>>Decalogue 5 is a cold, detached presentation on "Thou shalt not kill", as opposed to the emotional first four chapters (Kieslowski expanded this to its full-length version as A Short Film About Killing). Uncompromising, brutal, disturbing and haunting, this is the most powerful episode of the series. It involves Jacek, a lonely and depressed young man who brutally murders a taxi driver (who lives in the same building as the other characters of The Decalogue) and is defended by a young lawyer, Piotr, who is against the death sentence. Jacek is found guilty and executed. Watching 5 is a very difficult experience because Kieslowski does not hold anything back from the audience. Take the murder scene for example: it lasts for around seven minutes (said to be among the longest murder sequences ever filmed), or Jacek's almost five-minute-long execution scene, which is even more difficult to watch.
Kieslowski presents yet another issue for discussion: Is the execution of the death sentence not murder in itself? Kieslowski seems to be suggesting that it is since he spends a lot of time showing us how the execution is prepared for and how it is carried out, and it is at the very least, as harrowing as the earlier murder. The unflinching final sequences have obviously been a huge influence on later films dealing with similar subjects like Dead Man Walking and Dancer in the Dark. What sets 5 above these films is the surprisingly strong undercurrent of non-manipulative emotions that run through it. Before his execution, Jacek narrates to Piotr how his little sister was accidentally killed a few years earlier by a drunk driver. Is that why he kills a taxi driver? Or is it because of his isolation and his general antisocialism (as we see earlier in the film)? I haven't even discussed the unique way in which 5 has been shot by master cinematographer, Slavomir Idziak (who later goes on to lens Double Life of Veronique and Blue) using dark green filters that create a whole new dark world and further externalise the alienation of Jacek, or how Kieslowski subtly comments on the general unfriendliness and violence that runs in Warsaw (an old woman almost attacks Jacek!). Glass and reflection is present everywhere (common elements in Kieslowski's films) and here "this horrible story reflects the world. And for the reflection to be true, it has to be disgusting", as Kieslowski once stated in an interview.
Decalogue 6 is an engaging psychological love story about Tomek, a shy, young man who is in love with Magda, an older woman who lives in the building opposite his (A Short Film About Love is its expanded version). We notice striking similarities with Hitchcock's Rear Window and later, with Kieslowski's own Three Colours: Red when it is known that Tomek has been spying on Magda through a pair of binoculars for a while now. This obsessive voyeurism eventually leads to him disclosing his love to Magda, who takes him to her flat and dismisses his feelings as being merely lust. Tomek attempts suicide, but only just survives, leading to the ironic final scenes of the episode when the tables are turned and Magda has possibly fallen in love with Tomek, spies on him and tries to make contact with him, all to no avail since he has moved on. 6 is an ironic observation of love and obsession, and Kieslowski deliberately cuts from Tomek to Magda in important scenes and forms an invisible link between them using his voyeuristic camera. Windows and glass are among the several symbols that Kieslowski uses to represent the barriers between Magda and Tomek. Magda's inner guilt at how she treated Tomek is represented by a scene where she spills milk (and since Tomek took up the job of distributing the milk in her building earlier just to see her up-close, spilled milk could also represent Tomek's dying love for Magda). Interestingly, in Decalogue 2, Dorota also let's a glass roll from the table so that it falls and breaks. In 6, Kieslowski uses a colour scheme as well, whereby the repetitive use of a particular colour for a particular character or situation gives it individuality, and he goes on to master this in the Three Colours Trilogy.
WHILE the four chapters discussed above are my personal favourites, the remaining six chapters are nothing short of mesmerising when at their best. 3 involves a woman who lies to a married ex-lover of hers to get him to spend some time with her on Christmas Eve. If they can get through the night with no problems, then she will not kill herself. 4 explores a father/daughter relationship, when one day the girl finds out that the man she's been calling "dad" is not her real father. Does this justify her acting out on a crush on him that she has harboured over the years? The final scene is another of the series' most ironic touches. 7 (which plays brilliantly on "Thou shalt not steal") tells the story of Majka who kidnaps her own daughter Ania from her own mother, who's extremely attached to Ania. 8 is about a Jewish woman, Elzbieta, who comes back to Warsaw after years to question the philosophy professor who refused to give Elzbieta shelter during World War II. 9 is another Hitchcockian tale about a man who gives his wife the freedom to sleep with whoever she wishes after finding out that he is impotent, all to her angry dismissal. Later, he discovers, that she actually has been cheating on him with another man. 10 is the lightest chapter in the series, it contains many laughs, albeit with dark tones. It is about two brothers who inherit a priceless stamp collection from their father, lose one of the finest stamps to a cunning collector who is ready to give back the stamp if he gets one kidney from either of the brothers! After several twists and turns, this takes us to the final scene when both brothers, having initially had no interest in stamp collection, start to develop an interest in it after losing everything they had.
Like the films of his Three Colours Trilogy, these ten chapters can be viewed separately, each on their own, but like the Three Colours, it is more rewarding if they are viewed one after another (with interruptions, of course, as it pays to marinate on these films as they are indeed thought-provoking, and also because ten hours is a very long time to watch a movie!). This way, the viewer sees the connections between each chapter more clearly. Such as how all the characters in the ten episodes live in or next to this one particular high-rise building in Warsaw, and how we see one in another's story. Or such as this homeless man who appears in most chapters, usually at an important time for the main character, and just observes without participating. His importance is not made very clear – he could be an observant angelic figure or he may represent God. I came to associate him with us, the audience, ever watchful of this group of people.
Complex, adult, and important, these mini-masterpieces are a must-see for anyone who loves cinema, or has ever wondered about the issues tackled here, which range from adultery to faith, from murder to pure love. Each part is beautifully shot by a different cinematographer since Kieslowski wanted to give each episode a different look. Zbigniew Preisner, Kieslowski's usual composer, provides haunting music; each suited perfectly to the story, ranging from tender and light tunes (as in 10) to dark, sorrowful rhythms (as in 5). The stories move at an appropriate pace, allowing us to take in every important detail and make connections between character and situation from episode to episode. Importantly, although Kieslowski was a pessimist, he has genuine affection for his characters here and it shows in several episodes, making viewing The Decalogue an almost life-affirming experience. Indeed, short columns like these can only scratch the surface of The Decalogue, and only offer subjective interpretations. This humanist masterpiece of emotion and structure stands as its director's greatest accomplishment, and one of the very great films of the past few decades.
–Mubarak Ali
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Originally published in: Lumière 1, Winter 2003, ISSN 1176-4082
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