I had difficulty selecting a single film for some directors; therefore I selected more than one. These are all directors who have consecutively put out great films; I'm not going to list any directors who have only made a single good film (there are lots of those unfortunately).

Anyway, here are my favorite directors and their best film(s) (in my opinion):

Steven Spielberg:

Best film(s) – Close Encounters of the Third Kind

Martin Scorsese:

Best film(s) – Taxi Driver

Nicolas Roeg:

Best film(s) – Walkabout

Ridley Scott:

Best film(s) – Alien/Blade Runner

Gus Van Sant:

Best film – Drugstore Cowboy

Stanley Kubrick:

Best film(s) – A Clockwork Orange

Werner Herzog:

Best film(s) – Stroszek/Aguirre, the Wrath of God

George A. Romero:

Best film(s) – Martin

David Cronenberg:

Best film(s) – The Dead Zone/Videodrome

Krzysztof Kieslowski:

Best film(s) – Dekalog (TV series)

Tim Burton:

Best film(s) – Ed Wood/Edward Scissorhands

Quentin Tarantino:

Best film(s) – Reservoir Dogs

Jean-Pierre Melville:

Best film(s) – Le samouraï

Frank Darabont:

Best film(s) – The Shawshank Redemption

Hayao Miyazaki:

Best film(s) – Spirited Away

George Lucas:

Best film(s) – Star Wars (episodes IV, V and VI)

Roman Polanski:

Best film(s) – The Tenant

(*NOTE* This blog-post was extracted from this thread of mine on the HikiCulture forums.)

Posted via email from HikiCulture – A Forum For Reclusive People (and Hikikomori) {HikiCulture.Com Site Blog}

Undeniably different than a regular feature length film, this 10 episode series directed by Krzysztof Kieslowski had a profound affect on my desire to make movies.  Each of the 1 hour self contained episodes is a perfectly crafted bit of storytelling featuring complex characters and dilemmas.  The series is loosely based on the 10 commandments, I say loosely as the episodes deal more with morality in a general manner than individual commandments.  Kieslowski does a masterful job of giving us characters free from the general contrivances one might expect in films written for a one hour run time.  It’s his ability to deliver this complexity that appealed to me most as a filmmaker, so often we see writers/directors rely upon ‘tricks’ to create a bias in the viewer thus enabling them to deliver their theme. In this ten hours of cinema you won’t find yourself feeling cheated or manipulated the characters simply feel like someone you might know albeit in difficult circumstances.  Another achievement of this series is the varying styles displayed in each of the ten shorts.  Although there is no doubt that they are connected stylistically Kieslowski finds a way to cater to each of his ten themes by varying camera work and palette.  This ability was shown again later in his career with the ‘colors’ series and is definitely a trait specific to the most masterful of directors.

So much has been said about this series (especially in light of Kubrick calling it the only masterpiece of his lifetime) but in the end, like any great work of art, it’s something that you must see for yourself.  Certainly some of the stories will appeal to you more than others but all 10 are brilliant.  If you have seen this series I’d love to hear your comments on favorite episodes!

Tocmai am terminat de vazut ultimul film al lui Kieslowski, Trois Couleurs: Rouge. Regizorul polonez mi-a atras atentia acum cativa ani, cand am dat peste Dekalogul sau, care mi s-a parut dramatic si inspirat si chiar a persistat in a mea memorie ceva vreme. Scenele reusesc sa te problematizeze si sa te faca sa iti pui intrebari.

Referitor la Rouge, nu stiu cat am inteles eu din el (avand in vedere ca l-am vazut in franceza, fara subtitrare – notabil fiind faptul ca franceza mea e destul de slabuta, dupa mult timp de nepractica), dar ce mi-a placut foarte mult la film si ceea ce am inteles eu din el si fara sa fie nevoie ca sa inteleg precis fiecare replica, a fost atmosfera. O atmosfera de film bun . Mi-a placut extrem de mult jocul actoricesc al celor doi, Irene Jacob si Jean-Louis Trintignant. M-a pus pe gandul gradul de umanitate pe care il prezinta filmul si m-am gandit la faptul ca Kieslowski (dupa cum am citit undeva) ii iubea foarte mult pe oameni, iar lucrul acesta transpare din fiecare por al filmului. Le iubea expresiile si manifestarile si nu facea altceva decat sa le prezinte in pura forma. Poate si de-asta m-a atras pe mine modul in care regizeaza in prima instanta. In orice caz, Dekalogul is a must-see! Trebuie sa caut la Institut si restul filmelor de el. Vad ca mai au si Bleu si Blanc, si La double vie de Veronique si Le Decalogue. Dragut. Trebuie sa aprofundez.

Ascult Orphee et Eurydice in varianta Orchestrei Lamoureux (ce-mi place cum suna… Lamoureux… dreamy). Mi-am mai tras acum si un Stravinsky de pe classical.com, dar nu am apucat sa ascult decat eminamente foarte putin… Cand termin, intr-un sfarsit, cu Orfeu si cu a lui Euridice, trec la Stravinsky. Ah, si ce-mi place foarte mult la opera asta e faptul ca se termina frumos … In mitologie sfarsitul e foarte sumbru, Orfeu o pierde pe Euridice si nimeni nu vrea sa il mai ajute inca o data. Too sad for my taste, prefer opera in care isi introduce codita Amor si totul se termina bine si frumos.

