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."
就做的挺到位的小成本既视迷影推理，几乎片中所有亮过的元素都有回响，像那个致敬闪灵破门经典镜头，跟最后的老照片收尾就回响了一把，甚至片头贴片预告片还有投钱的韩老板贺岁档的画外音背书：这回该轮到我们扬名立万了！总得来说，还是完成的比较有意思的一个东西。
现在看到这种片子想的竟然是“这么多暗喻和讽刺居然能过审”。是我不对劲还是这个时代不对劲了？
电影就像一首轻柔的心灵慰曲。在这无常的世界和生活中，人与人的关系也是若即若离，婚姻会崩塌，子女会长大独立，爱情会在意想不到的情况到来，人会因好意而走到一起，也会因惧怕幸福而离去。尽管如此，那些相拥的时刻，那些相聚的回忆，是能够永远存在的，是最牢不可摧的——“敬有你们在场的快乐。”
天下无不散的筵席，无论什么时候，最重要的都是自己拯救自己。
1984-1988，对柏林墙那边的人而言或许仍是一个压抑的年代，但在巴黎，却如此美好。很喜欢四人起舞的那段，以及这首Et si tu n'existais pas
不只是夏洛特，小女孩也好好，再加上这个演员水汪汪大眼睛本来就很像欧吉尔，中途也有圆月映花都和北方的桥，公交那场戏也好冬天的故事；Hers还是适合拍这种没有现实性的电影，选的音乐也照样对我的胃口；好久没看电影看哭过了，可能也是因为圆月映花都吧，都是莫名打动我的电影，看到最后有点希望不要结束。。。
开篇十几分钟以为是民国版的报告老板，有点无聊有点弱，后面渐入佳境还有点小惊喜，七分打四星吧！
非常温柔舒服的影片，宛如复古色调的私人家庭影像。身边的人来来去去，人生却一直向前走着，没有什么强求的，只是设法度过和尽力热爱。看到女主对女儿搬出去的感悟，感到伤心了。
别扭，但还是好。结尾决定不打搅女孩的动作真是拍得不舒服，即便整个闪回推导逻辑都是对的（以再次共情于两人、认同他对她的保护为止），但现在外化出来的动作太主动太突然了，哪怕是来一段烂俗的追公交→停车给机会→顿时又放弃的波折都比现在好。不过无论哪种拍法，不露脸都是对的，一方面给了多义，一方面成了符号。
颇多惊喜的新片。电台夜旅人、灯火星星点点夜色温柔、穿插的家庭录像带似的复古影像、圆月映花都的引用……80s家庭温情的怀旧情绪在一次次夜与昼的转换中发酵。
70/100 80年代童话般的午夜巴黎，因深夜电台而感情交织的人们，在悲欢离合之间互相藉慰互相取暖。电影营造出来的复古虚幻氛围特别特别美，尤其是巴黎的街景实在是拍摄得太漂亮了，看得出来导演编剧对这个城市浓厚的爱。
80年代的巴黎，淡淡的哀愁，轻盈的忧伤，过于舒展细腻到一度以为是候麦拍的
前面二十多分钟想弃，后面渐入佳境，甚至还有点感动
昨天刚好看了圆月映花都。缘分，妙不可言。Talulah听到圆月映花都女主去世那个哭出来的反应我立刻想起去年看到九月贝尔蒙多去世消息的时候。五十世代的甘斯布老师实在是很美，打了几回酱油的EB大概也可以算作是本片彩蛋。
温情、动人，叙事节奏很舒服，影片色调是我喜欢的，周末再看一遍。
婚姻破碎，子女成年，突然开启新生活的敏感脆弱的Elisabeth，无助的开始，放下所有又拥有所有的美丽结局。Charlotte把“夜旅人”Elisabeth扮演得太好了，好爱这电影浓浓的法式情调。
非常细腻动人的年代生活流电影，苦味若干，但轻易被巴黎独有的浪漫、自由、散漫气息所覆盖，说不清道不明的情绪熨贴人心，一次美好的沉浸式观影体验。
回忆起米夏埃尔的影片应该都会带着一层色彩滤镜，《阿曼达》是婴儿蓝，《巴黎夜旅人》是午夜蓝。现在就算是巴黎老太太也不会这么慢地讲话了，他的电影里都是现代陌生的巴黎，老电影熟悉的巴黎。
原来radio France那个街区在80年代就是现在的样子了。以及，巴黎果然是一座充满奇遇的城市。
“我一开始想象的生活并不是这样的,但我们还是尽力去热爱它了,对吗？ 以前,我觉得浪漫就是风花雪月。今天看完这部电影后,我对浪漫有了新的理解：它其实是一种选择,是一种勇敢,是一种英雄主义。即便自己的生活不那么如意,却依然热爱它。 这种爱,终会滋养出希望和温暖。
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