Krótki film o milosci

A gripping and intriguing story about loving someone from afar. This is one of those films that I randomly pick up from whatever thread I come across, and now, having seen it, I am really surprised that it's mostly unknown. From the late Polish director Krzysztof Kieslowski---I know, good luck on pronouncing his name, this is the extended version of the sixth episode of The Decalogue. Tomek is nineteen years old, a single guy who works in a post office. Every night, he spies on Magda, a middle-aged woman who lives in the building across. He falls in love with her and decides to profess his love one day after seeing her cry the previous night. At first, Magda doesn't take him seriously and she eventually hurts him. What follows after is both tragic and moving. This film is really spell-binding, from the powerful human emotions it displays to its sincere silent moments. It is a true gem of cinema, a special story waiting to be told. The characters are very real and the emotions they convey very honest. The obsession and the desperation felt by the protagonists are simply too painful to watch. This film is not readily available to some but it is worth every second of searching.

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I invite viewers of this film to compare it with the short version (Dekalog 6) and the script. All three differ from one another. They have different endings and lead to different interpretations.

In this film, the feature length version, Kieslowski portrays human love poetically, authentically, and powerfully. I consider Tomek as a lover by the form of incarnation. He takes into different forms (post worker, milkman, voyeur) in order to show his love towards Magda. It is important to notice that Tomek sheds his blood when Magda has sex with others. There is a scene in which Magda spills a bottle of milk and cries. Tomek sees her from his telescope. Only he is present for Magda. Overall, Tomek's love is both sacrificial and redemptive.

After Tomek's hospitalization, Magda dresses more conservatively. She does not engage in sexual affairs with any man. In this sense, Tomek's love redeems the lustful Magda. The commandment (Thou Shalt Not Commit Adultery) functions in the background. We normally perceive a voyeur as being adulterous. But in Tomek's situation, he peeps into Magda not as an adulterous voyeur. He loves Magda by peeping her as an incarnate. He expresses sacrificial, and redemptive love in a humane and authentic manner.

Kieslowski's movies are very unique in the sense of reflecting on feelings. One needs to think outside of the box and try to go beyond the surface... His goal is not to create an average love story, but to put love bare as it is in the center. What is love? One could list a number of adjectives, to say the least; but instead let's just use one sentence: love wants nothing in return. To love and being loved, two sides of a coin, is presented to us in this beautiful movie. Little conversation, nice music, great frames and shots, well-chosen actors, actresses, although very few; intense, touching, and serious.

It helps a bit if the watcher knows some about Eastern-European culture. But it is by no means necessary. One should only have been given the gift of being loved and to have loved.

I was not sure what to expect from this film as it is the only the second Polish film of Kieslowski's I have seen. Now it is one of my favorite foreign films and probably my second favorite Kieslowski film, under Red. I was so glued to the television while watching this because I was truly interested in the characters. I saw the 85 minute version and I can say it went very fast because I was completely wrapped up in the story. The passion that these two characters showed is something rarely seen in film. The fact that it was such a simple film with simple characters is quite important as well because it added to the feel of the film. I recommend anyone who can find this film see it.

Unlike the other masterpiece in his Decalogue, Killing, in 'A Short Film About Love' Kieslowski treats the subject of love with an extraordinarily delicate, rather than a polemic, eye. As ever he manages to express more with subtlety than most directors ever will with expression: it is rather what is not said, what is not expressed, that leaves an indelible mark upon us.

Olaf Lubaszenko's central performance as the boy is, rather than 'opaque' as it has been termed, engrossing from the start. His innocence and fragility, just like the film's, are an invitation to the intimacy we progressively acquire. We, the film's audience, watch engrossed and exposed just as does he, and, in another sense, does the subject of his observations. His telescope becomes a direct motif; distance, separation, enlargement: all the things the filmmaker provides for the viewer. Thus, at emotional, intellectual and metacinematic levels the film explores its themes: observation and love.

While it may not come to solid conclusions (nor ought it to), the sensitivity with which the director watches his actors is utterly compelling. The resultant negotiation between man and women, subject and observer, viewer and filmmaker is a relationship, a love affair. Perhaps Barthes might have sought to go further, waiting for the end of the film, its 'death', to find psychological and sexual consummation to such an affair, and the film may support such a reading. Even a far less academic approach is sufficient, however, in order to enjoy the work at it appears at face value. We do not need to analyse in order to feel, and it is the film's emotional impact that remains when our brief voyeurism, our visit to the cinema, ends.