Imi place foarte mult Institutul Francez, pentru ca gasesti acolo tot ce vrei. In curand va trebui, insa, sa imi fac abonament si la British Council, ca sa ma apuc sa mai citesc in engleza si sa imi pot da Cambridge-ul. Deja engleza mea s-a deformat si a devenit plana si banala. Nu sunt in stare sa fac un comentariu pertinent, neologic, ci folosesc doar cuvinte furculition si cred ca pot scapa cu asta. Ney, this cannot be of this sort any longer. I shall fight this.

Imi plac foarte mult versurile rimate din libretto-ul de la Orfeu si Euridice. Dar, gata, nu voi mai aduce vorba despre asta, deja devine superfluu

In alta ordine de idei, m-am reapucat de Maestrul si Margareta si sunt foarte prinsa de actiune. (Initial citisem doar primul volum, adica jumatate, acum vreau sa revin si sa citesc tot).

E 12, peste o ora plec la scoala, cred ca e cazul sa fac ceva mai constructiv (pe fundal de Gluck, desigur). ((of, si am spus ca nu mai pomenesc de el)). Merg sa imi iau niste ceai (de fragi si capsuni, very yummy) si sa fac ceva extrem de constructiv si de important.

Bineinteles ca nu ma pot abtine sa pun un clip din noua versiune pe care o ascult. And here it goes:

Orphée (Léopold Simoneau) takes his Eurydice (Suzanne Danco) back from Hades and is not allowed to turn around and look at her. During this scene from Christoph Willibald Gluck’s Orphée et Eurydice. Eurydices mood changes from delight about her new life to doubt about Orphée’s love for her. This is the French version of Gluck’s opera (with a tenor lead rather than a castrato). Hans Rosbaud conducts the Orchestre des Concerts Lamoureux in a performance from 1956.

Heaven (2002) – directed by Tom Tykwer, screenplay by Krzysztof Kieslowski and Krzysztof Piesiewicz, starring Cate Blanchett and Giovanni Ribisi

“Given the recurrent metaphysical ideas of faith and chance in Tom Tykwer’s films, the German director seems a natural to tackle a heretofore unproduced screenplay co-written by the late Polish auteur Krzysztof Kieslowski. The resulting “collaboration” is very much in line with both filmmakers’ work. Cate Blanchett is an English schoolteacher in Italy whose attempt to bomb a high class drug runner goes horribly awry, instead killing a trio of innocent bystanders. Giovanni Ribisi, speaking Italian for much of the picture, is a cop serving as translator during the interrogations. He soon attempts to serve as her savior, for his sudden and strong feelings for her compel him to put himself at risk. The love-against-all-reason scenario recalls Tykwer’s last film, the stylish slog that was The Princess and the Warrior, but Kieslowski and longtime writing partner Krzysztof Piesiewicz’s tight plotting keeps Tykwer’s indulgences in check. While the film’s slow pace is far more like Tykwer’s Princess than his frenetic Run Lola Run, it never drags, thanks to the nicely modulated performances by and the surprising chemistry between Blanchett and Ribisi; and Tykwer and cinematographer Frank Griebe’s stunning visual sense. It’s unfortunate that we may never see the other two installments–Hell and Purgatory–of this once-planned trilogy, and the film’s metaphysical ambiguities may have made more sense alongside the companion pieces, but it still casts a poetic, otherworldly romantic spell.”

source:  http://mrbrownmovies.com/movierpt02-10.html#heaven

Heaven is a visually beautiful movie, where almost each scene is a painting. The warm colours, romantic repetitive music and great aerial shooting created an atmosphere that stays with us long after the movie ended.  Every gesture has a point and the camera is handeled with artistic eyes that fully prove the director’s creative powers. The outside filming locations were Turin, Naples and Montepulciano. Makes you wonder where Heaven is…

A DICOTOMIA é uma palavra que pode ser usada do começo ao fim numa análise do Decálogo, do diretor polonês Krysztof Kieslowski. Essa obra, composta por dez médias-metragens, tendo como base cada um dos Mandamentos da cultura Judaíco-Cristã, foi exibida na televisão polonesa na década de oitenta, mas, devido às diversas críticas e análises que surgem de tempos e tempos, essa obra se mantém atual.

 Apesar dos dez filmes ela pode ser vista como um trabalho único, pelo conjunto, assim como dez obras independentes entre si. Mas os comentários sobre a unidade da obra dependem do ponto de vista da pessoa que o observa. Realmente é possível analisar cada um dos dez filmes como filmes independentes um do outro, já que suas estruturas narrativas assim permitem. Por outro lado é inegável a interrelação que se estabelece entre todos os dez médias-metragens do Decálogo. Essa relações podem ser tanto explícitas como também restritas ao campo subjetivo, como veremos. 

