Krzysztof Kieslowski's A Short Film About Killing is the Polish director's argument against capital punishment. It is the story of a young man, Jacek Lazar (Miroslaw Baka, perfectly Eastern European), living in a Warsaw tenement. It is also the story of a cheerfully malicious taxi driver (Jan Tesarz), who spends most of his time on the job driving away from potential customers. Oh yeah, and the new-made attorney (Krzysztof Globisz), an avowed opponent of the death penalty, working towards partner status.
The three stories collide, Iñárritu style, when the young man hitches a ride in a certain taxi and ends up murdering the driver in a long, brutal, and fittingly bloody sequence. He steals the taxi, and in the next scene we see him in court, defended by...you guessed it. The trial is left to the audience's imagination, as Jacek is immediately sentenced to death. After a humanization-by-conversation scene with Jacek and his lawyer, Jacek is hanged methodically. In a shot nearly as hard to stomach as the murder of the cab driver, feces drips from Jacek's leg into the container below the gallows.
As a movie, the film works beautifully. Warsaw is made as unwelcome as possible by a use of darkness reminiscent of the iris shots of the silent era; often half the screen is a mysterious, foreboding shroud. The pacing is excellent, slow enough to fit the lofty theme and give the audience time to work out the significance of certain scenes, yet not so slow as to let our minds wander far from the film. The characters are not over-developed, but we learn about them all that we need to know. Even the conversation between Jacek and the lawyer, which could easily have been standard "I don't want to die" nonsense, shows depth and intelligence.
It is as an argument, however, that the film's weaknesses become apparent. The problem is that Kieslowski's film is unlikely to change any minds. Those who are against the death penalty will find it a brilliant portrayal of murder by the authorities, while those who support capital punishment will shrug and say, "He deserved it." There is, after all, ample evidence of premeditation, as when Jacek wraps a rope--one of his murder weapons--around his hand at a café, cutting it to desired length. That the movie was intended to connect the executioner's act with the murderer's is obvious. When Jacek kills the taxi driver, he puts a blanket around his victim's head before bludgeoning it with a rock. The murderer wears a similar hood as he is led to the noose.
But the sheer brutality of the "first" murder distances it from the institutional calmness of the second. Surely Kieslowski was trying to say that murder is murder, no matter how the act is done, or by whom, and that the execution was just as brutal, morally and philosophically, as Jacek's crime. But death penalty supporters are generally not concerned at all with the philosophical and place practical considerations above moral ones. They think: this man is dangerous; he will be a burden to our justice systems; he shall be killed. Most do not think: this man's criminal act gives me the moral right to end his life. Kieslowski says: no institution has the moral right to end a man's life. He does not say: it is impractical to kill this man.
If Kieslowski had made the latter point with his film it would have been a better argument, but it is obvious that the poetry of the movie would be lost. Arguing practicality necessitates a practical film, almost a documentary-style approach. Kieslowski's talent is for imagery and mood and thought-provoking simplicity. Certainly his movie is a better film than an argument, and maybe it's better that way. Leave the practical arguments to the practical artists: the statisticians, pollsters, and attorneys. (It is significant, I think, that, while Jacek's attorney's argument against the death penalty is confirmed by the judge, it is never given to the audience, at least not during the trial.) Perhaps Kieslowski's work will inspire and affirm these more practical men, who may transform his message into something more effective. Then will his movie remain captivating and his argument see indirect results.
The three stories collide, Iñárritu style, when the young man hitches a ride in a certain taxi and ends up murdering the driver in a long, brutal, and fittingly bloody sequence. He steals the taxi, and in the next scene we see him in court, defended by...you guessed it. The trial is left to the audience's imagination, as Jacek is immediately sentenced to death. After a humanization-by-conversation scene with Jacek and his lawyer, Jacek is hanged methodically. In a shot nearly as hard to stomach as the murder of the cab driver, feces drips from Jacek's leg into the container below the gallows.
As a movie, the film works beautifully. Warsaw is made as unwelcome as possible by a use of darkness reminiscent of the iris shots of the silent era; often half the screen is a mysterious, foreboding shroud. The pacing is excellent, slow enough to fit the lofty theme and give the audience time to work out the significance of certain scenes, yet not so slow as to let our minds wander far from the film. The characters are not over-developed, but we learn about them all that we need to know. Even the conversation between Jacek and the lawyer, which could easily have been standard "I don't want to die" nonsense, shows depth and intelligence.
It is as an argument, however, that the film's weaknesses become apparent. The problem is that Kieslowski's film is unlikely to change any minds. Those who are against the death penalty will find it a brilliant portrayal of murder by the authorities, while those who support capital punishment will shrug and say, "He deserved it." There is, after all, ample evidence of premeditation, as when Jacek wraps a rope--one of his murder weapons--around his hand at a café, cutting it to desired length. That the movie was intended to connect the executioner's act with the murderer's is obvious. When Jacek kills the taxi driver, he puts a blanket around his victim's head before bludgeoning it with a rock. The murderer wears a similar hood as he is led to the noose.
But the sheer brutality of the "first" murder distances it from the institutional calmness of the second. Surely Kieslowski was trying to say that murder is murder, no matter how the act is done, or by whom, and that the execution was just as brutal, morally and philosophically, as Jacek's crime. But death penalty supporters are generally not concerned at all with the philosophical and place practical considerations above moral ones. They think: this man is dangerous; he will be a burden to our justice systems; he shall be killed. Most do not think: this man's criminal act gives me the moral right to end his life. Kieslowski says: no institution has the moral right to end a man's life. He does not say: it is impractical to kill this man.
If Kieslowski had made the latter point with his film it would have been a better argument, but it is obvious that the poetry of the movie would be lost. Arguing practicality necessitates a practical film, almost a documentary-style approach. Kieslowski's talent is for imagery and mood and thought-provoking simplicity. Certainly his movie is a better film than an argument, and maybe it's better that way. Leave the practical arguments to the practical artists: the statisticians, pollsters, and attorneys. (It is significant, I think, that, while Jacek's attorney's argument against the death penalty is confirmed by the judge, it is never given to the audience, at least not during the trial.) Perhaps Kieslowski's work will inspire and affirm these more practical men, who may transform his message into something more effective. Then will his movie remain captivating and his argument see indirect results.