La double vie de Véronique

The Double Life of Veronique | 10/10

This is an incredibly haunting and poetic work that raises a plethora of questions regarding life, death, and the unexplainable connection that some people share. I was stuck in a sort of trance while watching this, as beautifully photographed scenes seemed to follow one after the other for the film's entirety.

There wasn't a moment that I had lost interest, and the questions posed throughout are some that I found myself thinking about on many different occasions as a child. Do we, perhaps even simultaneously, share the same thoughts, feel the same feelings, and take part in the same actions as another person we have never met? Is it more than instinctual for us to avoid certain things, or act in certain ways? This film spoke to these questions, but of course never answered them. It turns out, I believe, that there are no answers to begin with.

This is the fourth Kieslowski film I've seen, and most certainly the best. Visually, it shares a few things in common with the Colors Trilogy, and Irène Jacob (Veronique and Veronika) was actually the main character in Red. Her acting is extremely good in both films, and the mood she creates in this one is understated, but incredibly graceful. I should mention the music in the film as well, which in addition to being beautifully presented, plays an important role in the connection between the two women. This is one of the best films ever made, presented by a man of great vision who left us far too soon.

Much of this is an adoration of French actress Iréne Jacob by Director Krzysztof Kieslowski; in a sense it is a homage to her, one of the most beautiful actresses of our time and one of the most talented. If you've never seen her, this is an excellent place to begin. She has an earnest, open quality about her that is innocent and sophisticated at the same time so that everything a man might want in a young woman is realized in her. Part of her power comes from Kieslowski himself who has taught her how she should act to captivate. He has made her like a little girl fully grown, yet uncorrupted, natural, generous, kind, without pretension, unaffected. She is a dream, and she plays the dream so well.

The movie itself is very pretty, but somewhat unaffecting with only the slightest touch of blue (when the puppeteer appears by the curtain, the curtain is blue, and we know he is the one, since she is always red). The music by Zbignew Preisner is beautiful and lifts our spirits, highlighted by the soprano voice of Elzbieta Towarnicka. But the main point is Iréne Jacob, whom the camera seldom leaves. We see her from every angle, in various stages of dress and undress, and she is beautiful from head to toe. And we see her as she is filled with the joy of herself and her talent, with the wonder of discovery and the wonder of life, with desire, and with love.

Obviously this is not a movie for the action/adventure crowd. Everything is subtle and refined with only a gross touch or two (and no gore, thank you) to remind us of the world out there. Véronique accepts the little crudities of life with a generous spirit, the flasher, the two a.m. call, her prospective lover blowing his nose in front of her... She loves her father and old people. She is a teacher of children. She climaxes easily and fully. To some no doubt she is a little too good to be true. And she is, and that is Kieslowski's point: she is a dream. And such a beautiful dream.

An actress playing the character twice in a slightly different way has occurred in at least two other films in the nineties: there was Patricia Arquette in David Lynch's Lost Highway (1997) and Gwyneth Paltrow in Sliding Doors (1998). It's an appealing venture for an actress of course and when the actress is as talented as these three are, for the audience as well.

Note that as Weronika/Véronique is in two worlds, Poland and France, so too has always been Kieslowski himself in his real life. It is interesting how he fuses himself with his star. This film is his way of making love to her.

Kieslowski died in 1996 not long after finishing his celebrated trilogy, Trois Couleurs: Bleu (1993); Rouge (1994) and Bialy (White) (1994). We could use another like him.

(Note: Over 500 of my movie reviews are now available in my book "Cut to the Chaise Lounge or I Can't Believe I Swallowed the Remote!" Get it at Amazon!)

Krzysztof Kieslowski's The Double Life of Véronique (originally titled La Double Vie de Véronique) might be the best film in the late director's accomplished oeuvre. Perhaps most lauded for his monumental Three Colors trilogy, Kieslowski first explored themes of duality, synchronicity, and fate in this cinematic reverie. Irène Jacob, also the star of Red, handles a double role as two women cut from the same metaphysical cloth -- the Polish Veronika and the French Véronique. Her presence as both women is at once whimsically childlike and sensually melancholic; relentlessly alluring, it is easy to see why she became Kieslowski's muse. Jacob is perfectly fluid in the shift between characters, an embodiment of ideal femininity, as dreamlike as the tone of the entire film.

Actor and director are symbiotic, relying on hazy, autumnal ambiance and mood for narrative, utilizing a subtle minimalist approach to dialogue. This is fine art, unlike heavy-handed Hollywood productions. The tone is consistently ambiguous -- emotionally resonant, to be sure, but beyond a vaguely somber, wistful undercurrent, the movie allows the viewer to fill the "empty space" with his or her own thoughts and feelings. It's a true testament to Kieslowski's mastery, and few films are ever so transcendentally sublime.

The lack of this masterpiece's availability on DVD is a sad affair. There are rumors of a release in 2005, but for fans of movies like Amélie hungry for something with a little more depth, The Double Life of Véronique comes most highly recommended -- even if you have to search high and low for a copy on VHS.

I still listen to the haunting music that weaves it's way through this film and it never fails to move me. The whole film is almost like a modern day ghost story, following its own logic through the simplest but most effective storytelling techniques, beautifully crafted by a master director. Irene Jacob has never been better than here, and I would recommend it highly.

I save films. By that I mean that some films I expect to be so precious that I want to save them for some future drought, or blue period where I need spiritual insulin. Or it may be that a valued filmmaker has died and I know there is only so much to see new and I want to pace it through my life.

Kieslowski is something of a demigod in my film world. It isn't that he has mattered so much in the sense of affecting me. Its because he can push geography with the slightest touch, infer emotional richness with the most subtle of motions, show us beauty headon — headon without artifice. His the most delicate power I know in cinema. His "Decalogue" is complex, open, engineered to be contradictory in ways that seem natural. But they are not where the real juice is. Its merely where he worked out the way to weave vision and narrative conflict with his companion and creative partner.

It's "Three Colors" where it pays off. These are miraculous and I wish them on any open soul. They will tear you gently in ways you will not notice for years, and then know all of a sudden when you meet someone.

In between "Decalogue and "Colors," we have this, essentially an adventure in moving from Polish to French vocabulary, both emotional and chromatic. Here we see some of the strokes we will encounter later, in one colored film even with the remarkable Irene. But he seems unsure here. Things aren't integrated between cinema and narrative as they were before and would be afterward. The eye doesn't inform with curious discovery, instead seems to glance around and hover.

I suppose it is because the story isn't well developed in the way that others are. The deal with Kieslowski I think (beyond the beauty) is that he is able to infer future urges that probably will loop back into places and persons we see. (He closes a very few of these ordinary loops in the third colors film). But he never closes them, not the ones that matter. So we are left with our own emotions going ahead and anticipating results that matter to us, things started and not finished, breath sent out for us to catch and breath.

This film is based on Alice in through the Lookingglass, with a number of less-than-deft fixtures to the source. He tries to build grand arcs of anticipated futures around this symmetry but they aren't fragile and supported by our wishes as we have elsewhere. I think it was simply a time of adjustment for him, and I cannot recommend this, even though I saved it for decades.

I will suggest that if you do watch it, see the same story, the same emotional effects, the same tantalizing near-closure in "Sex and Lucia" by someone less gifted with the eye, but more gifted with the mysteries of women. Watch out for the delicate tearing.

Ted's Evaluation -- 2 of 3: Has some interesting elements.