just a schmuck who believes his own press. His triangle obsession’s both pathetic and hilarious, a manchild with a baton. The look’s Czech New Wave lite - less avant-garde than Forman’s Loves of a Blonde (1965,) more grounded than Chytilová’s Daisies (1966,) but sharing their dry wit. The Barnabas Kos Case was such a joy on Second Run's Blu-ray - looking fabulous with plenty of supplements. This socialist satire is bleak, blunt, and funny in its ugliness. Biath’s lens captures a world where ambition’s a rusty triangle, not a golden baton. It’s not about beauty; it’s about truth - gritty, gray, and gloriously absurd. Absolutely recommended.

Gary Tooze