Film ReviewsIda: quiet truthsJan 29, 2015 Anchorage Press
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In the early 1900s, while Hollywood was putting in place the building blocks for major studios and the American film industry that dominates the world of cinema today, Poland was already producing feature films. Polish filmmakers have been on the forefront of cinema that not only reflects complex political histories and emotional journeys, but also is simply beautiful. In Ida, filmmaker Pawel Pawlikowski follows the cinematic traditions and aesthetics established by some of Poland's most notable directors like Andrzej Wajda and Krzysztof Kie?lowski.
Ida is set in 1962 Poland, when generations were still reeling from World War II, and the new and emerging Socialist political establishment was on shaky ground and just a few years away from the 1968 political crisis. Ida, however, addresses layers upon layers of issues from an intimate and personal vantage point. The film tells the story of a young woman who grew up in a Catholic orphanage and decides to take the vows of sisterhood, but before becoming Sister Anna, she meets her aunt for the first time. Their short visit turns into the quest of a lifetime for both women. Anna learns her name is Ida Lebenstein and that she is Jewish.
Ida is played by Agata Trzebuchowska, her fine features and piercing eyes remind one of a young but solemn Sissy Spacek. Pawlikowski casts Agata Kulesza as Wanda Cruz, Ida's aunt. Kulesza, like Trzebuchowska, masterfully reveals her character a bit at a time. Their pairing is perfect. The two actresses are on par with one another, elevating each other's performance with simultaneous restraint and fluidity so that viewers get to know their characters through small details, gazes and, more importantly, through the reactions and responses they have to one another. Wanda and Ida's experiences run equally deep, their relationship is bittersweet but surprisingly loving-after all, they are each other's only connection to family and history. Pawlikowski further develops the story with strong secondary characters that wear their humanity, flaws and all, on their sleeves. Surprising confessions, drunk driving, chain smoking, and nighttime escapades, the latter to hear Joanna Kulig deliver tunes of a pouty pop singer, all lead to a quest for truth.
Truth, as it turns out, doesn't differentiate between religion, nationality, ethnicity or age. In Ida, compassion closely follows, but so does pain, hope and hopelessness. Ida is compelling because its honesty lays bare truths that scorch victims and perpetrators of WWII atrocities alike. These kinds of truths require time and space so that they can be understood and honored. Forgiveness is a different question altogether. Pawlikowski uses cinematic devices such as wide shots that, like his characters, reveal only small details, usually off center, and in stark black and white. This gives the viewer room to look around the room or landscape and to engage his or her imagination hand in hand with the reality of 1962 Poland. Pawlikowski's expert use of silence is unparalleled. Silence echoes the stark reality of convent life, of depressed landscapes and poverty. There is no single sound in Ida that is out of place or superfluous. By having full command of the sound, Pawlikowski helps viewers experience the plot along with the characters. Silence also helps provide the room, like the wide shots, for truth and emotions to exist.
Pawlikowski is an award-winning filmmaker and documentarian. He started making documentaries in the mid-1980s for the BBC; incidentally, this is the same time in which Kie?lowski was making documentaries in Poland about factories and labor movements. Needless to say, Pawlikowski's work spans a wide gamut and includes feature films like The Woman in the Fifth with Ethan Hawke and Kristin Scott Thomas (miss it if you can), and My Summer of Love with Natalie Press and Emily Blunt. The latter is true to the genre of filmmaking that subscribes to the idea that a good ending is one that leaves the characters with options and the future full of possibilities. Open endings are only limited by each viewer's respective imagination. Films like François Truffaut's The 400 Blows or Federico Fellini's The Nights of Cabiria exemplify this concept. Open ending films can be very challenging for both the filmmakers and audiences, especially in a time when audiences are conditioned by Hollywood to expect resolution and happy endings whenever possible; even Kie?lowski had to devise an alternative ending for The Double Life of Veronique to gain favor with the American market. But there is something to be said for open endings when they're done right. Ida feels like one of these masterpieces that reaches an emotional and intellectual height on the wings of flawless filmmaking, but, instead of leaving the characters and viewers on the cusp of possibilities, it brings it down to a certain path that feels like an add-on and inadvertently curtails the imagination. Pawlikowski's Ida is an almost perfect film. Were it not for its last 15 to 19 minutes, Ida would be a genuine masterpiece.