Um dos fatores de interligação das estórias de forma explícita é que todas as tramas utilizam como pano de fundo um conjunto de apartamentos populares, muito comuns no leste europeu, e seus moradores. Porém neste cenário é estabelecido um paradoxo presente em todas as dez estórias: quando as personagens estão inseridas dentro de seus apartamentos elas estão sós, dentro de seus espaços privados, e frente a seus conflitos morais pessoais, porém fora deles as personagens ficam expostas aos julgamentos morais da sociedade em que vivem. O que faz com que as personagens tenham dois padrões de comportamento: dentro de suas casas (privado) e na rua (público), utilizando assim de toda a força subjetiva do conflito interior/exterior. 

Kieslowski também mostra a importância do acaso nas relações humanas, assim como a sua força que supera qualquer crença numa entidade superior ou mesmo na ciência. O acaso, no Decálogo, quando ignorado, pune. Mas também o diretor utiliza o acaso de forma singela em sua obra promovendo encontros casuais de suas personagens, principais dentro da estória contada, com protagonistas de outros filmes do Decálogo, fazendo disso mais um pequeno elemento de ligação narrativa entre os outros filmes da série. 

Em quase todos os filmes (com exceção penas do Decálogo 7) há um personagem misterioso que aparece brevemente em determinada situação sem importância para a estória, ficando apenas como uma espécie observador dos fatos. Porém em alguns momentos ele parece tentar dizer algo para as personagens, chegando até a fazê-lo, como, por exemplo, no Decálogo 5 em que ele acena com a cabeça de forma sutil e negativa para o jovem que momentos depois assassinaria brutalmente um taxista. Pela sua onipresença, esta personagem ganha ares quase que sobrenaturais, tanto divino como satânico.

Por uma questão de deixar clara uma unidade, podemos estabelecer que em todos os médias-metragens as personagens são postos de frente a questionamentos morais, sejam eles pessoais ou sociais, porém, como foi dito no começo do texto,  o Decálogo de Kieslowski é marcado por dicotomias que são impossíveis de fugir a elas: razão/emoção, ciência/religião, bem/mal, público/privado, amor/ódio, entre outros que poderiam ser analisados individualmente (para se ter uma noção da complexidade desse trabalho). Mas a principal dicotomia é aquela relacionada à distribuição da obra: televisão/cinema. E é nesse encontro, de diferenças, que Kieslowski consegue unir o comercialismo da televisão, com toda sua urgência de dinamismo, à fabulosa estética de seus filmes, fazendo dessa uma obra única da televisão mundial.

Krzysztof Kieslowski

Le panthéon de mes cinéastes préférés se situe depuis longtemps Outre-Rhin. Wenders l’Allemand, Tarkovski le Russe et Kieslowski le Polonais ont tous laissé leurs plus grands chef-d’œuvres dans les années 70-80. Du trio, un seul reste parmi nous, le créateur des anges aux ailes du désir, flottant dans le ciel de Berlin. Tarkovski et Kieslowski continuent sans doute à regarder, attendris, l’espèce humaine se débattre  dans sa condition minuscule.

Krzysztof Kieslowski, mort prématurément en 1996, se fit aimer passionnément du public français avec son film La Double Vie de Véronique (1991), dans lequel Irène Jacob (lumineuse) interprète une jeune femme polonaise et son alter ego français. C’est ce film qui me fit découvrir l’auteur du Décalogue, de Bleu, de Blanc, de Rouge, de Sans fin, de L’amateur et de tant d’autres films époustouflants. Il laisse derrière lui aussi quelques conversations recueillies dans Le cinéma et moi, aux éditions Noir sur Blanc.

Le réalisateur y donne quelques clefs sur ses films, sur sa vision de la Pologne, sur son dégoût de la politique, son amour fou des spectateurs. Il s’exprime avec une sobriété presque déroutante, sans omettre de multiplier les paradoxes. Kieslowski semble aussi complexe que ses films et pourtant, il menait une vie parfaitement simple, en accord avec ses principes. Il prétendait aussi faire des films modestes – et pourtant, leur subtilité n’a pu échapper à aucun spectateur!

Kieslowski raconte son double échec au concours d’entrée de l’école de cinéma de Lodz (avant d’y être reçu la troisième année), son amour râleur pour la Pologne (“J’en veux beaucoup à ce pays : j’y suis né et je ne saurai jamais le quitter”), et parle de son cinéma avec une grande humilité : “Je ne fournis aucune réponse car je n’en connais pas”.

Et pourtant, le secret de ce que les autres estiment être son génie, il le donne malgré lui. Lui qui s’estimait sans talent, il a tout de même “enrichi le portrait de l’être humain d’une dimension supplémentaire, celle des pressentiments, des intuitions, des rêves et des préjugés, en un mot, de la vie intérieure.” C’est ce qui fit l’immense succès de La Double Vie de Véronique. Un film qui pour moi changea le visage du cinéma, parce qu’il apportait la grâce, tout simplement.

