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."
看恐怖片还要嫌弃被搞得不舒服、晦气的人到底是咋想的啊？前面代入感真的很强，作为鬼影实录式的恐怖片我觉得真实感是做到了的，中后期习惯了反而没有那么吓人了。但有几个坑总觉得没填上，比如从前被献祭的小女孩是怎么活了六年的？
在TW上映首週 週末兩天票房超越蝙蝠俠，行銷很會下標 [TW電影打敗DC/好萊塢電影]，[史上最恐怖華語片]… 宣傳噱頭+觀眾口碑+中上製作水準，恐怖片也可以賣到破億票房… 從[粽邪]/[紅衣]/[女鬼橋]/[哭悲]...到這部[咒] TW的'恐怖'和'民俗'類型片領域愈來愈茁壯發展了… (至於作品本身如何…是否題材/形式＞內容… 就見仁見智了…
新冠袭来，之前简单的事情都变得异常困难，很真实展现了疫情初期养老院的窘境。
很喜欢拍摄方式，相信晦气的和qq空间不转不及格的是一批人
打低分的说因为觉得晦气而打低分，可我想说巨婴观众是最晦气的！超多国外恐怖片有诅咒，没见你们说晦气，因为没文化认同感。这次来个有文化认同的，比较优秀的中式恐怖片，仅仅因为里面有诅咒这种营销手段和互动手法，就给人家打低分，不要太可笑嗷。难道看恐怖片图个吉利吗？
片中这个 诅咒之神 为所妄为 无所不能 。。。就。。行吧。ok fine。
这个拍法才是真的聚焦于人 关注个体的无助 我们都知道 直到现在 面对这个境遇依然是失控而没有最优解 但是很多人没办法理解 因为在逻辑里是不能理解其外的逻辑的 那么请多一点共情可以吗 抱歉 似乎不行 自己门前的雪都扫不过来了
目前华语没有比这个更恐怖的，值得鼓励，平常很爱看恐怖片但是我现在还在腿软…
好邪门啊但还是没有某人演唱会吓人，导演还蛮会洗脑的，你以为是祝福，其实是诅咒，替孩子消灾的做法就有点道德绑架了吧，咱就说如果朵朵不出世，后面或许就没那么多人出事
实在太沉重了，新闻上的每一条数字背后都是一条条的生命和无数的悲剧，电影的并没有停留在他们坐在一起玩扑克牌的瞬间，而是向观众展示了现实的绝望，疫情不过是对生命和平等的长期蔑视的反映而已。Jodie Comer的巨星之路已经开始了！
柯孟融導演極有可能是整部片裡唯一中邪的人，由他創建起來的視覺邪教執意於向我們散佈「攝像機無所不能」的詛咒。也許在導演看來，若要讓「看後即死」的催眠恐懼能夠奏效，無孔不入的多重視點不可或缺：正如信徒重複唸誦同一句咒語，觀者在受到導演對攝像機異乎尋常的宗教式迷戀的持續影響同時，詛咒的儀式已經完成。由此看來，導演的「惡意」才最讓我感到害怕，而不是光有表面邪惡的電影。偽紀錄片形式於是成為《咒》最大的謊言，恰恰相反，導演逼迫著我們去「觀看」各個不可能存在的角度，各種精心策劃的靈異現象，總之看得越多越好，沒有什麼是攝像機不能捕捉和實現的。資訊過載的恐懼瀰漫人心，遮掩神母雙眼的紅布被揭開的一剎那，連最「不可見」之事亦能被輕易轉化為可見，（仍然完好無損的）機器便成為唯一的，真正的恐怖本身：深不見底的虛無。
玩不起就别看啊，说晦气然后打1星的人是信咒吗？中肯评价一下电影行不行？导演还没对你们这些白嫖b感觉晦气呢。
为了开展后续剧情强行降智
女主作死程度令人发指，以至于很难和最后和女儿的深情告白共情。恐怖程度就和灵媒、中邪差不多吧，噱头在于最后那个分摊，说实话挺无语的，搞这个吓唬谁呢？
