In 1961, Stanislaw Rozewicz created the novella film "Birth Certificate" in cooperation with his brother, Taduesz Rozewicz as screenwriter. Such brother tandems are rare in the history of film but aside from family ties, Stanislaw (born in 1924) and Taduesz (born in 1921) were mutually bound by their love for the cinema. They were born and grew up in Radomsk, a small town which had "its madmen and its saints" and most importanly, the "Kinema" cinema, as Stanislaw recalls: for him cinema is "heaven, the whole world, enchantment". Tadeusz says he considers cinema both a charming market stall and a mysterious temple. "All this savage land has always attracted and fascinated me," he says. "I am devoured by cinema and I devour cinema; I'm a cinema eater." But Taduesz Rozewicz, an eminent writer, admits this unique form of cooperation was a problem to him: "It is the presence of the other person not only in the process of writing, but at its very core, which is inserperable for me from absolute solitude." Some scenes the brothers wrote together; others were created by the writer himself, following discussions with the director. But from the perspective of time, it is "Birth Certificate", rather than "Echo" or "The Wicked Gate", that Taduesz describes as his most intimate film. This is understandable. The tradgey from September 1939 in Poland was for the Rozewicz brothers their personal "birth certificate". When working on the film, the director said "This time it is all about shaking off, getting rid of the psychological burden which the war was for all of us. ... Cooperation with my brother was in this case easier, as we share many war memories. We wanted to show to adult viewers a picture of war as seen by a child. ... In reality, it is the adults who created the real world of massacres. Children beheld the horrors coming back to life, exhumed from underneath the ground, overwhelming the earth."
The principle of composition of "Birth Certificate" is not obvious. When watching a novella film, we tend to think in terms of traditional theatre. We expect that a miniature story will finish with a sharp point; the three film novellas in Rozewicz's work lack this feature. We do not know what will be happen to the boy making his alone through the forest towards the end of "On the Road". We do not know whether in "Letter from the Camp", the help offered by the small heroes to a Soviet prisoner will rescue him from the unknown fate of his compatriots. The fate of the Jewish girl from "Drop of Blood" is also unclear. Will she keep her new impersonation as "Marysia Malinowska"? Or will the Nazis make her into a representative of the "Nordic race"? Those questions were asked by the director for a reason. He preceived war as chaos and perdition, and not as linear history that could be reflected in a plot. Although "Birth Certificate" is saturated with moral content, it does not aim to be a morality play. But with the immense pressure of reality, no varient of fate should be excluded. This approached can be compared wth Krzysztof Kieslowski's "Blind Chance" 25 years later, which pictured dramatic choices of a different era.
The film novella "On the Road" has a very sparing plot, but it drew special attention of the reviewers. The ominating overtone of the war films created by the Polish Film School at that time should be kept in mind. Mainly owing to Wajda, those films dealt with romantic heritage. They were permeated with pathos, bitterness, and irony. Rozewicz is an extraordinary artist. When narrating a story about a boy lost in a war zone, carrying some documents from the regiment office as if they were a treasure, the narrator in "On the Road" discovers rough prose where one should find poetry. And suddenly, the irrational touches this rather tame world. The boy, who until that moment resembled a Polish version of the Good Soldier Schweik, sets off, like Don Quixote, for his first and last battle. A critic described it as "an absurd gesture and someone else could surely use it to criticise the Polish style of dying. ... But the Rozewicz brothers do no accuse: they only compose an elegy for the picturesque peasant-soldier, probably the most important veteran of the Polish war of 1939-1945." "Birth Certificate" is not a lofty statement about national imponderabilia. The film reveals a plebeian perspective which Aleksander Jackieqicz once contrasted with those "lyrical lamentations" inherent in the Kordian tradition. However, a historical overview of Rozewicz's work shows that the distinctive style does not signify a fundamental difference in illustrating the Polish September. Just as the memorable scene from Wajda's "Lotna" was in fact an expression of desperation and distress, the same emotions permeate the final scene of "Birth Certificate". These are not ideological concepts, though once described as such and fervently debated, but rather psychological creations. In this specific case, observes Witold Zalewski, it is not about manifesting knightly pride, but about a gesture of a simple man who does not agree to be enslaved.