Le Cinéma et moi est une merveilleuse plongée dans le cœur tendre et bourru du grand réalisateur polonais. Grâce à la collaboration de sa fille Maria, le lecteur découvre des photos de famille, le visage du jeune Krzysztof à l’école de cinéma, ou, pour finir, le Kieslowski plus âgé, au beau visage fatigué mais toujours émerveillé par la vie, se promenant… au Père Lachaise.

Pour clore le livre, l’éditeur a choisi une conversation du cinéaste avec des lycéens enregistrée quelques jours avant sa mort. Une discussion pleine de grâce et d’humour entre générations, qui révèle encore plus profondément le regard plein de tendresse de Monsieur K sur ses semblables.

Krzysztof Kieslowski, Le Cinéma et moi, éditions Noir sur Blanc, 25 euros

Kieslowskiana Oriental

O céu é azul. No Oriente o céu sempre é azul e há sempre tapetes voadores a enfeitá-lo. Sob o céu do Oriente há sempre mil contos de fadas sendo contados, eis mais um: o céu do campo de batalha é azul, porque é no Oriente. No campo de batalha lutam homens brancos brancos branquérrimos, são os “salvadores”, libertadores, heróis cinematográficos; os “inimigos” são brancos e usam barbas pretíssimas precioso petróleo. A areia é cor de areia. O sol do meio-dia é amarelo ouro (negro) que se esparrama continuamente sobre aquela terra quente escaldante. Os corpos são brancos; os cadáveres são brancos jogados sobre a areia sobre a qual cai o amarelo ouro (negro) do sol que nunca se (es)vai. São brancos e não se distingue na hora da morte quem é mais branco, se salvador, se inimigo. O céu é azul, o sangue é vermelho. A bandeira santa salvadora é azul e vermelha. A bandeira inimiga é um pano de chão qualquer usada pelos salvadores para limpar o nariz da estátua do ditador que derrubam, derrubam o ditador e a estátua, fique claro, e daí em diante ditam as ordens.

A guerra finda, porém continua; e o campo de batalha é agora todo canto, têm-se, pois, cantos de batalha. Branco branco branquíssimo versus branco branco de barba pretíssima. No meio dos cantos de batalha, canta um canto de vitória o branco salvador ao inimigo branco:

–Somos a Liberdade, trazemos a paz, a paz é branca! A paz é branca!

Subitamente surge no horizonte a Paz; vem com o torso seminu, empunha uma lança; em pleno século XXI, surge a Paz como um retrato pintado nos tempos da Revolução Francesa. Gritam todos, salvadores e inimigos:

–Eis que chega a Paz, e ela está do nosso lado. Qual lado?!

E a Paz chega. E a Paz tem na mão uma lança cortante. E a Paz tem nos olhos uma apatia tanto para com os salvadores como para com os inimigos. A Paz veste branco, deixa à mostra seus seios brancos. E todos gritam a Paz é branca.

Silêncio. A Paz olha, a Paz vê, a Paz enxerga, a Paz começa a girar ferozmente sua lança, a Paz se enche de ódio, cansada tanto do que faz sofrer quanto do que sofre, afinal, de que lado eles estão? A Paz gira sua lança e corta corpos de uns e de outros, que caem sob o céu azul na areia que era cor de areia e que agora é cor de sangue, banhada pelo sol amarelo ouro (negro).

A Paz apaziguada, tendo trazido a paz (que paz?), canta seu canto de combate:

–A paz… é vermelha, a paz… é vermelha!!!

Autor: Aender dos Santos. Esse texto havia sido publicado há alguns anos pelo antigo site A Arte da Palavra (não mais disponível na rede). Refere-se à época em que o Iraque havia sido invadido por tropas estrangeiras. A ilustração que acompanha o texto foi feita (ou simplesmente escolhida)  por alguém da equipe do site citado, infelizmente não tenho o nome do desenhista. O título e o conteúdo fazem referência aos filmes que formam a Trilogia das Cores, do diretor polonês de cinema Krzysztof Kieślowski.

There’s so much to talk about and so little time, and so little energy and ability in the brain to generate enough thoughts. It’s all so absurd, all our communication processes. I’m putting out my opinions about anything and everything with keywords enabling any person with Internet access to read them, if through chance, he or she happens upon them. It’s all so interesting and strange. So I’d better not waste time between all my dilly-dallying and navel-gazing. Must plow ahead! Into the stream of consciousness!

I saw a most extraordinary film yesterday called The Double Life of Véronique, directed by the late Polish master Krzysztof Kieślowski, a man whose name is brutally hard to spell, but he’s Polish, so what do you expect? This reminds me of a joke. Which reminds me of how Ashley and I discussed jokes together. But anyway: a Pole (so frequently the butt of such jokes) is taking an eye exam. The doctor, ophthalmologist, whatever, says, “Can you read this for me?”, pointing to the chart with the usual mess of letters, you know, E K A C Z H S Y etc. And the Pole says, “Read it? I know the guy!” So this is the joke I know about Polish names, and Krzysztof, from our perspective as Americans, certainly qualifies. (Of course, it’s really just their variant on Christopher, which as Wikipedia informs me, is from the Greek “Khristóphoros,” meaning Christ-bearer. See, if a Greek saw the name “Christopher,” maybe they‘d think it’s strangely spelled!)

