The settings and the color palette of this quiet film are bleak and lifeless, but from them arises a love story that is by turns tentative, frustrating, poignant and triumphant. "A Year of the Quiet Sun" tells the story of an extraordinary romance in three languages, the most powerful of which is silence.
Like most Americans, I had not heard of Polish director Krzysztof Zanussi. I've since learned of his considerable reputation in world cinema. If it was cemented solely on the basis of this improbable -- but entirely believable -- story of hope and love among the ruins, it would be almost enough to secure him immortality.
It's Poland in 1946. WWII is over, and Emelia (a radiant Maja Komorowska), and her ailing mother (Hanna Skarzanka), are Polish citizens returning in a crowded boxcar to a town they don't recognize, to lives so shattered rebuilding them seems beyond hopeless. Yet Emilia is philosophical, determined and nonjudgmental. She manages to create a one-room apartment for her and her mother in a bombed-out building. It's dismal, but it's home. Her fortitude is is remarkable, and her optimism begins to rub off on her mother, who slowly reverts to her sentimental, jubilant self.
Both women have earned a kind of beauty survivors often have; there is light in their eyes. Their shared sense of humor provides healing and serves as a coping mechanism. We may not understand the jokes, but it's a privilege to watch mother and daughter laugh to the point of tears.
Occasionally, Emelia goes into the countryside on her bicycle, where she sits in a burned-out car and paints. One afternoon, an American GI stops by the side of the road and proceeds to relieve himself next to the car. He is shame-faced and deeply embarrassed when he learns the car is inhabited, but also in awe of someone who can still find beauty amid such desolation. He is immediately touched by and fascinated with Emelia. Somewhat unnerved, she leaves quickly, and the soldier makes it his mission to find her again.
We have previously learned the GI's name is Norman (Scott Wilson), and that he has elected to stay behind after the war to investigate war crimes. When younger soldiers ask why he will stay when he can return home, he tells them he will leave the glory to them. Besides, he has nothing to return to in the States that holds any meaning for him.
Norman does find Emelia again, and begins making periodic visits, always bearing gifts. He brings Emelia some paints on his first trip, and later, once he's learned that she is a baker, he brings her a large box of sugar and other goods she needs to make her cakes. By prevailing standards Norman is a wealthy man, and he has connections.
But it's the gestures more than the gifts that touch Emelia, although she resists his gentle advances. She is scared, and scarred; still grieving for the husband she lost after a marriage of only a few months, and whose body she has never been able to locate to even give a proper burial.
The two cannot talk to each other. She knows almost no English; he knows no Polish. The mother hopefully asks if he speaks French. He does not. But gradually the two of them connect, and soon Norman is hopelessly in love. He desperately seeks out translators; they are hopelessly inept. Ultimately, Norman and Emelia come to see that words are unnecessary, he faster than she. They plan to marry and leave for America, but Emelia will not leave her mother behind. A subplot suggests there is a way for all of them to leave together which involves something like the "letters of transit" in Casablanca. But things fall apart, despite the mother's sacrifice for her daughter's happiness. Years later, another chance for Emelia to reunite with Norman presents itself, but is thwarted no sooner than it's begun.
The film's coda is elegiac. It is an homage to the films of John Ford, and to love that transcends language barriers, time and distance. It metaphorically reunites the lovers in Monument Valley and provides the film's final showcase for the work of cinematographer Slawomir Idziak. Emelia and Norman reprise a dance from an earlier scene in the movie which is at once joyless and technically proficient, and in its own way, elegant. It's a version of the Lindy, and it seems both utterly out of place and totally in keeping with the uncomplicated, resolute natures of the characters.
It's reasonable to ask how American actor Scott Wilson became involved with "Quiet Sun". He has never been any American director's idea of a romantic lead. He is still best remembered as one of the killers in 1967's "In Cold Blood". Wilson answers that question in an interview on the Kino DVD. He and director Zanussi met through a mutual friend in the mid-70s. They were aware of each other's work and interested in making a movie together, but it took ten years for the pieces to come together.
This is far and away Scott Wilson's best work. When he sings "Amazing Grace" on an empty train platform your heart will crack. More than 20 years later, Wilson remains in awe of Maja Koromowska and of Zanussi and his crew, who resorted to subterfuge and sometimes bribery in order to get the film they wanted made in a Communist country. Wilson is justifiably proud of his performance in "A Year of the Quiet Sun," and humbly acknowledges his wish that this wonderful film had found a larger audience.