The novella "Drop of Blood" is, with Aleksander Ford's "Border Street", one of the first narrations of the fate of the Polish Jews during the Nazi occupation. The story about a girl literally looking for her place on earth has a dramatic dimension. Especially in the age of today's journalistic disputes, often manipulative, lacking in empathy and imbued with bad will, Rozewicz's story from the past shocks with its authenticity. The small herione of the story is the only one who survives a German raid on her family home. Physical survial does not, however, mean a return to normality. Her frightened departure from the rubbish dump that was her hideout lead her to a ruined apartment. Her walk around it is painful because still fresh signs of life are mixed with evidence of annihilation. Help is needed, but Mirka does not know anyone in the outside world. Her subsequent attempts express the state of the fugitive's spirits - from hope and faith, moving to doubt, a sense of oppression, and thickening fear, and finally to despair.
At the same time, the Jewish girl's search for refuge resembles the state of Polish society. The appearance of Mirka results in confusion, and later, trouble. This was already signalled by Rozewicz in an exceptional scene from "Letter from the Camp" in which the boy's neighbour, seeing a fugitive Russian soldier, retreats immediately, admitting that "Now, people worry only about themselves." Such embarassing excuses mask fear. During the occupation, no one feels safe. Neither social status not the aegis of a charity organisation protects against repression. We see the potential guardians of Mirka passing her back and forth among themselves. These are friendly hands but they cannot offer strong support. The story takes place on that thin line between solidarity and heroism. Solidarity arises spontaneously, but only some are capable of heroism. Help for the girl does not always result from compassion; sometimes it is based on past relations and personal ties (a neighbour of the doctor takes in the fugitive for a few days because of past friendship). Rozewicz portrays all of this in a subtle way; even the smallest gesture has significance. Take, for example, the conversation with a stranger on the train: short, as if jotted down on the margin, but so full of tension. And earlier, a peculiar examination of Polishness: the "Holy Father" prayer forced on Mirka by the village boys to check that she is not a Jew. Would not rising to the challenge mean a death sentance?
Viewed after many years, "Birth Certificate" discloses yet another quality that is not present in the works of the Polish School, but is prominent in later B-class war films. This is the picture of everyday life during the war and occupation outlined in the three novellas. It harmonises with the logic of speaking about "life after life". Small heroes of Rozewicz suddenly enter the reality of war, with no experience or scale with which to compare it. For them, the present is a natural extension of and at the same time a complete negation of the past. Consider the sleey small-town marketplace, through which armoured columns will shortly pass. Or meet the German motorcyclists, who look like aliens from outer space - a picture taken from an autopsy because this is how Stanislaw and Taduesz perceived the first Germans they ever met. Note the blurred silhouettes of people against a white wall who are being shot - at first they are shocking, but soon they will probably become a part of the grim landscape. In the city centre stands a prisoner camp on a sodden bog ("People perish likes flies; the bodies are transported during the night"); in the street the childern are running after a coal wagon to collect some precious pieces of fuel. There's a bustle around some food (a boy reproaches his younger brother's actions by singing: "The warrant officer's son is begging in front of the church? I'm going to tell mother!"); and the kitchen, which one evening becomes the proscenium of a real drama. And there are the symbols: a bar of chocolate forced upon a boy by a Wehrmacht soldier ("On the Road"); a pair of shoes belonging to Zbyszek's father which the boy spontaneously gives to a Russian fugitive; a priceless slice of bread, ground under the heel of a policeman in the guter ("Letters from the Camp"). As the director put it: "In every film, I communicate my own vision of the world and of the people. Only then the style follows, the defined way of experiencing things." In Birth Certificate, he adds, his approach was driven by the subject: "I attempted to create not only the texture of the document but also to add some poetic element. I know it is risky but as for the merger of documentation and poety, often hidden very deep, if only it manages to make its way onto the screen, it results in what can referred to as 'art'."
After 1945, there were numerous films created in Europe that dealt with war and children, including "Somewhere in Europe" ("Valahol Europaban", 1947 by Geza Radvanyi), "Shoeshine" ("Sciescia", 1946 by Vittorio de Sica), and "Childhood of Ivan" ("Iwanowo dietstwo" by Andriej Tarkowski). Yet there were fewer than one would expect. Pursuing a subject so imbued with sentimentalism requires stylistic disipline and a special ability to manage child actors. The author of "Birth Certificate" mastered both - and it was not by chance. Stanislaw Rozewicz was always the beneficent spirit of the film milieu; he could unite people around a common goal. He emanated peace and sensitivity, which flowed to his co-workers and pupils. A film, being a group work, necessitates some form of empathy - tuning in with others.
In a biographical documentary about Stanislaw Rozewicz entitled "Walking, Meeting" (1999 by Antoni Krauze), there is a beautiful scene when the director, after a few decades, meets Beata Barszczewska, who plays Mireczka in the novella "Drops of Blood". The woman falls into the arms of the elderly man. They are both moved. He wonders how many years have passed. She answers: "A few years. Not too many." And Rozewicz, with his characteristic smile says: "It is true. We spent this entire time together."
