BLEU, liberté
When Julie's car crashed into a tree, its history ends and a new one begins. No husband, no children, no past: better start over from scratch than to accept the loss, better to be free from them in every cell, erase the past, become a new one. This is your body survived for no reason, Julie, is not worth anything and then your fist grated against a wall makes you feel that pain as you need and Corazzini like me, a burning pain but alive, that face evil, evil face as possible to be strong to muffle the voices that you hear, the voices that cry out to you from within. Somewhere your baby is crying, Julie? Can you hear it? Fa ', which remains pending only a blue light on your face as a sort of magic lamp, or maybe your Aladdin's lamp can bring back the woman you were. There's a man out there who keep looking for love, dreaming about you, to write music that speaks to you. And 'he who brought you close when you feel like a rotting corpse, but a living corpse, which is more horrified by the deaths, which is more pity reminds me of an old woman who tries with all his dignity to throw a bottle nel contenitore del vetro; la sua schiena è tanto piegata dal mondo che il suo braccio non arriva lassù, non arriva… Ci penserà quello di Valentine, ma in un altro film, in un’altra storia. Quando a un certo punto decidi che la musica di lui non deve morire, che è il figlio che ti ha lasciato come a quell’altra che ora lo ha in grembo, allora e allora soltanto accetti pure tu di essere salvata. Per la musica, per l’arte, perché così è, dalla notte dei tempi. Nel dolore sopravviviamo ai nostri lutti e ci vorremmo morti e ci odiamo per questo restare a galla che è l’umanità. Solo una manciata di persone tra mille, come per un naufragio sulla manica.
BLANC, egalité
Same for better or for worse. Equally as well in lies and deception. Karol: you have to give tit for tat. At the bottom of the great loves the passion is not measured in the suffering? Yet how wonderful this man who can not satisfy his wife, who still loves her despite her feline cruelty, despite the bitter humiliation: name at the right time, Karol, listen. E 'orgasm of his wife on the other side of the wire. This phone conceals and reveals in us trois couleurs: a medal lost in the first, a breathless pursuit of pleasure in the last hour and a court spy. Meanwhile, another story: the friend who brought you in Poland, Karol, wants to be killed: and do you agree more, this life of shit that he is throwing it to him under a meter make it clear, snowy, distorted. To pretend you can die only once. Question about white as you can continue to love the assholes, who, like Dominique, makes us suffer so much? De André in my head responds with its "good and honest man who fell hopelessly in love with someone who did not like anything." And here Kieslowski responds with a dreamy and silent final scene, when I get out of here and I, love, get married again. At the bottom can also be Domenique human becomes the face of suffering, the face of death (fake, but that change?) And humiliation. Outside the prison Karol the spy with binoculars. And cries.
ROUGE, fraternité
wires back finally to weave a tapestry as well defined. Valentine save a dog, Rita, which hit by mistake and accidentally discovers that his owner is a former judge who monitors phone calls from neighbors. Each has its more or less terrible secret memories, Conchita? Our lot of lute brought it well below the city. So: here pro quo. Lot to lot, because the magnet Rita has willed it so. Who is Rita at the bottom if not nature, chance, fate? That all but indelible form, and which dominates and leads our days? Spit out the frog becomes a categorical imperative, the only way forward. And so is the catharsis: just poison boyfriends and liars, just fashion shows, artefacts and photographs just exhausting exercise! Real life is elsewhere. "How can I help you? - You have to be-What do you mean? - There is, and that's all there." This chasing a ringing telephone and a call that always comes when inappropriate (or not reaching their own) is the soundtrack to the film. And as brothers reunite all the various parties on a rescue shuttle for the Channel has swallowed the rest. So here is Julie and Olivier, and behold, Karol and Dominique, and Valentine finally betrayed by the young and beautiful blonde: the court as a young man, no doubt. The past that torna e si aggancia al presente. La realtà che supera ogni arte, l’ultimo fotogramma in cui Valentine è la fotografia gigante appesa ad un palazzone.
Degli occhi impressionanti quelli di Kiéslwoski. Mi ricordano chi non vorrei come il suo viso e le sue sigarette. Ma Julie non mi ha forse insegnato qualcosa? Julie e Karol e Valentine: non siamo tutti insieme sopravvissuti NOI sette? Il settimo era il barista del traghetto, un esterno, cioè, uno spettatore. Io?
