When Three Colours -- Red first opened in America, Roger Ebert made the observation that it was "grown-up filmmaking: a film by an adult, for adults". Regardless of Ebert's snootiness towards the perceived infantilism of Hollywood, or the grossy inflated level of praise… More
When Three Colours -- Red first opened in America, Roger Ebert made the observation that it was "grown-up filmmaking: a film by an adult, for adults". Regardless of Ebert's snootiness towards the perceived infantilism of Hollywood, or the grossy inflated level of praise for European art films, there is no doubt that Three Colours -- Red is a truly wonderful film. The concluding instalment in Krzysztof Kieslowski's trilogy of films on French culture is a sumptuous and ravishing affair, combining intelligent storytelling with an uncompromising artistic flair to create a bewitching experience.
Following on from Blue's treatment of liberty and White's examination of equality, Red completes the study of the French motto by tackling fraternity. This is played out in two distinct but complimentary ways. One is the relationship between Valentine, a beautiful model with a complicated family life, and Joseph Kern, a retired judge who spies on his neighbours by tapping their phone lines. This is the 'anti-romance' of the film, since these characters have no real reason to be connected, let alone attracted to each other. Let's face it, returning a dog you just ran over is not the greatest of ice-breakers.
If this were a Hollywood rom-com, the device of the dog would be considerably overplayed, and the opposing personalities played for (attempted) comic effect. The two would have either walked off into the sunset after much bickering, or would have fought against the world to keep their forbidden love alive. Kieslowski attempts no such nonsense; the feelings these characters have for each other is strictly platonic -- strictly fraternal.
As the characters begin to engage with each other, drawn together by the circumstance of the dog, we see the judge beginning to open up and acknowledge both his significance and his ability for empathy. His final scenes, at the fashion show and watching the TV reports, are analogous to Gene Hackman's final scenes in The Conversation, to which his character owes a debt. Both his smile at the TV and Hackman's saxophone playing are small but significant moments of triumph in surroundings which would otherwise cause despair.
The second means by which fraternity is explored is in the series of coincidences which appear throughout the film. For example, early on a man is walking across the road and drops his books. One book falls open on a certain page; he studies the words intently, and that subject comes up on his law exam, which he manages to pass. In the final act, the judge talks to Valentine about an identical experience he had as a young student, with the exact same outcome.
These kinds of coincidences suggest one of two things. Either they suggest that the characters are in some kind of intergenerational time-loop, in which the actions of one generation will be indirectly repeated, a la The Shining. Or, perhaps more likely, they suggest that these kinds of encounters happen all the time, mostly or almost always without our knowledge. They are impossible to predict or control, since they are inherent either in our cultures or in our very being.
This is the brotherhood (or sisterhood) which the film explores, people living out lives in an unconsciously similar fashion, with similar goals, needs or desires. Kieslowski doesn't attempt to tie this down to a solid definition of 'human nature' (if there is such a thing), and hence we don't get a lot of patronising platitudes about what it means to be alive. He leaves both the cause and effect of these encounters unwritten, save for hinting that our desire to connect, whatever the cause and end, can only be a good thing.
In order for this kind of premise to work, we have to believe that the people we are seeing on screen are ordinary people, as opposed to good-looking actors pretending to be normal. Kieslowski is not a documentarian, but he somehow manages to sustain all his artistic and philosophical flights of fancy by anchoring the film in a number of believable performances. Irène Jacob's dialogue is sparse and simple, with no outrageously self-indulgent metaphors which could distract from either the story or her great performance. Kieslowski has a level of artistry which offers up substance and ravishing beauty without shutting the audience out; we feel intimate with the characters, while slowly becoming aware of their greater significance.
This sense of intimacy and 'the unwritten' is bolstered by the cinematography, which is simply beautiful to behold. As with Blue and White, there is barely a shot in the film which is not covered in the colour of the title. Piotr Sobociński captures an entire spectrum of deep and passionate reds which give the film real life and glamour, which is of course in keeping with the fashion elements of the plot. Red is a symbol for many things -- love, anger, passion -- and all of these are offered up as potential candidates for the 'unwritten' force which guides the characters in the film.
Even if you're not trying to decode the meaning of a scene, every shot of the film washes over you in a wave of beauty. Whether it's the lovely external shots, showing the flat and the café, or the interior segments with all the bright lights and mirrors, there's something which will inspire and delight anyone. The camerawork is always interesting, with many long shots to give the more intimate sequences a chance to breathe and give emphasis to the smallest encounter, the kind of conversations and sweet nothings which more rapid editing would render meaningless. There is a great moment where the model and the judge are in the theatre, and he is talking about the book falling down from the balcony. The camera moves down from the balcony to the stage, mirroring the fall of the book -- a decision which illuminates what is arguably the pivotal scene of the film.
In any kind of sprawling character epic, whether it's Love Actually or Magnolia, there has to be a slightly awkward scene where all these lives are tied together so that we realise how they are all somehow connected. As has been made clear, the fact that Kieslowski does not over-elaborate on all these little connections means that the ending seems more intelligent and less contrived than its American or British equivalents. It's still slightly awkward, but it's hard to think of a better way to tie this trilogy together.
Three Colours -- Red is not quite a perfect film. It is a little difficult to follow at times, and some of the characters are underdeveloped, such as the gentleman on the phone whom the judge suspects of smuggling heroin. It may be the case that these things all make sense on subsequent viewing, and that is reassuring because the film invites you to remain in its world until, like the characters, we realise why we were here. Like Michelangelo Antonioni or a more upbeat David Lynch, Red has a bewitching quality to it, a certain atmosphere that makes you want to go back and unravel all the little pieces. It's a really fascinating film, and a fine conclusion to Kieslowski's career.