这是我豆瓣标记的1400部电影长篇（不算纪录片电影），还是一如既往的喜欢看电影，希望继续有电影陪伴我的生活
蓝色的巴黎，忧郁的柔光，积压在心头的愁绪，散落在公园的草地.光影交织，夜色温柔
即将离开的旧屋，她把自己珍藏的日记本和“生育女神”分赠给儿子和女儿并告诉他们自己如何走出人生那段最艰难的时光。
人们过度在意着日常的琐碎，忘记了夜间同样是生活的重要组成。只不过在这样的时间段里，看似变慢的时间，却在人来人往中，加速着欲望、快乐与苦痛的动态平衡。最终的结果，最后的取舍，全然出自你的本心。米夏埃尔·艾斯用极佳的审美，曼妙的音乐，挑逗着巴黎午夜的氤氲，艾曼纽·贝阿、诺亚·阿比塔充满着不同年龄层的独有魅力，而夏洛特·甘斯布则像河流汇入海洋一般，一瞬间便能卷走你所有的爱。
感情特别真挚，我看哭了，不好意思嗷。
以为是老电影，原来是2022的。后劲很足，看过之后感觉挥之不去，迷惘伤感，又带着一些些希望。最美的是懵懂的青春期的少男少女。疲惫憔悴的女主，看似虚弱但并没有被生活打败，觉得眼熟，原来就是很多年前看过的性瘾者！那时的她可是年轻而疯狂的
也许抓到了一些80s巴黎的神韵，但更多依赖于表层符号和技术手段来实现，故事则过分温柔、平滑到近乎失真，恍如听了首流水线制作的梦泡。
彼此生命中的奇迹，时代洪流里的尘埃。原来是Amanda的导演，我说怎么有种熟悉感，甚至复现了Ophelia少得离谱的戏份
不过话说回来，女主看着不像只能住一居室的样子，他家这大玻璃窗简直梦中情屋……
也想去八十年代的巴黎打通那个电话
一流的色调摄影配乐
如果所有的听力都是Charlotte来读就好了
日光之下皆覆辙，夜色深里无旧梦，上世纪八十年代的法国迷人透了，他们没赶上《鸟人》，去看了《圆月映花都》，墙上还有《德州巴黎》的海报，敬所有有你们在场的快乐
不仅在讲述这几个人的故事
只有真正热爱生活、热爱电影的人才能把这样一个简单的离婚后生活拍得如此浪漫、如此迷人。去戏剧性的叙事方式一如法国新浪潮侯麦大师，正如巴黎塞纳河的涓涓细流，并不引人注目，却早已融入生活。眨眼间，甘斯布也到了饰演母亲的年纪，却依然充满魅力，让人赞叹不已。公寓里四人抱在一起，在Joe Dassin的音乐下相拥而舞的镜头令人动容。
转角大窗户可太美了。白天晚上都美。女主就是那种表面上问题一大堆，很脆弱，易受伤害，然而问题都能柳暗花明，塞翁失马，遇人都淑，只要对生活轻言细语，就绝不会遭遇生活真正的铁拳，的幸运鹅啊！
最近看过最迷人的电影，多美好的巴黎，那个女人们穿皮衣牛仔裤的年代，那个上街狂欢而非打砸抢的年代，有Jane Birkin的年代（女主居然是Birkin的女儿，我说怎么气质和长相那么那么像！），有菲林和夜间电台的年代。纯粹是一种情怀吧，当然，21世纪的人想回80年代，80年代的人想回60年代，60年代则想回到20年代，只留下无尽浪漫美好的对旧时光的幻想。
夜，是脆弱的栖息之所。夜色中，伤口也迷离。80年代的法国，左派胜利的欢欣，个体遭遇的不幸，都在低帧画面里变得恬淡了。导演说他希望把violence以让人容易接受（recevable)的方式呈现出来。女孩Talulah 看似残酷的选择——离开这个给予她温情的家庭和爱她男孩，也是一个自由又堕落的女孩能给的最好的温柔了。而影片中的三次性爱都着疗愈性：女人在遭遇爱情和工作挫折时与同事的短暂激情，男孩和女孩冒险之夜终于平息之时的难忘一夜，还有女人新的爱人抚摸了她胸口的伤疤……正如女主工作的午夜电台给听众带来的疗愈。夜之过客，与你互诉生命，舔舐伤口，给予勇气，却并不停留。
温情略杂着感伤，生活就是这样，毫无情面，但我们会报团取暖，不经意间制造着美好的片段。
新的一家人拥抱舞蹈时的她。
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