In any case, the movie: from this great Polish director so concerned with coincidences, parallels, connections, etc. and the questions they bring up about our lives, we have this tale of two women, both played by the same actress, the beautiful Irène Jacob, who would later appear in Kieślowski’s Red (a movie that interestingly shares the motif of audio recordings). Weronika lives in Poland; Véronique lives in France. But (in addition to being physically identical) their lives line up and intersect in complicated ways; when Weronika dies from her heart problems while singing at a concert, Véronique feels a deep loss she’s unable to quite pin down.

Double Life delves into those feelings we find ourselves unable to quite correlate to physical realities, like déjà vu, for example. When we know something’s happened, but we can’t say directly what, or to whom. The movie never gives away why these women live parallel lives, but it explores the beautiful (fearful?) symmetry of this alignment that leads one woman to her grave, while allowing the other to change her course and fall in love. And God, is it a technical and aesthetic delight, for the eyes and the ears: all these rich greens and occasional yellows and reds fill the air of the film, and Zbigniew Preisner’s score, for one thing, draws thematic lines between scenes (as the music of Weronika’s last performance pops up in Véronique’s life) and it’s so, oh, spiritual and elegant -  every aspect of the movie is driven toward this same conclusion, I think, that events happen in our lives that we can’t entirely understand but, at least, we can try to enjoy them. The Double Life of Véronique works as art on multiple levels, even if it’s a little perplexing while you watch it, as it amazes us formally and intellectually, and I highly recommend it. (And if that’s not enough, you get to see Jacob naked in two different lives. So much visual pleasure.)

What else to dive into in the brief remaining time I have at this library-? I’m about to start on Charles Burns’ Black Hole, a graphic novel whose genre appears to be “venereal fiction.” I will not lie: I love the word “venereal.” It comes from the Roman name for the goddess of love, Venus, but it’s most frequently heard in the (itself outdated) expression “venereal disease.” So venereal, I think, connotes something dirty, sexual, a little dark, and unpleasant. The icky fluids and discharges that we wouldn’t mind sterilizing away. And this, more or less, from the couple chapters I read while standing in Borders, is what Black Hole is about – after all, the title without context could refer equally well to an all-consuming cosmic presence or to human orifices – vaginal, anal, or otherwise. It reminds me of Onibaba, another movie I recommend, where the horror flows from the hungry hole, as omnivorous as Star Wars’s Sarlacc or 1984’s proverbial memory hole. Holes, clearly, are interesting things. As is Pac-Man, on whom I sometimes find myself fixated. So easy to draw, such a recognizable icon of, more or less, ’80s pop culture, and what does he do? Ashley and I were discussing this: he moves by eating. His mouth opens and closes, and that’s his form of ambulation. It also reminds me of this beloved pie chart.

I frequently marvel at human anatomy. At the human body in general. It’s not really as wondrous, I think, as some have made it out to be. It’s a bunch of systems, working in pretty good harmony. Things fuck up a lot, and when they do, it usually hurts. We eat, but if we don’t eat enough, or the right things, that also hurts. We get malnourished. Scurvy. Rickets. Beriberi. Various other dietary deficiencies. And once you start eating, you really never get to stop. And you know, every human being is a freak in one way or another, whether it’s one of a million physical abnormalities or one of the countless mental quirks you develop just by virtue of living a “normal” human life. And so, this process of consumption is just so remarkable: food goes in the mouth. Enzymes in the saliva break it down. Through peristalsis it travels down the throat. Into the stomach, where acids attack it from all angles. I am reminded of a fellow named Michel Lotito, who I first encountered in the Guinness Book of World Records. As I recall, he ate lots of glass, and an airplane engine (piece by piece). This reminds me of Watchmen’s Dr. Manhattan noting that a living and dead body have the same amount of molecules. Well, glass and a sandwich probably do, too. Just some, uh, food for thought.

This computer is telling me I have to go. So I shall. More writing will be forthcoming in the near future. Down with Big Brother.

A camera mounted behind the wheel captures the hues of a journey, adorned in asphalt blue and embellished with the sound of raw tires rubbing against the road.  A little girl flags a blue candy wrapper from the car, celebrating freedom, announcing the dawn of awakened consciousness and the wind claims the wrapper. The car stops for a comfort break. Camera behind the dripping brake fluid, building up the uneasiness, and the signs of oncoming uncertainties. A rambler sitting by the road, arguing with chance, manages to place the cup on a stick while playing the bilboquet.  In that exact instant of momentary triumph the car crashes in to a tree, the ironic synchrony of paradoxical chances. Fumes from the car gently blend with fog, faintly showing the barren land and the odds of a smashed car at the mercy of a lone tree. A beach ball colored in red and white rolls out with the sound of a squealing woman. This forms the opening sequence of Krzysztof Kieślowski’s Three Colors Blue, the first installment of the Three Colors trilogy. The trilogy superficially refers to the three colors of the Fench Flag: blue (liberty), white (equality), and red (friendship).

