She is beauty incarnate. Blessed with the voice of an angel, Weronika lives fully and loves passionately. But her heart is weak, and she will see neither the age of 25 nor the 30-minute mark of her movie. But there is another, this one named Véronique, living miles away in Paris. Both were born on the same day, both have alluring brownish-green eyes, and both are played by Irène Jacob.
Welcome to The Double Life of Véronique, a masterpiece from preeminent filmmaker Krzysztof Kieślowski. Filmed in the fall of 1990 and the winter of 1991, Veronique was Kieślowski’s first film after the fall of Communism in his home country of Poland. Up to this point, Kieślowski had enjoyed both funding and censorship from the state. Then, the curtain fell on both, and he could tell whatever story he wanted. But he would also have to find the money to tell it. So Kieślowski and co-screenwriter Krzysztof Piesiewicz looked to France to fund and film the story of two women, separated by national borders but alike in so many ways they might as well be the same soul.
Véronique was the first of four international co-productions Kieślowski made prior to his untimely death in 1996. Taken together, the Three Colors triptych and Véronique represent metaphysical explorations of the mystery of humanity with such grace and skill it’s hard not to be bowled over by them.
But these are not heavy films weighed down by didacticism or dogma. They are leavened by small moments that cut deep. Take an early moment in Véronique where Weronika bounces a rubber ball so hard it hits the plaster roof above her. A light trickle of dust showers Weronika, and she raises her head to receive it. The camera slows, the dust catches the sunlight and glistens, and though nothing obvious is happening you feel something significant is transpiring. CU film studies professor emeritus Suranjan Ganguly — a passionate champion of Kieślowski — fondly calls these moments “epiphanies.” And not just for the characters, but for the audience.
This is most evident in the scene where Weronika sees Véronique boarding a tour bus in Krakow. The sight of herself in another place, living another life, strikes Weronika in a way no words can do justice. So Kieślowski and his ace cinematographer, Slawomir Idziak, capture the moment as a series of quick shots — the tour bus turning from right to left, Véronique walking to the back of the bus while the coach moves forward, the camera tracking around Weronika to get a better vantage — that bleed into transcendence. The frame dissolves, the connection is palpable and, for a brief moment, the veil between you and the screen falls. It’s moments like this that make my heart happy that pictures can move.
Véronique is so loaded with such moments that the whole movie sings. A large part is thanks to Zbigniew Preisner’s chilling score, but also to Idziak’s images, which use gels to mask sections of the image in shadows while transforming this brown winter into greens, golds and vibrant reds — the color associated with Weronika/Véronique.
Jacob is stunning as both. Her Weronika is so full of life and love that when she departs, Véronique feels the absence. That Jacob is able to manifest this sense in every scene without explanation bolsters the movie’s spell. Prior to this film, Jacob had a bit part in Louis Malle’s Au revoir les enfants — another work of cinema that hits like a 10-ton truck — but nothing this complex, this demanding. How do you convey the metaphysical in a performance? Well, it helps if you have Kieślowski behind the camera, but Jacob shares in the success. It even earned her the Best Actress prize at the 1991 Cannes Film Festival.
Not every loose thread in Véronique can be — or should be — tied up. For me, the biggest mystery is: Why isn’t this movie more known, seen, revered, beloved? Thankfully, it remains ready to be discovered and rediscovered time and time again. Do not miss it.
ON SCREEN: The Double Life of Véronique. 7:30 p.m. Saturday, Dec. 7, International Film Series, CU Boulder, 1905 Colorado Ave.
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