Best of Ever, Vol. 10: Kieslowski's Three-Colors Trilogy, Part 1

 The Guild Cinema brought Krzysztof Kieslowski's seminal Three-Colors Trilogy to the big screen for some September matinees. A visit with our favorite filmmaker of all time has been long overdue. We soon will also revisit his masterpiece, "Dekalog."

BLUE (1993) (A) - Juliette Binoche is simply captivating as a woman mourning the death of her husband, a world-renowned classical composer, and their daughter. Her recovery from the accident that killed them is complicated by some revelations about her husband's secret past.

Krzystof Kieslowski is simply a master of morality tales, and his examinations of the human condition burrow deep into a viewer's soul. Here he soaks the screen in blue tones, and it comes off as a revelatory depiction of melancholia rather than a facile, cliched take on sadness. Little touches of blue are everywhere -- a file folder, a candy wrapper, the swimming pool in which Binoche's character, Julie, escapes.

Binoche was known for lighter fare at the time -- "The Unbearable Lightness of Being," "Wuthering Heights" -- but here she emerges as a profound performer who wrings every emotion out of Julie, who seizes the opportunity to make a fresh start in her life amid the gloom. With no time or inclination for tears, Julie simply empties their mansion and disappears for a while to a nondescript apartment (the only memento from her past is a light fixture of blue stringed beads). She bides her time interacting with mice and neighbors. She bonds with Lucille (Charlotte Very), an exotic dancer ostracized by neighbors for her liberal sexual endeavors. 

It is hinted early on that Julie might have secretly written her husband's music. That little bombshell never gets addressed head-on or fully examined. Julie does eventually work with her husband's collaborator, Olivier (Benoit Regent), who has always been in love with Julie. Olivier has been quietly tasked with completing her husband's final opus, an anthem dedicated to a united Europe. 

Julie, meanwhile, cannot escape the past or the memories of her husband and daughter. A skateboarder who witnessed the car crash tracks down Julie to return to her the necklace (with crucifix) that he found at the scene. A street performer plays familiar airs on a flute, haunting her and inspiring her. Eventually, a figure from her husband's past will appear, and it offers Julie an opportunity to display forgiveness and offer redemption. It ends in a magical moment of graceful storytelling.

Kieslowski's camera is forever curious. He was a master at angles and perceptions, playing with focus and reflections -- all of which adds to the layers of mood. At times when Julie is confronted with a revelation or key decision, a swell of music rises up, the screen goes black for a few seconds, and then returns again to Julie, simulating an out-of-body experience (or epiphany?) at these critical moments. He takes close-up shots of notes on a score sheet and pans along as the music plays or the chorus blares.

The movie itself is a symphony. A hosanna to the heavens.  A rhapsody in blue.

 

Here are links to the other films: "White" and "Red."