有人说恐怖，有人说晦气，我觉得是邪。柯孟融勘破了民俗志怪类恐怖片的三大法宝：图腾，经文，邪神。图腾往往象征着危险信号，是原始恐惧的传承与延伸，在视觉暂留的魔法加持下，让人陷入半信半疑的心虚状态。经文则是听觉陷阱，循环往复的加深印象，引人犯错，若是一不小心默念，便是一身冷汗。邪神=无法控制的至高力量，该意象想要成立，则必须依托于超自然恐怖奇观：虫、溃烂、献祭、封印，多个场景的冲击之下，求神拜佛保平安的敬畏与恐惧油然而生，瞬间沦为邪神信徒。很多人因为所谓的诅咒而打一星，这其实就是信了咒的邪，正中导演下怀，越是破口大骂，越代表恐惧强烈，反而印证电影本身的优秀。“你相信祝福吗？”看似人畜无害的台词，却让我头皮发麻，心有余悸，人类无时无刻都在寻求庇佑的念头，才是永恒的魔咒，我要听十遍张学友的《祝福》。
肉眼不可见的病毒在昏黄的灯光照射下仿佛有了实体，吞没人的安全感。短暂的兜风会使人陷入愉悦的假象，而与冰凉的框架重遇之时，则会滑至心境的崩塌。
对完全不信鬼怪和神佛的我来说也确实毫无感觉，也对所谓的“晦气”设定感到好笑，最大的冲击甚至是最后满屏的文字转白让我生理性瞎了眼… 没有如此夸张和铺天盖地的营销可能会给及格分吧，也许大概是观众觉得需要“分享”才会如此卖力传播（。和原本案件不说一模一样可以说毫无关系，这题材和完成度甚至还不如那个不可说游戏，抛开蹭的真实事件以外，华语恐怖片中也不是第一次使用伪记录形式了，剩下的只有营销的分了。
【C+】最值得称赞的部分，是创作者处理伪纪录片「拍摄目的」的态度。《灵媒》基本就是这一类型的反面案例，让摄影师的敬业精神与专业素养取代求生欲望，精致的影像彻底掩盖了鬼怪所带来的恐惧，只剩尴尬的笑点。虽然《咒》在大多数情况下也陷入了同样的窘境，但最后抛出的设定却巧妙化解了“拍摄”这一行为的矛盾感，那些特殊的摆拍机位也可以看作是补全诅咒逻辑链条的必要之举。所以影片结尾的诅咒与其说是对观众的冒犯，更像是为了实现营销推广并铲除类型弊端而做出的必要决策（也的确达到了其设想的结果）。当然，这层冒犯还算是温柔的，毕竟佛母的诅咒本质仍是信与不信的选择问题，而非《趣味游戏》中那个将观众无情虐杀的遥控器。
被一些极其代入电影的评论笑到 对于这类观众来说 电影既是非必要娱乐又是正经信息渠道 电影呈现的一切都真实可信 他们可能认为电影是宣传口是私货工具是哗众取宠的文化商品//至于这部恐怖片 虽然打破第四堵墙拉近观演关系但效果不好 导演并不能利用好伪纪录片的形式带来的有限视角而为了故事讲述的通畅不得不加上其他视角的镜头 在某种程度上是破坏了通过第四堵墙的拆除而缩短的观演心理距离 不知道把观众究竟放在哪个位置//但这都不重要了 那么多人看完觉得晦气 这片子也就成功一大半了
我真的好惊！看完头痛脖子痛，现在就想抹掉关于这部片的记忆。纠结视角和伪纪录的形式很可笑，这就是女主搜集到一切视角的素材，并剪辑而成，放给所有观众观看，并让所有观众分担诅咒的长视频啊！打破第四面墙可不仅仅存在于影片内部哦。她连佛母的脸都敢掀开，剪个片子帮佛母增加供奉也是小事一桩啦。
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