As a young screenwriter, impressionable and ambitious, I was capable of soaking up inspiration like a sponge. Beyond the passion for writing and watching and talking about and thinking about films, the whole screenwriting process was still a huge learning curve. My feet were still being found and my own artistic style was yet to be fully discovered.
Those who knew me back then, read my words, probably know I was influenced by the likes of Hal Hartley, Whit Stillman, Jean-Luc Godard, and still am today some twenty plus years on. Perhaps one filmmaker imprinted his genius into my creative soul more than any other.
In 1994, a friend and I went to the local single screen cinema to witness a motion picture I fell head over heels in love with. I mean, this was no multiplex movie, so we were lucky to have this tiny alternative venue to watch the non-English films. The Mike Leigh films, the rare-and-never-to-be-forgotten films. That screen is no longer there now, hasn’t been for years, and that really is a sad thing indeed as it was a nifty little gem of a cinema.
Regardless, the film in question stayed with me, as one of the finest, most evoking film experiences I have ever had, slotting its way easily into my all-time top ten. Where it has comfortably remained for over 20 years. The friend I saw the movie with, if I recall correctly, claimed within minutes of leaving the cinema that it might well be the best film is has ever seen.
“I carried so much of what greatness I’d seen under the skin of my potential body of work.”
As my short films morphed into feature length screenplays over the college years, and into university, I carried so much of what greatness I’d seen under the skin of my potential body of work. The influences on my screenwriting came without my hardly realizing.
In Out of Blue, the young female protagonist puts herself through a hefty exercise routine, before glugging down a lot of water, spilling some down herself. In Beautiful Friend, the young model has a photo shoot, then discusses some of the images of her face with her photographer – later her image is printed on a huge billboard.
In Ellousie, the title character, a young sorrowful woman, wanders through a quiet house, looking for the older, down-hearted, reclusive man. There will be friction between them at first, but they’ll grow close. In A Gentle Rise and Fall, the central male character is called Red. Inspiration emerges in many forms.
Krzysztof Kieślowski’s Three Colors: Red is the masterpiece sitting alongside his collection of seminal films. Every frame, line of dialogue, every glance, look, piece of music, every emotion evoked – I mean, this is cinematic perfection. Every Kieślowski film I have seen holds a special place somewhere for me, Red is the cream of the crop.
Never is blatant reflections of beautiful colours distracting or contrived, often creeping up on you. The Three Colours trilogy display moments of sheer visual brilliance, Kieślowski’s collaborations with his cinematographers strikes gold again. In my life as a film-lover there has been nobody quite like Kieślowski to really dominate my heart and soul.
The Three Colors series is an astonishing, harrowing, thought-provoking wave of emotional depiction and visual splendor. The Polish great utilizes music like never before in his extensive filmography, both non-digetic, and directly within the story, to portray grief, identity, isolation, progress, a barrage of themes as is custom for Kieślowski. A dynamic, unrivaled filmmaker.
So, the following key moments from the three films (Blue; White; Red) – and there are hundreds and hundreds of them – commemorate the great man we lost 23 years ago. I thought it extremely apt to pluck 54 (his age when passing) for your admiration. Still so much sorrow to say farewell to this man, but my oh my is he still fueling this cinephile:
*** Spoilers Ahead ***
THREE COLOURS: BLUE > > > > >
Three Colours: Blue opens behind the moving wheels of a car, with the rather haunting sounds of the engine and the road. Prior to the accident, we only see, briefly, the husband and the daughter (who die in the crash), but not Julie (who survives). The colour blue is euphorically displayed as the girl hangs a huge blue candy wrapper out of the window.
The collision coincides with the ball ball landing in the cup – a boy is playing roadside. On seeing the car crashed, the boy looks over, as a beach ball falls out the back of the car. At the end of the film, the kid is revealed to have the necklace that was never found from the crash.
The sound design in the oping moments of Blue is essential. Kieślowski makes us wait before we meet Juliette Binoche’s Julie. We hear sounds of TV buzz, heavy breathing, even her huge sighs – which threaten to take your own breath away. Sadly, the first sounds Julie hears, is the nurse informing her of the terrible news. Wrapped in blankets, battered and bruised, Julie is already suffocating.
Glass is symbolic again, this time it tends to shatter and break. Like the scene in the hospital, when Julie attempts unsuccessfully to end her own life. The nurse sees Julie her through the glass of the window.
The first startling time Julie hears the music of her dead husband. A blue haze fills the frame, as the composition kicks in, and the camera pulls away, then pushes back towards her. A miraculous cinematic moment. Julie will have several blackouts during the narrative.
In her grief, Julie yearns for a mournful kind of closure. She arranges for the sale of her house, destroys her husband’s unfinished music, and sleeps with his collaborator, Olivier (who pines for her). Julie is, at first, revealing a kind of anger, and resentment in her grieving eyes.
