Martin Scorsese Presents: Pharaoh

As the country that gave the world Quo Vadis, Poland has always appreciated a good epic. After all, Henryk Sienkiewicz’s short stories ran about five hundred pages. In the spirit of grand historicals, Jerzy Kawalerowic unleashed his inner Cecil B. DeMille in Phaoraoh, which screens with newly translated subtitles and a restored print as a handpicked selection of Martin Scorsese Presents: Masterpieces of Polish Cinema, hosted by the Film Society of Lincoln Center.

Ramses XII will soon be Pharaoh, but his father’s long, slow decline has allowed the priests to consolidate their hold on behind-the-scenes power. For decades, their coffers have swelled, while the Pharaoh’s have shrunk. Acutely aware of the situation, Ramses the younger makes no secret of his disdain for the clerical class and the superstitions they use to control the populace. He is also spoiling for a war with the Assyrians—a fact that suits the Phoenicians just fine. However, Ramses’ reckless nature will be his conspicuous vulnerability. Taking the Jewish Sara as his favorite mistress also raises eyebrows.

Throughout Pharaoh one can easily pick up on Kawalerowic’s affinity for shots of characters marching with a purpose, often culminating in an extreme close-up in the foreground, with a striking vista of sand dunes in the background. This is definitely big picture, cast-of-thousands filmmaking, shot in Łódź soundstages and on location in Uzbekistan and Egypt (for a handful of pick-ups). For obvious reasons, Pharaoh features a color palette heavy on the yellows and golds, as well as costumes decidedly on the skimpy side, especially for the standards of 1966. It is hardly Caligula, but there is at least one scene of old school revelry.

On one level, Pharaoh is a big juicy historical melodrama, with all kinds of intrigue and betrayal. Yet, the dynamic below the surface is also quite fascinating, particularly when considered as another celebrated collaboration between Kawalerowic and Tadeusz Konwicki, who would subsequently move in very different directions politically.  Konwicki would become a Solidarity supporter and pen the highly personal protest novel, A Minor Apocalypse. In contrast, Kawalerowic would basically sign-off on whatever was demanded of him (which greatly complicated his later career).  We can readily discern an “absolute power corrupts absolutely” theme reflective of Konwicki’s principles, whereas the depiction of priestly authority actively exploiting the masses would have surely satisfied Kawalerowic’s minders.

As the impulsive Ramses, Jerzy Zelnik came to play, unleashing all kinds of passion and fury, while staying grounded in the tradition of classical tragedy. There is indeed of touch of Hamlet in his Ramses. One could argue they both had father issues. And mother issues. And issues with women. Speaking of which, Barbara Brylska truly scorches the screen as Kama, the Phoenician priestess charged with seducing Ramses.

The Polish cast playing ancient Egyptian characters might sound a little odd, but it really is no different from the sword-and-sandal films Hollywood cranked out in the 1960’s. Elizabeth Taylor was not anymore Egyptian than Brylska. Lusty and sprawling, Pharaoh is an enormously entertaining cinematic indulgence, with unexpected bite in the third act. Highly recommended, it screens this Friday (2/7) and Sunday (2/9) at the Walter Reade Theater, as part of Martin Scorsese Presents: Masterpieces of Polish Cinema.

Martin Scorsese Presents: Mother Joan of the Angels

In 1994, Polish jazz trumpeter-composer Tomasz Stańko recorded a tribute album to a film whose only music was diegetic, liturgical, and largely intended to be disturbing. It might sound like an odd source of inspiration, but Stańko is a genius and the film is a true touchstone of Polish cinema.  Handpicked by the ambassador of film restoration, Jerzy Kawalerowicz’s Mother Joan of the Angels (trailer here) screens with newly translated subtitles and a restored print as part of Martin Scorsese Presents: Masterpieces of Polish Cinema, hosted by the Film Society of Lincoln Center.

The nuns of provincial convent have not been themselves lately. Four priests have already been dispatched to restore order, after their local Father was burned at the stake. The neurotic Father Jozef Suryn seems like a dubious candidate to reinforce the quartet of exorcists, especially to the naïve cleric. However, his earnest spirit might somehow forge a connection with Mother Joan.

Supposedly possessed by nine demons, she is considered the key to the convent’s occult hysteria. If she can be saved, the evil spirits controlling the rest of the nuns should duly fall away. She will be a devilishly hard case, but at least the scandal will entertain the rustic locals.

Visually, Mother Joan is one of the most arresting black-and-white films perhaps ever.  Jerzy Wójcik’s cinematography is absolutely gorgeous yet eerie as all get out. Each frame reflects the soul-shattering stakes in play.  Based on the same notorious Loudun witchcraft inquisition that inspired Ken Russell’s The Devils, it is one of the few non-genre films to seriously depict demonic possession. It is highly charged sexually, but it is distinctly austere and ascetic, much like the self-flagellating Father Suryn. Among lurid nunsploitation films, it is the spiritually severe stylite.

Lucyna Winnicka’s titular performance is a legitimate tour de force, revealing everything while still maintaining a world of ambiguity. Is she truly possessed, psychotic, or repressed? Sure, take your pick. Mieczyslaw Voit provides the perfect counterpoint as the increasingly alienated Father Suryn, as well as a small but significant dual role held in reserve for the third act.

