The Great Movies III

Alexandre makes two marionettes that look like her. He tells their story. When one was very young, she touched a hot stove. A few days later, the other knew not to. Yes, and why did the Paris Veronique suddenly stop taking music lessons? A Hollywood movie would tell you, and you wouldn't want to know. Kieslowski is more delicate. He doesn't want to know why such things happen, or even if they happen. He wants us to acknowledge we all know how they feel.

Have I made The Double Life of Veronique sound as if nothing much happens? The movie has a hypnotic effect. We are drawn into the character, not kept at arm's length with a plot. Both women are good and true and do nothing shameful. There is a shot of Jacob, who pauses for a moment and lifts her head to the sun, and we know what she is experiencing: here I am, my life around me, my hopes high, my trust confident, standing stock still, the sun on my face, living in this moment. It is a holy moment.

This is one of the most beautiful films I've seen. The cinematographer, Slawomir Idziak, finds a glow in Irene Jacob's pre-Raphaelite beauty. He uses a rich palette, including insistent reds and greens that don't "stand" for anything but have the effect of underlining the other colors. The other color, blending with both, is golden yellow, and then there are the skin tones. Jacob, who was twenty-four when the film was made, has a flawless complexion that the camera lingers near to. Her face is a template waiting for experience to be added. She is open to the murmurs of the aether.

The film has some older characters: two fathers, an aunt, the conductor and his wife, a music teacher. These people regard her with wisdom and love. There are no bad people, except the flasher, who shrivels from insignificance. There are also some mysterious people. Who is that woman in the floppy black hat who turns and looks intently at Veronique? I thought for a moment it was Veronica's aunt, but no. Has she seen her somewhere before? We will never know. And do the aunt in Poland and the father in France resemble each other a little, or is it only in attitude? And, don't smile, what does the shoestring in France represent? The one so important it must be sought in the Dumpster?

Krzysztof Kieslowski (1941-96) was a great man. With his writing partner, Krzysztof Piesiewicz, he made films that dealt with spiritual challenges and the uncoiling of fate. His Decalogue, released as ten films of fiftyfive minutes each, deals with people who know what they want to do but not what they should do. Each film centers somehow on a commandment. Then he made the Three Colors trilogy, Red, White, and Blue, of which the first, also starring Irene Jacob, is the first among equals. Then he retired at fifty-three in 1994, and two years later, he was dead.

He is drawn to coincidence and synchronicity. He is little interested in focusing on a character hurtling from point A in the first act to point C in the third. He is fascinated by point B, and the unseen threads linking it to past and present. His films can be mystical experiences. He trusts us to follow him, to sense his purpose, to leave the theater having shared his openness to a moment. The last thing you want to do after a Kieslowski film is "unravel" the plot. It can't be done. If you try it, you will turn clouds into rain. If there seem to be inconsistencies, it is because life and time itself sometimes try again and take an unexpected turn.

Let me give you an example. The Criterion Collection's two-volume DVD edition, a stunning transfer with a wealth of bonus features, includes as an option the "American ending." We learn that Harvey Weinstein, the film's U.S. distributor, felt unsatisfied with the director's close. He changed nothing earlier but edited in four additional shots, now the last ones in the film. They explain nothing and add nothing. All they demonstrate is that Weinstein thought Kieslowski's final image, of Veronique's hand touching the rough old bark of a tree, could be improved by her running across a lawn to hug her father. This whole film is a hug, the kind you share with a very good friend when you are in sympathy about something that is very important.

obody went to see Easy Rider (1969) only once. It became one of the rallying points of the late'6os, a road picture and a buddy picture, celebrating sex, drugs, rock'n' roll, and the freedom of the open road. It did a lot of repeat business while the sweet smell of pot drifted through theaters. Seeing the movie years later is like opening a time capsule. It provides little shocks of recognition, as when you realize they aren't playing "Don't Bogart That Joint" for laughs.