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Cold War
*****
Dir: Pawel Pawlikowski
Starring: Joanna Kulig, Tomasz Kot
(Poland, 15, 1hr 28mins)
Pawel Pawlikowski’s previous film Ida was an icy, austere drama, rife with the influence of Ingmar Bergman and Robert Bresson in its take on spirituality and the ghosts of Polish history. It still remains one of the best films of the past decade. Now comes Cold War – at first glance it looks similar – the same cinematographer, the same boxy, austere style, the same, beautifully lit black-and-white aesthetic. But beneath lies a wholly different film, one rife with melodrama, romance, and an unabashed heart. Where Ida felt closed off from the world, Cold War feels as if it is burning from within a fire deep inside itself.
The story tells of two lovers, inspired by Pawlikowski’s own parents. We follow Wiktor (Tomasz Kot) and Zula (Joanna Kulig) over a 15-year period, as they criss-cross from Poland, over to Germany, France, and back again, via a brief trip to Yugoslavia. The two meet at an academy for folk-inspired art in post-war Poland, where Zula impresses Wiktor in auditions. The troupe, performing the songs of the “people” as defined by various communist authorities, become a great success in Poland, eventually travelling to East German Berlin, where Wiktor decides to defect. Zula doesn’t join him, and what follows is a to-and-fro relationship, acted out through fleeting moments together until Zula eventually manages to emigrate. In Paris, Zula attempts to transition from folk songstress to sultry jazz singer, but finds the Parisienne social scene stifling.
For a film clocking in at under 90 minutes, Cold War packs a hefty weight of drama. The chemistry between Tomasz Kot and Joanna Kulig is intense and the relationship feels real. The passion and the burning desire is there, but the compatibility is most likely not. Where Wiktor longs for the freedom and carefree attitudes of Paris, Zula seems more attracted to security and caution, perhaps a side-effect of her being on probation by the Polish authorities (we find out that she has spent time in prison for stabbing her father). As time passes, both actors convincingly carry the weight of the relationship’s stresses on their shoulders.
The film develops at times as if in a dreamy haze – Pawlikowski and cinematographer Lukasz Zal add sensual, fluid tracking shots that glide through the frequent musical performances that dot the film (many of them exquisite) to contrast the static feel that the film opens with and which Ida made its aesthetic calling card. Sometimes, Cold War gives us an image of Zula and Wiktor’s relationship that feels as if they are the only two people worth knowing in the world, the background completely blurred out. Sometimes, reality intrudes – balding bureaucrats, French seducers, stalking policemen – and it stings into the frame.
What emerges at the end of this film is a full-throated love story. Where Ida owes its depth to Bresson and Bergman, Cold War reads more like Max OphĂĽls or Luchino Visconti, two European masters of melodrama, but tempered with a distinctly Polish identity and sense of history. And that sense of history is what gives Cold War its reality. A glorious work.
words Fedor Tot
Out now in cinemas