Ida will show the Bear Tooth Theatrepub on Mon., Feb. 2 at 5:30 p.m.
Ida is set in 1962 Poland, when generations were still reeling from World War II, and the new and emerging Socialist political establishment was on shaky ground and just a few years away from the 1968 political crisis. Ida, however, addresses layers upon layers of issues from an intimate and personal vantage point. The film tells the story of a young woman who grew up in a Catholic orphanage and decides to take the vows of sisterhood, but before becoming Sister Anna, she meets her aunt for the first time. Their short visit turns into the quest of a lifetime for both women. Anna learns her name is Ida Lebenstein and that she is Jewish.
Ida is played by Agata Trzebuchowska, her fine features and piercing eyes remind one of a young but solemn Sissy Spacek. Pawlikowski casts Agata Kulesza as Wanda Cruz, Ida's aunt. Kulesza, like Trzebuchowska, masterfully reveals her character a bit at a time. Their pairing is perfect. The two actresses are on par with one another, elevating each other's performance with simultaneous restraint and fluidity so that viewers get to know their characters through small details, gazes and, more importantly, through the reactions and responses they have to one another. Wanda and Ida's experiences run equally deep, their relationship is bittersweet but surprisingly loving-after all, they are each other's only connection to family and history. Pawlikowski further develops the story with strong secondary characters that wear their humanity, flaws and all, on their sleeves. Surprising confessions, drunk driving, chain smoking, and nighttime escapades, the latter to hear Joanna Kulig deliver tunes of a pouty pop singer, all lead to a quest for truth.
Truth, as it turns out, doesn't differentiate between religion, nationality, ethnicity or age. In Ida, compassion closely follows, but so does pain, hope and hopelessness. Ida is compelling because its honesty lays bare truths that scorch victims and perpetrators of WWII atrocities alike. These kinds of truths require time and space so that they can be understood and honored. Forgiveness is a different question altogether. Pawlikowski uses cinematic devices such as wide shots that, like his characters, reveal only small details, usually off center, and in stark black and white. This gives the viewer room to look around the room or landscape and to engage his or her imagination hand in hand with the reality of 1962 Poland. Pawlikowski's expert use of silence is unparalleled. Silence echoes the stark reality of convent life, of depressed landscapes and poverty. There is no single sound in Ida that is out of place or superfluous. By having full command of the sound, Pawlikowski helps viewers experience the plot along with the characters. Silence also helps provide the room, like the wide shots, for truth and emotions to exist.
Pawlikowski is an award-winning filmmaker and documentarian. He started making documentaries in the mid-1980s for the BBC; incidentally, this is the same time in which Kie?lowski was making documentaries in Poland about factories and labor movements. Needless to say, Pawlikowski's work spans a wide gamut and includes feature films like The Woman in the Fifth with Ethan Hawke and Kristin Scott Thomas (miss it if you can), and My Summer of Love with Natalie Press and Emily Blunt. The latter is true to the genre of filmmaking that subscribes to the idea that a good ending is one that leaves the characters with options and the future full of possibilities. Open endings are only limited by each viewer's respective imagination. Films like François Truffaut's The 400 Blows or Federico Fellini's The Nights of Cabiria exemplify this concept. Open ending films can be very challenging for both the filmmakers and audiences, especially in a time when audiences are conditioned by Hollywood to expect resolution and happy endings whenever possible; even Kie?lowski had to devise an alternative ending for The Double Life of Veronique to gain favor with the American market. But there is something to be said for open endings when they're done right. Ida feels like one of these masterpieces that reaches an emotional and intellectual height on the wings of flawless filmmaking, but, instead of leaving the characters and viewers on the cusp of possibilities, it brings it down to a certain path that feels like an add-on and inadvertently curtails the imagination. Pawlikowski's Ida is an almost perfect film. Were it not for its last 15 to 19 minutes, Ida would be a genuine masterpiece.
Ida will show the Bear Tooth Theatrepub on Mon., Feb. 2 at 5:30 p.m.