Agnieszka Holland

Agnieszka Holland (b. November 28th, 1948)

Recalling Her Friend And Colleague, Kryzsztof Kieslowski
12 long years after it was first produced for Polish Television, Kryzsztof Kieslowski's masterpiece, The Decalogue, has finally appeared on American movie screens, in a brief theatrical run in New York -- and on video and DVD in box sets from Facets Video and Image Entertainment. Kieslowski, who died of heart failure in 1996 at the age of 55, collaborated with Agnieszka Holland on two of the scripts for what would be his last completed project, the Trois Coleurs trilogy (Blue, White, Red). Like Kieslowski himself, a native of Warsaw, Poland, Holland produced some of her most notable work in France. Her striking melodramas Europa, Europa and Olivier, Olivier were both terrific successes in the early 90s. To honor The Decalogue's belated stateside release, Holland recently spoke with Facets Video's Milos Stehlik about the project and her dear friendship with the late Kieslowski.

Milos Stehlik: For many years Americans were only able to see two episodes from The Decalogue -- the two that had been edited into feature-length versions for release in cinemas. Kieslowski's cuts of these films were quite different from the television versions weren't they?

Agnieszka Holland: Yes, he made longer versions of two of the episodes and cut them quite differently from their original versions. The two films were A Short Film About Killing and A Short Film About Love. The former, especially, changed Krzysztof's professional career. It was actually screened at the Cannes Film Festival before The Decalogue had been completed and shown anywhere, and it was an incredible shock to audiences. The movie was so powerful, so original, and so different. Also, its message was so important, and so skillfully conveyed in terms of cinema that, afterwards, everybody knew that Krzysztof was an artist to watch. Shortly thereafter, The Decalogue came out, and the films he had made before that in Poland were finally distributed in France and Germany. Decalogue was an incredible success. It opened first in cinemas and, after many theatrical screenings, it was shown on television in several other European countries. It's unfortunate that in the United States it's coming only now, so late. But I'm glad that it's finally here. I think its rights were bought from a Polish television company by a Canadian distributor who never gave it a proper theatrical run. Actually, it's kind of like a story from one of Kieslowski's movies.

MS: One of the things that Richard Corliss points out about the film is that Kieslowski and screenwriter Krzysztof Piesiewicz are interested in examining the modern relevance of old moral laws in a country situated, for a time, between Communism and Catholicism. It's kind of a unique mix in Poland, no?

AH: Yes. It's quite complicated because it goes back to the 18th or 19th century when Poland wasn't independent but, rather, divided between Russia, Prussia, Germany, and Austria. Poland, because of its ties to Catholicism, became a place where the national identity and the religious identity mixed together. Actually, it's never really changed, because Poland only regained its independence for about 20 years before the Nazis and then the Communists took over. Kieslowski's Decalogue shows Poland very vividly in this spiritual turmoil. But, frankly, I don't think they are Catholic movies. I think that Krzysztof had an incredibly deep need to believe in something transcendental. He did believe, but he wasn't really a member of any church. His religious bent was less theological than ethical and metaphysical. Decalogue wasn't actually very well received in Poland at first. Only after Krzysztof died did he become a kind of icon. Then his movies developed an almost cult following there.

MS: In Krzysztof Kieslowski: I'm So-So, the documentary about him that was completed just a few years before his death, Kieslowski says: "I'm a pessimist. To me the future is a black hole." What do you make of a quote like that?

AH: Well, you know, I think that he was very tired at this time and that his physical condition in some ways influenced his vision of the world. I would describe him as provocatively pessimistic. There could be a darkness to him at times, but there was also, almost always, a playfulness as well. Later, he just started to work too much. He made what seemed like 20 movies in five years. And when I look back at that time, I remember how worried I was because he aged so much in those five years. He was consumed by his work and incredibly productive, but success wasn't something that was very healthy for him. Also, in some ways, I think he considered success as something immoral, and so he was unable to truly enjoy it. Instead it came as a burden of responsibility. He was a perfectionist when shooting. It didn't matter whether he was making a film for television or a big-budget co-production -- he put all of his energy and all of his life into making that film. And, ultimately, it just consumed him. It was too much. When he did the interview for that documentary, it was just one month before he had a severe heart attack which, later, led to his death. After he fell ill, in some ways, it quieted him. Maybe he thought that he'd finally been punished enough for being successful. And he became quite joyful again just before he died.

MS: One of the things that's amazing about The Decalogue is just the sheer scope of production, shooting these 10 films in such a short period of time. Even the simple logistics of a project like this must have been daunting.

AH: Yes. He was afraid. It was a little too much for one man to make 10 movies so quickly. And he had so many friends who were cinematographers. It makes the choice very difficult, because you want to work with this one or that one. But the average fiction filmmaker these days only directs one movie every couple of years. So, in making 10 movies in a single year, he actually ended up having the opportunity to work with a lot of the country's movie talent in a short period of time. Another fear Krzysztof had was that he would tire after making the first two or three films. But with all the fresh talent coming in for each episode, with their energy and new ideas, he was invigorated. It was actually a very good period for a filmmaker to step in with such an ambitious project. There weren't a lot of interesting movies being made in Poland at the time. There was a kind of a crisis in Polish cinema. And then this project of Krzysztof's came along; it was probably the first big project of its kind to use the national resources of Polish television in that way. It was clear to everyone in the filmmaking community that this was the kind of production you had to be a part of. And so everybody gave the best of their energy and talent to make it a reality.

MS: One of the things you share with Kieslowski is that both of you were Polish filmmakers who ended up working in the west. How would you describe the changes he went through as a result of this experience?

AH: He became much more aware of the box office in some ways. He even became a little obsessed by box office success. But I also think he was gratified to be able to find the language to speak to Western Europe. And he became extremely popular. It's strange. In many ways, his French films are not easy -- they're slow and revolve around very exacting metaphysical questions. They don't have action plots. But they became very, very successful. And this kind of a possibility -- to communicate something very personal to an audience with whom you don't share a common language or experience -- was very exciting for him. And, to speak more prosaically, some of the technical tools he was able to work with, because of the bigger budgets he had in France, were also quite exciting to him. But, frankly, none of it changed him very much, except to make him more tense and tired. As his friend, I was happy for him when he became relatively well paid and famous. But I felt that he was unable to really enjoy it, because he didn't have the time and space for that.

MS: How do you remember him best?

AH: It's difficult to say, you know? He was such an important person in my life -- the best friend I had for years and years and probably the only one who I was able to share both my creative and personal problems with. He was always a very faithful and tender friend. I remember him more for that than anything else. Frankly, I miss the man more deeply than the filmmaker.
July 11, 2000

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