In 1961, Stanislaw Rozewicz created the novella film "Birth Certificate" in cooperation with his brother, Taduesz Rozewicz as screenwriter. Such brother tandems are rare in the history of film but aside from family ties, Stanislaw (born in 1924) and Taduesz (born in 1921) were mutually bound by their love for the cinema. They were born and grew up in Radomsk, a small town which had "its madmen and its saints" and most importanly, the "Kinema" cinema, as Stanislaw recalls: for him cinema is "heaven, the whole world, enchantment". Tadeusz says he considers cinema both a charming market stall and a mysterious temple. "All this savage land has always attracted and fascinated me," he says. "I am devoured by cinema and I devour cinema; I'm a cinema eater." But Taduesz Rozewicz, an eminent writer, admits this unique form of cooperation was a problem to him: "It is the presence of the other person not only in the process of writing, but at its very core, which is inserperable for me from absolute solitude." Some scenes the brothers wrote together; others were created by the writer himself, following discussions with the director. But from the perspective of time, it is "Birth Certificate", rather than "Echo" or "The Wicked Gate", that Taduesz describes as his most intimate film. This is understandable. The tradgey from September 1939 in Poland was for the Rozewicz brothers their personal "birth certificate". When working on the film, the director said "This time it is all about shaking off, getting rid of the psychological burden which the war was for all of us. ... Cooperation with my brother was in this case easier, as we share many war memories. We wanted to show to adult viewers a picture of war as seen by a child. ... In reality, it is the adults who created the real world of massacres. Children beheld the horrors coming back to life, exhumed from underneath the ground, overwhelming the earth."
The principle of composition of "Birth Certificate" is not obvious. When watching a novella film, we tend to think in terms of traditional theatre. We expect that a miniature story will finish with a sharp point; the three film novellas in Rozewicz's work lack this feature. We do not know what will be happen to the boy making his alone through the forest towards the end of "On the Road". We do not know whether in "Letter from the Camp", the help offered by the small heroes to a Soviet prisoner will rescue him from the unknown fate of his compatriots. The fate of the Jewish girl from "Drop of Blood" is also unclear. Will she keep her new impersonation as "Marysia Malinowska"? Or will the Nazis make her into a representative of the "Nordic race"? Those questions were asked by the director for a reason. He preceived war as chaos and perdition, and not as linear history that could be reflected in a plot. Although "Birth Certificate" is saturated with moral content, it does not aim to be a morality play. But with the immense pressure of reality, no varient of fate should be excluded. This approached can be compared wth Krzysztof Kieslowski's "Blind Chance" 25 years later, which pictured dramatic choices of a different era.
The film novella "On the Road" has a very sparing plot, but it drew special attention of the reviewers. The ominating overtone of the war films created by the Polish Film School at that time should be kept in mind. Mainly owing to Wajda, those films dealt with romantic heritage. They were permeated with pathos, bitterness, and irony. Rozewicz is an extraordinary artist. When narrating a story about a boy lost in a war zone, carrying some documents from the regiment office as if they were a treasure, the narrator in "On the Road" discovers rough prose where one should find poetry. And suddenly, the irrational touches this rather tame world. The boy, who until that moment resembled a Polish version of the Good Soldier Schweik, sets off, like Don Quixote, for his first and last battle. A critic described it as "an absurd gesture and someone else could surely use it to criticise the Polish style of dying. ... But the Rozewicz brothers do no accuse: they only compose an elegy for the picturesque peasant-soldier, probably the most important veteran of the Polish war of 1939-1945." "Birth Certificate" is not a lofty statement about national imponderabilia. The film reveals a plebeian perspective which Aleksander Jackieqicz once contrasted with those "lyrical lamentations" inherent in the Kordian tradition. However, a historical overview of Rozewicz's work shows that the distinctive style does not signify a fundamental difference in illustrating the Polish September. Just as the memorable scene from Wajda's "Lotna" was in fact an expression of desperation and distress, the same emotions permeate the final scene of "Birth Certificate". These are not ideological concepts, though once described as such and fervently debated, but rather psychological creations. In this specific case, observes Witold Zalewski, it is not about manifesting knightly pride, but about a gesture of a simple man who does not agree to be enslaved.
The novella "Drop of Blood" is, with Aleksander Ford's "Border Street", one of the first narrations of the fate of the Polish Jews during the Nazi occupation. The story about a girl literally looking for her place on earth has a dramatic dimension. Especially in the age of today's journalistic disputes, often manipulative, lacking in empathy and imbued with bad will, Rozewicz's story from the past shocks with its authenticity. The small herione of the story is the only one who survives a German raid on her family home. Physical survial does not, however, mean a return to normality. Her frightened departure from the rubbish dump that was her hideout lead her to a ruined apartment. Her walk around it is painful because still fresh signs of life are mixed with evidence of annihilation. Help is needed, but Mirka does not know anyone in the outside world. Her subsequent attempts express the state of the fugitive's spirits - from hope and faith, moving to doubt, a sense of oppression, and thickening fear, and finally to despair.
At the same time, the Jewish girl's search for refuge resembles the state of Polish society. The appearance of Mirka results in confusion, and later, trouble. This was already signalled by Rozewicz in an exceptional scene from "Letter from the Camp" in which the boy's neighbour, seeing a fugitive Russian soldier, retreats immediately, admitting that "Now, people worry only about themselves." Such embarassing excuses mask fear. During the occupation, no one feels safe. Neither social status not the aegis of a charity organisation protects against repression. We see the potential guardians of Mirka passing her back and forth among themselves. These are friendly hands but they cannot offer strong support. The story takes place on that thin line between solidarity and heroism. Solidarity arises spontaneously, but only some are capable of heroism. Help for the girl does not always result from compassion; sometimes it is based on past relations and personal ties (a neighbour of the doctor takes in the fugitive for a few days because of past friendship). Rozewicz portrays all of this in a subtle way; even the smallest gesture has significance. Take, for example, the conversation with a stranger on the train: short, as if jotted down on the margin, but so full of tension. And earlier, a peculiar examination of Polishness: the "Holy Father" prayer forced on Mirka by the village boys to check that she is not a Jew. Would not rising to the challenge mean a death sentance?