Tiny distractions enter Julie’s world. The sounds of mice in a closet; knocking on door following a scuffle outside causes tension; a flickering light on her face, from a kid across the way reflecting light with a small mirror.
There are several close-up shots of Julie running a finger along the music notes, which cranks up the music soundtrack. Which is distorted and broken when thrown into the garbage truck. Early in the film, Julie self harms as she drags her clenched knuckles across an uneven brick wall.
The blue bead chandelier is the only item from her old life that she takes with her. At first, she tries to break it, but fails. It continues to be a motif of Julie’s grounded reminder, and a treasured memory.
Julie’s private moments of solace come when she is in the swimming pool. And the most blatant use of blue in the film. A kind of escape haven for the grieving woman, longing for space away from the reality that reminds her of the pain and loss.
At times, Julie tries to spend as much time as she can under the water. Especially so when there are other people around – in one scene she shows her frustration of not being able to isolate herself. The marvelous eye for unapologetic lighting and movement to demonstrate mourning and self-discovery from Slawomir Idziak is incredible.
What she would perhaps think is against her better judgement, Julie befriends a young woman, Lucille, who has her own adult issues. The friendship gives Julie a new purpose. And the exotic club that Lucille works at, gives Kieślowski all manner of mirrors and windows to utilise.
Kieślowski’s experimenting with visual styles is never unnoticed. Circles, and the circular journey, being a big theme in Three Colours: Blue, one stand-out shot is when we view Julie through rolls of music composition. In pieces, obstructed, isolated, surrounded by reminders, she can not avoid coming full circle.
Emmanuelle Riva plays Julie’s mother, who struggles to remember her daughter. Ironic, given Julie is eager to forget. Such issues shown more than once in reflections of faces. Towards the end, Olivier is reflected through the piano while on the phone.
Perhaps an attempt at leaving her life, perhaps a last stitch attempt to escape the world around her, Julie sees how far she can push herself in another pool session.
Close-ups of the fingers on notes as the music plays, is far more significant later, when Julie and Olivier try to finish her husband’s work. Like the sugar cube in the coffee, or Julie’s eye at the beginning of Blue, Kieślowski emphasises how she views the small things, as well as the notion of confinement.
Zbigniew Preisner composed the film’s score before the actual shooting began, and thus formed a basis of the film’s heartbeat. As Julie reunites herself with the music aspect of her past, one shot has bobbles of blue light reminiscent of the bead chandelier.
The final moments, Julie pressing against glass as Olivier makes love to her, the music seemingly finished, bellows out. In the final scene, Julie’s face in the window, as the tears finally fall, and a reflection of the outside world imposed over her. Binoche is ridiculously real, without hardly moving a hair.
THREE COLOURS: WHITE > > > > >
The opening of Three Colours: White justaposes Karol walking briskly with a large suitcase on a conveyor belt. Kieślowski is keen to make a comment on technology on his openings – with Blue it’s a car, with Red it’s a telephone line. The suitcase shots were added in editing, a kind of taster of what would come later, giving the viewer an added narrative dimension. Almost like handing out information, but for what we not yet know.
White introduces Karol through his opening footsteps – pacey but short, tatty dress, some what clumsy perhaps. He is apprehension, framed so, and humiliated by a bird shitting on him.
Speaking of birds, those pigeons are quite prominent. In the first flashback to Karol and Dominique’s wedding, a bunch of pigeons flutter off as Dominique enters the frame.
The white, angelic little sequences from the wedding. Wonderful casting, the light-haired, fair skinned Julie Delpy was introduced to Krzysztof Kieślowski by Agnieszka Holland. Delpy also turned down, at one time or another, parts in The Double Life of Veronique and Blue.
Like Lucille in Blue, and the Judge in Red, our protagonists acquire a new found friend. In White, Karol is approached by Mikolaj, who will have a very intriguing favour to ask.
Of course, the colour white plays a big part. The brighter exteriors, the wedding day flashbacks, the bride, the snowy grounds were the smugglers give Karol a beating. Even the sky is a drab, misty white.
Karol, as played by Zbigniew Zamachowski, is a man of hapless nature and fortune. It’s a frantic, nervy performance, perfectly tuned to the film’s light comedy and emotive despair – smuggled at an airport; shat on by a bird; gets a coin stuck to his hand.
Mikolaj’s task for Karol is to kill him. Comes as a surprise of course, only to find the gun is loaded with blanks. A kind of reference to Karol’s marriage too, as he wasn’t able to unable to consumate it (you know, firing blanks).
Karol’s scheme comes with some moral side effects – perhaps no more so when he attends his own funeral and sees Dominique crying. Is she upset? Or is this just an act?
When all is revealed, Karol has the upper hand, and Dominique is stunned to see him, alive. Karol’s version of equality is about getting even.
