 |
|
 |
|
|
|
| SYNOPSIS |  |
|
|
The themes symbolized in the French flag form the basis for visionary director Krzysztof Kieslowski's "Three Colors" trilogy. This gorgeous film's subject is fraternity--the ways in which we are all tied together, even in our loneliness (parallel plotlines emphasize the point). It's also about the redemptive power of friendship: Kieslowski examines the unlikely relationship that develops between a Swiss fashion model (the poised and lovely Irene Jacob) and an embittered retired judge (Jean Louis Trintignant), who fills his time eavesdropping electronically on his neighbors. Kieslowski's work is, above all, visual, and the imagery here is extraordinarily rich, the red motif warm and organic.
|
| Awards | |
|
Nominated for Best Achievement in Directing 1994: Krzysztof Kieslowski
Nominated for Best Achievement in Cinematography 1994: Piotr Sobocinski
Nominated for Best Screenplay Written Directly for the Screen 1994: Krzysztof Piesiewicz - screenplay, Krzysztof Kieslowski - screenplay
|
"At this moment, in this cafe, we're sitting next to strangers.
Everyone will get up, leave, and go their own way.
And then, they'll never meet again.
And if they do, they won't realize that it's not for the first time."
Krzysztof Kieslowski
| RED | |
|
Love at First Sight
by Wislawa Szymborska - 1993
They're both convinced
that a sudden passion joined them.
Such certainty is beautiful,
but uncertainty is more beautiful still.
Since they'd never met before, they're sure
that there'd been nothing between them.
But what's the word from the streets, staircases, hallways -
perhaps they've passed by each other a million times?
I want to ask them
if they don't remember -
a moment face to face
in some revolving door?
perhaps a "sorry" muttered in a crowd?
a curt "wrong number" caught in the receiver?
but I know the answer.
No, they don't remember.
They'd be amazed to hear
that Chance has been toying with them
now for years.
Not quite ready yet
to become their Destiny,
it pushed them close, drove them apart,
it barred their path,
stifling a laugh,
and then leaped aside.
There were signs and signals,
even if they couldn't read them yet.
Perhaps three years ago
or just last Tuesday
a certain leaf fluttered
from one shoulder to another?
Something was dropped and then picked up.
Who knows, maybe the ball that vanished
into childhood's thicket?
There were doorknobs and doorbells
where one touch had covered another
beforehand.
Suitcases checked and standing side by side.
One night, perhaps, the same dream,
grown hazy by morning.
Every beginning
is only a sequel, after all,
and the book of events
is always open halfway through.
|
|
|
|