Bleu is a requiem to longing, the reincarnation of grief:, its nebulous fight with “now”, the unsettling  lull, the echoes, the fierce unpredictability, violent bouts and the sublime comfort of emptiness. Julie (Juliette Binoche) survives a fatal car crash but loses her daughter and husband Patrice de Courcy, a famous French composer. Julie is unable to contain the grief and flees from everything that is connected to the past.  She attempts suicide but fails to kill her unsettling grief along with her. She even tries to have sex with Olivier, the assistant to her husband, who is truly in love with her.  In the morning, dressed and ready to go, she wakes him, smiles sweetly and says, “I appreciate what you did for me. But you see. I’m like any other woman. I sweat. I cough. I have cavities. You won’t miss me. You understand that now…Shut the door when you leave.” She tries to sell off her belongings and moves to Paris. There she maintains a quiet solitary life but is haunted by her husband’s last unfinished work: a piece celebrating “the unity of Europe”, commissioned by the Council of Europe. During the process she realizes how she can never be free from the human connection.

The combination of virtuosic cinematography and searing music by Zbigniew Preisner becomes a central character in the narrative. In recent times Bela Tarr’s Werckmeister harmóniák had the extended long shots forming the character in the narrative. Especially the assault sequence in the hospital is the hallmark scene from that film. Zbigniew’s intoxicating music takes us under the skin of the characters, the emotions that you cannot see but feel through the music. Feeling the music with the touch of fingers on the music notes written on a paper or the visual feeling shown by the particular note in play clearly while the rest of the sheet is blurred, highlights the concerto that haunts Julie’s insides. There are four points in the film where we see a blackout; these are the points where she is graduating from temporal consciousness to her grieving consciousness. We hear the concerto in the backdrop.  Camera placements like in the opening sequence; mounted on the wheel, or even the masterstroke shot of showing a character’s entire frame in Julie’s iris is awe inspiring. Palpable tension is built in the viewer’s mind through subtle sequences; the extremely long shot of the barren land and the car crashing into a silent tree, the extreme close-ups of Julie while she is watching the funeral on a phone tv, cocooned inside her bed sheet. The claustrophobic angles and close shots of shivering lips heighten the grief.  Light beams, glass and mirror images are also used in the film which is atypical to Kieslowskian form of film making.  A poignant scene in the film shows an old lady meandering her way through a recycle trash bin to throw a bottle. In many films Kieslowski has used this scene to convey the character’s relation to their surroundings. Fundamentally, I think it’s a metaphor for feelings that can never be recycled. Julie shuts her eyes at this scene,oblivious and immersed in the music from the past. The same scene is used in The double life of Veronique and the other films of the trilogy. The interpretations of this scene in these films convey their relation with their existence.

There are semiotic references to feelings that communicate and take the viewer in to Julie’s mind. We are shown small sequences of people jumping off the cliff or a free fall of skydivers. Both Julie and her mother, who is suffering from Alzheimer’s, are shown to be watching these clips on TV. This is a metaphor for freedom, in fact the irony of freedom; it gives an immediate connect with suicide but still connotes freewill, confidence and hope of survival. Both the characters are somewhere in the middle of these phases of freefall; an echo of metaphysical weightlessness.  Kieslowski uses ordinary sequences to highlight Julie’s abnegation of human bond and how she cocoons herself in to her own world.  The extreme close-up of the cup with the sunlight changing from dusk to dawn, camera focusing on the gentle blow of air on a dead insect’s fur, sugar cubes absorbing coffee, watching a spoon revolve in a bottle, the flutists who haunts her, all are elements that subliminally show us her renunciation of the worldly things and finding meaning in triviality. The style of the film is diegetic (narration and implicit understanding of the mis-en-scene) in nature than being merely mimetic (Visual representation of mis-en-scene to covey actions). The trivial details all refer to the former representation of her inner emptiness.  Important actions in the scene happen off the camera and focus on reaction. The time when the car crashes, Antione’s face is shown than falling for the obvious graphic display of the crash. Julie witnesses a street fight and a person who is caught up in the brawl, runs straight in to her apartment, knocks every door. This entire scene is shown from Julie’s expression of fear on her face, her helplessness.

Kieślowski has used a lot of science in the usage of colors, to map the viewer’s liminal and subliminal space. The road in the beginning is shown in blue, the girls candy wrapper, the blue beaded chandelier, the blue walls, the blue pool, there are blue filters used throughout the film. The blue here connotes the freedom, free-will to abandon everything and yet not be free.  Sometimes the usage of color is done subliminally so that only the sub-conscious mind gets affected. For instances: the Red and white ball that rolls out of the car soon after the crash or the little girls who jump in the pool wearing red and white swimsuits when Julie is drowning her misery with a swim, all these allude to the Red and White films that follow.  The sequence where Julie accidentally barges in to a court room trial is actually a scene from White. That probably is not that subliminal in nature as much as Karol (the character from White) walking hurriedly and brushing past Julie near the pillars of the court, the sequence is momentary and lasts little over a second. Karolcan be seen in the picture 