And revenge here is a dish served with consummation. A far cry from the opening when Dominique is set to divorce Karol, with her finger folding wave after the court hearing. This was was Krzysztof Kieślowski’s idea, wanting a goodbye that was not sentimental.
Ah, Karol’s comb. We first see him playing it as he busks. Yes, playing it. You don’t think Kieślowski is not going to incorporate plot music somehow, do you?
Having grown in confidence and ambition, Karol’s recollection of his wedding goes as far as the kiss with Dominique. White’s cinematography is by Edward Klosinski, who has worked with Polish directors, Andrzej Wajda and Krzysztof Zanussi – two of Kieślowski’s favourites.
When Dominique is imprisoned, she signals a message to Karol down below. Again, that restricted communication between people.
Having succeeded in his plan, Karol cries openly as he looks up at Dominique through the window (of course). Remorse? Realisation? Love? Loss?
< < < < < THREE COLOURS: BLUE
THREE COLOURS: RED > > > > >
Early in Three Colours: Red, as he prepares to take his dog for a walk, behind Auguste the picture on the wall shows a dancer. An exact pose we see Valentine’s upper torso perform just scenes later. One of the more subtle cues to their paths crossing.
Directly below Valentine’s apartment you may or may not notice the name Joseph on the cafe, the same name as the retired judge fate would soon have her meet. In White, Karol arrives at his brothers place, also called Karol – but that is their surname. Yep, Karol Karol.
The beautiful Valentine, as enticingly portrayed by Irène Jacob, shows a rare moment of pride and joy in her work as a model. Seconds before being asked to look sad for the photograph now synonymous with the movie.
Valentine refreshes with a huge amount of water, then turns to someone off shot and wishes them “bonne journée” before leaving. A spontaneous, unscripted moment that Kieślowski left in the final cut. Of course he did, it fits perfectly with Valentine’s endearing nature.
A blink and you’ll miss it chance to see various Valentine poses, before she selects the illustrious photo. The visual presentation of choice.
Outside of the Judge’s house, Valentine has a should I stay or should I go moment. She eventually enters the house, choosing in some way her short-term fate.
As the spying and prying becomes all too intriguing and involving, Valentine succumbs to her own personal urges and the Judge’s reasoning. This shot shows them on the same team, his brief glance at her when she approaches is priceless.
Perhaps a little too much for Valentine, having crossed something of an ethical line and broken down part of her emotional wall, she weeps privately in her car as she drives home. A beautifully real moment.
At a red light, Auguste is faced with the huge banner of Valentine’s face from the earlier shoot. The ill-fated neighbors still have not actually met, but he clearly is somewhat enraptured by what he sees.
The Judge has to replace a table lamp bulb with one from the main light. Obviously far too bright for Valentine’s eyes, until he returns the lamp shade, but the impact of the shot is illuminating both literally and aesthetically.
As Valentine and the Judge share a semi-celebratory drink, unifying them, a rock comes crashing through the window. Another broken window, this time suggesting heavily that someone is onto his intrusive hobbies.
Going to extreme, but necessary, lengths to see with his own eyes that his girlfriend is sleeping with another man, Auguste climbs the window ledge and gradually peers in to see what he was hoping not to.
At the film’s climactic fashion show, there’s a beautiful moment as Valentine peers around the curtain as a child perhaps would to see if their parents have shown up for their play.
Physically and work-wise, this could well be Valentine’s glory moment, adrift from the usual, timid persona, she is literally center stage amidst the applause and flash photography. This scene was used for Piotr Sobocinski’s Best Cinematography nomination clip.
To her pleasant surprise, Valentine sees that the Judge has attended the show after all, making one of his rare ventures out into the real world. Her infectious influence is thicker than his skin.
As the judge and Valentine part, she places her hand on the glass over his at the other side in the car he is about to leave in. A completely appropriate and mutual respect.
Showing up, and struggling, in the first two Three Colors movie, Blue and White, the hunched over old lady finally gets some assistance from the good-hearted Valentine. While Julie and Karol were distracted, perhaps Valentine represents a kind of closure and awareness of what’s around them.
At the film’s final hurdle, a remarkable sequence has us meet some familiar faces as survivors of a ferry accident. First, with the blue sky behind her, we see Julie, and Olivier, (from Blue) being escorted from the scene.
Next making it safely to land is Dominique, as well as Karol (from White), once again incredibly pitched against a partial background of white.
And finally, as we and the Judge anxiously watch on, Auguste and Valentine are also safe. And for the first time they have actually, finally met. The image, too, as the frame freezes, with the red in the background, is an astute but direct reference to the now classic photo of Valentine.
Knowing Valentine is safe, and likely finding it hard to have warmed so much to her, the Judge looks through the broken window (why fix it, indeed?). The wry smile on his face is truly a poignant and fitting close to a wonderful movie. As they run down the Judge’s face, that makes it three-for-three as each film in the trilogy closes with tears.
