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."
她们错过了《鸟人》，便去看了侯麦的《圆月映花都》，巴黎的夜晚就该这么度过，太浪漫了
Pascale Ogier hante ce film…
轻盈随性 绝美的色调 柔和的光影 温暖舒适的室内设计 浪漫的巴黎风景 寻常的故事和台词 穿插的八零年代巴黎景色是精髓 看过这部电影就算当了一回巴黎夜旅人 致敬彻夜不眠后窗边的晨雾 音乐和香烟/甘斯布居然是英国人 真的很像法国美女
故事真无聊，被豆瓣高分骗了。本片主角是CG的头发，每条发丝都摇曳生姿，不是一般发型师能做出来的效果，使得CG虽老但依然非常美。儿子长得尖嘴猴腮的🐒
有动人之处，有滑入梦幻时代的迷醉气质。但也就一瞬
The Best Original Soundtrack of 2022
【生活不是我想象的那样 但我尽力爱它了】我热泪盈眶
想的一直是公寓好漂亮窗景好漂亮，能呆坐看一天的霞光和夜色。旧电影新际遇，三更时分的电台私语，步履自由的城市漫行，爱上这样的夜晚完全不用克服多少困难。片子像是捣碎了某种抗抑郁药的粉末，治标不治本地抚平不宁，副作用是犯困。
不经意间展露人生的隐痛，像抚碰伤疤般温柔掠过，再将视线转回永恒的璀璨巴黎。对这座城市的迷恋大于一切。
写一些不明所以的诗，不管是否合辙押韵
为了看这片子近十年来头一次在在线影院网站看渣画质。结果电影中的每一帧每一个音节演员的每一个神采都让人重新找回与巴黎相恋的感觉。
情感十分复杂。其实电影的分数有些虚高了。从住进那座公寓，到最后搬出来，这几年的时光，有泪水也有笑声，还有更多细碎的片段。好像经历了一段他们的生活。那些美妙的夜晚啊，我们并没有听到任何一个人讲的故事，却都沉醉在了夜色里。
温暖、浪漫的巴黎人故事，一切都被加上了美好的滤镜，即使他们的遭遇并不完全是幸福的，也不妨碍观众在其中得到的抚慰。
生活最终不像我们预期的那样，但我们还是尽力去爱了，不是吗?
我不知道是感动还是因为影片的质感还是什么，伴随着那个音乐，一直哭一直哭
善良又美丽的一家人，喜怒哀乐，悲欢离合，没有大起大落，只是随着时间各自向前。夹杂了大量的复古镜头，不知道是用的老胶片，还是新技术故意做旧的，总之很有味道。刚看到开头的几个场景，就觉得好像侯麦啊。谁知道后面还真的有《月圆映花都》的片段。好喜欢电影原声，有种缓缓流淌的情绪，静谧而舒服。甘斯布好温柔好优雅，没想到还能看到艾曼纽·贝阿，她倒是挺A的！
好法式啊，剧情，调色，音乐，人物。真好，想沉醉在巴黎的晚风中
细碎的生活日常，仿佛只是个流水帐，初看会没什么感觉，可是涓涓细流最终汇聚成一股暖流，就像不经意间的亲情与友情或者爱情的关怀，在每一个孤独的夜晚，仿佛午夜电台的温馨话语，抚慰每一个孤独的灵魂，最终暖心到让人止不住落泪。
法国人真是太爱电影了，电影开场五分钟就不让入场，赶不上《鸟人》看《圆月映花都》也不亏嘛！看老电影、听广播、谈心、做爱，生活如水中碎月般毁不掉也抓不住。“我们曾以为瞥见的，我们的碎片，会由我们的梦来滋养。”原声太加分了。
一开始以为是后68时代的伤痕文淆，后来发现其实无关时代（哪怕导演刻意加了很多有时代气息的东西），每一个有创伤的人都可以写出自己的伤痕文淆，而深夜电台就是这些旅人们汇集的地方。白天黑夜交替，聚焦于离异妇女的家庭生活和事业，流浪少女的刻画有点加了怀旧风的《猜火车》的感觉，全片最暖的地方是四人伴着Et si je n'existais pas的配乐在家里跳舞。
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