One of the great collaborations between Kawalerowicz and screenwriter-novelist Tadeusz Konwicki, Mother Joan is loaded with enough symbolic significance for several dozen cinema studies theses.  It is a heavy film, with a theme of eternal sacrifice that predates The Exorcist by more than ten years. Not horror, but profoundly unsettling, Mother Joan of the Angels is highly recommended when it screens this Saturday (2/8) and the following Tuesday (2/11) at the Walter Reade Theater, as part of Martin Scorsese Presents: Masterpieces of Polish Cinema.

Transitions: Night Train

A large group of strangers pile in to a confined space, carrying with them considerable sexual tension. There is a murderer too. Indeed, all the classic noir elements are in place, but Jerzy Kawalerowicz gives them an unexpected twist in his 1959 classic Night Train, which screens as part of a sidebar tribute to actor Zbigniew Cybulski during the Film Society of Lincoln Center’s upcoming Transitions retrospective of recent Polish cinema.

A man named Jerzy is acting suspiciously. Donning black shades, he has bought up both tickets for a sleeper rather than mix with his fellow passengers. However, Marta, a distraught mystery woman, has already taken possession of one of his bunks. Tired of fussing, they decide to make the best of it, causing no end of gossip on their car. Of course, for most of the travelers, the number one topic of conversation is the fugitive wanted for murdering his wife. However, a married woman looking for a fling is far more interested in Jerzy, while Marta’s rejected lover Staszek is preoccupied with her.

Kawalerowicz effectively exploits the claustrophobic environment of the train, hurtling its way through the night to its Baltic resort destination. Frankly, it is hard to see how the crew navigated the gear and cameras through the narrow passageways thronged with extras. As a noir thriller, Kawalerowicz also pulls off some rather devious misdirection. However, the biggest shocker is its unambiguous critique of the mass mentality coupled with what certainly appears to be some Christian symbolism in its third act climax.

Given Kawalerowicz’s professed atheism (often reflected in his films), it is hard to judge his intentions in this sequence. In fact, he is something of a tricky filmmaker to take stock of in general. Basically falling in line with the Socialist authorities during the early Solidarity years, Kawalerowicz had a bit of trouble plying his craft in the years immediately following the collapse of Communism. That is the danger with playing it safe.

Cybulski is quite good as the overwrought Staszek, but he is definitely a supporting player in Train. This show really belongs to Leon Miemczyk and Lucyna Winnicka, who build up all kinds of chemistry as Jerzy and Marta, while closely guarding their secrets. Indeed, there is something almost poetic about their final scenes together.

Jan Laskowski’s gorgeous black-and-white cinematography creates the perfect atmosphere of mystery, further heightened by Andrzej Trzaskowski’s cool jazz soundtrack (riffing on Artie Shaw’s “Moon Rays”), featuring vibes, trumpet, and wordless vocalizing. Altogether, Train is a noir masterwork, hinting at things Kawalerowicz should have spoken louder or perhaps left unsaid. Now digitally restored, it screens tomorrow (9/9) and Wednesday (9/14) at the Walter Reade Theater as part of the FSLC’s Transitions retrospective.

Kawalerowicz’s Shadow

Shadow
Directed by Jerzy Kawalerowicz
Polart Films

When a film uses the word “kulak” (rich peasant) in a derogatory way, it is a safe bet it was produced during the Soviet era. Throughout his fifty year career, Jerzy Kawalerowicz ranked as one of Poland’s top directors. He was so well regarded, Kawalerowicz’s career (just barely) survived the fall of Communism, even though he publicly condemned his colleagues Andrzej Wajda and Krzysztof Zanussi when they embraced the Solidarity movement. Though never critical of the Communist system, some of Kawalerowicz’s earlier films, like Shadow (recently released on DVD), offer interesting grist for deconstructive criticism.

As Shadow opens, a man has fallen from a speeding train, mangling his face beyond all hope of recognition. Wearing an overcoat, but no jacket, the mystery man dies on the operating table before he can reveal his identity. The junior officer investigating the case is confident the truth will out, predicting: “Find the shadow, and you’ll find the man.” Dr. Knyszyn (played Zygmunt Kestowicz in the film’s standout performance) is not so sure. As a case study in uncertainty, he relates an incident from 1943, when he was a member of the Polish underground, and naturally a good Communist by virtue of being an anti-Fascist. Somehow, Knyszyn’s cell is manipulated into armed conflict with another loyal cell. Despite the future doctor’s efforts, he never learns the identity of the mastermind behind those deadly machinations.

In an apparent coincidence, a name Knyszyn mentions in passing sparks another story from Captain Karpowski, the senior officer in charge of the investigation. He relates an incident from his military service in 1946, fighting armed bandits sheltered by the deceitful kulaks. Karpowski and a comrade infiltrate a gang of brigands led by the mysterious “Dwarf,” but again, the operation is nearly sabotaged by a mysterious betrayal.

As suspicions mount regarding the unknown train passenger, police at the next station apprehend a man with the dead man’s jacket. Under a little sweating his confesses his story, involving an incident of industrial sabotage earlier that day.

With a title like Shadow, one would expect some dramatic black-and-white cinematography. If not on the level of The Third Man, cinematographer Jerzy Lipman’s work does indeed have an appealing film noir look, particularly in Knyszyn’s story. The film has the right film noir feel, as well. Despite its scrupulously correct political content, there is an aura of paranoia that pervades each flashback. Duplicity is expected, but never explained. Agent provocateurs sabotage and destroy simply out of an evil counter-revolutionary impulse.

Though often compared to Roshomon, Shadow is more closely akin to Jean-Pierre Melville’s Army of Darkness, both thematically and stylistically. Its vision of mystery and betrayal remains compelling, despite the ideology it accepts.