Blind chance also plays an important part of the film; the realm of the impossible coincidences that form the soul of the film. Off all the human bonds that Julie has distanced herself away from, maternal love is the one that becomes ominous and haunts her existence. Her friend Lucille, who is a stripper in a club, reminds her of her daughter in the scene when Lucille touches the blue beaded chandelier and tells her as a kid she had the same blue chandelier at her place and how it reminded her of those days. Julie is awestruck and her face conveys her inner rage to talk about her daughter with her but she holds back.  In another episode, the discovery of mice in the flat transfixes Julie with fear. She is unable to kill them herself because the nest holds a mother with its newborn litter. She is trying to run away from these feelings and still they return to haunt her.  There is also the inexplicable occurrence of chance of two people doing or thinking the same thing at the same time. The flutist with tunes that remind her of husband’s work; the flutist says “these are his inventions”. Julie asks Olivier if she had not looked at the file she would not have discovered that her husband Patrice, had a mistress who is carrying his child.

Zbigniew’s aural assault reaches a crescendo in the last sequence showing how each character had a transformed life because of Juliet’s deeds. In the final sequence, the Unity of Europe piece is played (which features 1 Corinthians 13 in Greek), and we see images of all the people Julie has affected by her actions. Out of a dark frame Antione is shown to be awakened through an alarm clock (metaphor of moral awakening by the touch of the cross; redemption of regretful theft and the vivid memory of an accident). Again the same dark frame and then we see triple reflection of Julie’smother awaiting death in tranquility. There follows a glimpse of Lucille in the strip club where she gazes into the dark. The camera pans once again out of blackness onto Patrice’s lover and an ultrasound picture of her baby. After the next black frame we see extreme close shot of Julie’s pupil and a glint of light brightens it up. Last frame shows Julie sitting by the window and her face is slowly being filled with morning light as her grief melts in to tears.

PS: I had posted this post initially on PassionForCinema. Here’s the link :http://passionforcinema.com/kieslwoski’s-three-colors-trilogy-blue/

(Kristina) Finkulturella göre sig icke besvär att slå på tvn ikväll, en riktig orgie i slask utlovas. Jag vet knappt hur jag ska få dagen att gå innan jag kan bänka mig i soffan. Synd och skam att jag inte får ta med mig en godispåse för att riktigt gotta mig i snaskandet.

Låt mig se, vad står på tablån?

Tv3 – 14.20 – Home Fries, dramakomedi med Drew Barrymore

Tv3 – 16.05 – The Starter Wife, komediserie med Debra Messing

Sen tar jag en liten matpaus för att sträcka sig till att titta på Paris Hilton är att gå för långt.

Tv3 – 18.00 – The Rachel Zoe Project, säga vad man vill men titta kommer jag

Kanal 5 – 19.00 – Privileged, amerikansk komedi om rika, vackra människor

Tv3- 20.00 – The Mentalist, kriminaldramaserie som bäst ses för att huvudrollsinnehavaren är så snygg

Kanal 5 – 21.00 – Anna Nicole Smith, amerikanskt drama om glamourmodellen med samma namn

Sen går det nog runt i huvudet av alla vackra människor, omåttliga förmögenheter och tragiska livsöden. Den som vill diskutera Strindberg, Bergman och Norén får helt enkelt vända sig ‘elsewhere’ som vi säger på amerikanska.

(Gråt inte mamma, jag lovar att bara titta på The Rachel Zoe Project, sen skall jag läsa klart Dostojevskij och laga till en god sjötunga Kieslowski till middag.)

Even if there are no movies worth seeing nearby — The Hurt Locker isn’t in my area yet, and while Bruno sounds like nasty fun, it also sounds like the reason God invented Netflix — there are always movies worth talking about. In the past couple of days I’ve come across some excellent blog posts about movies that repay continued attention.

The Seventh Seal, the 1957 film that made Ingmar Bergman the god of the art house — and, in fact, probably did more than any other movie to establish the very idea of the art house as a commercial alternative — has a forbidding reputation for obscurity and difficulty. (One of my old English profs refused even to say Bergman’s name — he was simply “that fucking Swede.”) Max von Sydow became the international embodiment of High Seriousness for his portrayal of Antonius Block, the Crusade knight whose chess game with Death buys enough time for a family of actors to get clear of an outbreak of the plague. That chess game, along with the concluding image of the dance of death (up top), provided ammo for an entire generation of parodists. But as Andrew O’Hehir notes, The Seventh Seal doesn’t really deserve its thorny halo: the film is light on its feet, moves surprisingly quickly, and is shot through with flashes of sometimes bracingly crude humor. Bengt Ekerot’s portrayal of Death (above) as a bored bureaucrat, happy to be distracted from his endless rounds, gave the medieval image of the Grim Reaper a modern, black-humored overtone that has influenced scores of subsequent stories and films. For anyone unfamiliar with Bergman’s work, The Seventh Seal and Smiles of a Summer Night offer a great introduction.