Like most Americans, I had not heard of Polish director Krzysztof Zanussi. I've since learned of his considerable reputation in world cinema. If it was cemented solely on the basis of this improbable -- but entirely believable -- story of hope and love among the ruins, it would be almost enough to secure him immortality.
It's Poland in 1946. WWII is over, and Emelia (a radiant Maja Komorowska), and her ailing mother (Hanna Skarzanka), are Polish citizens returning in a crowded boxcar to a town they don't recognize, to lives so shattered rebuilding them seems beyond hopeless. Yet Emilia is philosophical, determined and nonjudgmental. She manages to create a one-room apartment for her and her mother in a bombed-out building. It's dismal, but it's home. Her fortitude is is remarkable, and her optimism begins to rub off on her mother, who slowly reverts to her sentimental, jubilant self.
Both women have earned a kind of beauty survivors often have; there is light in their eyes. Their shared sense of humor provides healing and serves as a coping mechanism. We may not understand the jokes, but it's a privilege to watch mother and daughter laugh to the point of tears.
Occasionally, Emelia goes into the countryside on her bicycle, where she sits in a burned-out car and paints. One afternoon, an American GI stops by the side of the road and proceeds to relieve himself next to the car. He is shame-faced and deeply embarrassed when he learns the car is inhabited, but also in awe of someone who can still find beauty amid such desolation. He is immediately touched by and fascinated with Emelia. Somewhat unnerved, she leaves quickly, and the soldier makes it his mission to find her again.
We have previously learned the GI's name is Norman (Scott Wilson), and that he has elected to stay behind after the war to investigate war crimes. When younger soldiers ask why he will stay when he can return home, he tells them he will leave the glory to them. Besides, he has nothing to return to in the States that holds any meaning for him.
Norman does find Emelia again, and begins making periodic visits, always bearing gifts. He brings Emelia some paints on his first trip, and later, once he's learned that she is a baker, he brings her a large box of sugar and other goods she needs to make her cakes. By prevailing standards Norman is a wealthy man, and he has connections.
But it's the gestures more than the gifts that touch Emelia, although she resists his gentle advances. She is scared, and scarred; still grieving for the husband she lost after a marriage of only a few months, and whose body she has never been able to locate to even give a proper burial.
The two cannot talk to each other. She knows almost no English; he knows no Polish. The mother hopefully asks if he speaks French. He does not. But gradually the two of them connect, and soon Norman is hopelessly in love. He desperately seeks out translators; they are hopelessly inept. Ultimately, Norman and Emelia come to see that words are unnecessary, he faster than she. They plan to marry and leave for America, but Emelia will not leave her mother behind. A subplot suggests there is a way for all of them to leave together which involves something like the "letters of transit" in Casablanca. But things fall apart, despite the mother's sacrifice for her daughter's happiness. Years later, another chance for Emelia to reunite with Norman presents itself, but is thwarted no sooner than it's begun.
The film's coda is elegiac. It is an homage to the films of John Ford, and to love that transcends language barriers, time and distance. It metaphorically reunites the lovers in Monument Valley and provides the film's final showcase for the work of cinematographer Slawomir Idziak. Emelia and Norman reprise a dance from an earlier scene in the movie which is at once joyless and technically proficient, and in its own way, elegant. It's a version of the Lindy, and it seems both utterly out of place and totally in keeping with the uncomplicated, resolute natures of the characters.
It's reasonable to ask how American actor Scott Wilson became involved with "Quiet Sun". He has never been any American director's idea of a romantic lead. He is still best remembered as one of the killers in 1967's "In Cold Blood". Wilson answers that question in an interview on the Kino DVD. He and director Zanussi met through a mutual friend in the mid-70s. They were aware of each other's work and interested in making a movie together, but it took ten years for the pieces to come together.
This is far and away Scott Wilson's best work. When he sings "Amazing Grace" on an empty train platform your heart will crack. More than 20 years later, Wilson remains in awe of Maja Koromowska and of Zanussi and his crew, who resorted to subterfuge and sometimes bribery in order to get the film they wanted made in a Communist country. Wilson is justifiably proud of his performance in "A Year of the Quiet Sun," and humbly acknowledges his wish that this wonderful film had found a larger audience.