* * * * *

After decades of unheralded work behind the Iron Curtain, the Polish filmmaker Krzysztof Kieslowski began to acquire an international reputation in the late Eighties and early Nineties. The Decalogue, a series of ten hour-long television films organized around the Ten Commandments, drew acclaim on the festival circuit, and the 1991 release of The Double Life of Veronique made him an art house celebrity. Shortly before his untimely death in 1996, Kieslowski finished a trilogy of films he called Three Colors, with each color drawn from the French flag and the ideals of liberty, equality and brotherhood.

Characteristically, Kieslowski’s storylines touched on their themes in oblique, ironic ways. The first film, Three Colors: Blue, opens with a car crash that kills a woman’s husband and child — her “liberty” is the unwanted freedom from family ties. Wracked with grief, she suppresses memories of her previous life and withdraws from the world. Yet the world, and life, continue to intrude on her, and as this detailed analysis from Mystery Man on Film shows, Kieslowski shows it happening through a brilliant combination of images and music. Blue is an example of almost purely visual storytelling. It also has one of my favorite “Kieslowski moments,” in which the widow, sitting in a cafe, starts to dunk a sugar cube in her coffee just as a street musician starts playing a tune. The melody is almost identical to one of her dead husband’s compositions, and as she realizes this, the white sugar cube touches the surface of the coffee and flushes with dark color.

All three films are available separately, but you might want to take the plunge and buy the complete Three Colors DVD set, which has a ton of very useful additional features. Ditto the complete edition of The Decalogue, which also has an appreciation of Kieslowski’s work from Roger Ebert.

I once said that i like “Rouge” the most in Kieslowski’s trilogy! Well i have to correct myself ‘coz it’s “Bleu” first, then “Rouge”, and then “Blanc”!

When i first saw this back in the 90’s I wanted to like it; it was Kieslowski, director of Decalog, it was gonna be great.

But it wasn’t. And isn’t. Not even now. I’m just as disappointed by it as i was then. I even feel mildly irritated.

I think its something to do with how precious it is. And while we’re at it – being precious – lets throw in specious too. All wafty visual tonery. And flopping about in expensive Parisian flats looking ethereally lost.

I don’t know if this is Irene Jacobs fault or how Kiewslowski’s directing her. It’s probably him. He sticks the camera onto her face and follows her lovingly around like a devoted doggie. The critics seemed besotted by her “ravishing” beauty too.

I’m not. She’s too pretty, too bloody angelic! Too much vague vacuity going on in lieu of expressive feeling, or even explicable feeling. She doesn’t say alot. Does lots of wan-looking, as though she’s lost her virginity somewhere but can’t remember when or with who.

“I have a strange feeling. I feel that i’m not alone in the world” says Polish Weronika to her dad. No, cus there’s a French doppelganger that looks just like her living in Paris called Veronique. Who also happens to be musically gifted, have a heart condition, have lovely teeth.

Weronika is getting giddinesses. Collapses dead on stage while singing her beautiful song. 27 mins in. The rest of the film is taken over by Veronique, and how she’s sensing the possible presence of Weronika around somewhere in tantalisingly vague ambiguous presentiments. Or maybe not. We can’t be sure what she’s experiencing cus she never really says anything. Just this lifted up longing in her face, beaming into beatific.

Its all far too slow, cooked on a slow simmering heat of semblence and seeming significance; spiritual speciousness.

And that “haunting” faux meaningful music of Zbigniew Preisner (used to irritating effect by Kieslowki in other films) makes my skin itch; its like listening to Polish pan-pipe music for the cerebrally inebriated.

Dir: Krzysztof  Kieslowski, Poland/France

5/10

• At last i watched all the three! I mean Kieslowski’s trilogy! It was great! Really! It was such a long time i haven’t enjoyed watching movies so much! And i have to say that i liked “Rouge” the most, then “Bleu” and then “Blanc“! Thanks to my dearest Pooyan for lending me the DVDs!
  Watching those, reminded me of something. That I always have this image in my mind that in eastern Europe, it’s always winter or at it’s best fall! I don’t know why really! Maybe it’s because most of the movies i’ve seen which the location of the story was there, it’s always winter or fall! Who knows!!

• Disgusting debate…

Today at last i watched Kieslowski’s “Bleu“! It was brilliant! It was so real and so smooth i just fell in love with it! It was way better than Hollywood movies which have to make a disaster to make desensitized American audience to feel that something has happened! It was life! So natural, so smooth, so calm and so real! I really… REALLY enjoyed watching it! I have always liked Europe! Well, to be honest, if i had a chance to chose where to live, i could never decide, coz i really love to live in the US and in Europe equally! France, Swiss, Italy, maybe Holland! I don’t know why really, but Europe has a mysterious, calm quality that i have always loved! And that quality was flowing in that movie! Can’t wait to watch the other two colors!

Kimi sabahlar gözlerim, daha ben onları açamadan dolu dolu olur.
Öyle karamsar günlerde güzel bir film ağrı kesici gibidir.
Dün akşam: Kieslowski – ‘La Double Vie de Véronique’ (1991)