Viewed after many years, "Birth Certificate" discloses yet another quality that is not present in the works of the Polish School, but is prominent in later B-class war films. This is the picture of everyday life during the war and occupation outlined in the three novellas. It harmonises with the logic of speaking about "life after life". Small heroes of Rozewicz suddenly enter the reality of war, with no experience or scale with which to compare it. For them, the present is a natural extension of and at the same time a complete negation of the past. Consider the sleey small-town marketplace, through which armoured columns will shortly pass. Or meet the German motorcyclists, who look like aliens from outer space - a picture taken from an autopsy because this is how Stanislaw and Taduesz perceived the first Germans they ever met. Note the blurred silhouettes of people against a white wall who are being shot - at first they are shocking, but soon they will probably become a part of the grim landscape. In the city centre stands a prisoner camp on a sodden bog ("People perish likes flies; the bodies are transported during the night"); in the street the childern are running after a coal wagon to collect some precious pieces of fuel. There's a bustle around some food (a boy reproaches his younger brother's actions by singing: "The warrant officer's son is begging in front of the church? I'm going to tell mother!"); and the kitchen, which one evening becomes the proscenium of a real drama. And there are the symbols: a bar of chocolate forced upon a boy by a Wehrmacht soldier ("On the Road"); a pair of shoes belonging to Zbyszek's father which the boy spontaneously gives to a Russian fugitive; a priceless slice of bread, ground under the heel of a policeman in the guter ("Letters from the Camp"). As the director put it: "In every film, I communicate my own vision of the world and of the people. Only then the style follows, the defined way of experiencing things." In Birth Certificate, he adds, his approach was driven by the subject: "I attempted to create not only the texture of the document but also to add some poetic element. I know it is risky but as for the merger of documentation and poety, often hidden very deep, if only it manages to make its way onto the screen, it results in what can referred to as 'art'."
After 1945, there were numerous films created in Europe that dealt with war and children, including "Somewhere in Europe" ("Valahol Europaban", 1947 by Geza Radvanyi), "Shoeshine" ("Sciescia", 1946 by Vittorio de Sica), and "Childhood of Ivan" ("Iwanowo dietstwo" by Andriej Tarkowski). Yet there were fewer than one would expect. Pursuing a subject so imbued with sentimentalism requires stylistic disipline and a special ability to manage child actors. The author of "Birth Certificate" mastered both - and it was not by chance. Stanislaw Rozewicz was always the beneficent spirit of the film milieu; he could unite people around a common goal. He emanated peace and sensitivity, which flowed to his co-workers and pupils. A film, being a group work, necessitates some form of empathy - tuning in with others.
In a biographical documentary about Stanislaw Rozewicz entitled "Walking, Meeting" (1999 by Antoni Krauze), there is a beautiful scene when the director, after a few decades, meets Beata Barszczewska, who plays Mireczka in the novella "Drops of Blood". The woman falls into the arms of the elderly man. They are both moved. He wonders how many years have passed. She answers: "A few years. Not too many." And Rozewicz, with his characteristic smile says: "It is true. We spent this entire time together."
填补了华语电影多处的空白：地域/方言（南方&吴语）电影，城市中年爱情，不俗套的台词片，有几处恍惚看到了侯麦，估计还是太久没看到灵的华语电影了
为何影片塑造的上海中产群像让我感到如此“悬浮”？往小了说，我不理解母亲总一声不吭从儿子家里拿东西的行为出发点；往大了说，我不理解这群中年“伪文青”们为何非要以“懂艺术”为必备标签（如布置画展时有青年“美院老师”对其艺术风格提出质疑，老乌便立马呵斥：“你懂什么！就是你们这些人祸害了艺术！”）。此外，不仅片中配角“精致”的第二重身份似乎基于刻板印象（上海的鞋匠是认识jimmy choo 的，上海的奶茶店员副业是干美妆博主的），而且中产们边提及自己在欧美的生活经历，边漠视/边缘化与自己一同生活的“伪意大利人”（画家曾数次以交房租为借口将其支走再同他人聊天）的做法也让我觉得有些言行不一。导演一抒情就铺歌，拍摄风格也不统一（甚至有些段落可以说拍得粗糙），唯一亮点是首场饭局“话里藏刀”的对话。
段子集合很好笑，在这届年轻人眼里人到中年和工作就是生活之重了，写出了一个sitcom版本的理想梧桐区
自从老乌讲述不知是否真实的索菲亚·罗兰开始，电影的市井气息就遭到了“破坏”，进而变成了一场关于上海的梦了。老乌死去，新闻上的索菲亚·罗兰幸存，媒介与现实交织，在虚构的魔法以后留下荒凉与悲伤，承担这一切的是老白对于老乌的怀念。
老乌说，我们现在是这里的主人，但前三代可是客人。上海外来人员的奋斗史，到了反客为主的这一代可以调侃和自嘲，背后还是深知和体察人的不易，才有这般通透和轻盈。电影很难得没有架空城市背景，人物扎根在电影构筑的城市空间，随着空间流动而生成新的情感。这个故事不会出现在闸北，只能出现在永康路一带。
上一次看到这么喜欢的国产电影是什么时候呢 倪虹洁走进ktv时低了低头 又撑起笑容；马伊琍在天台说 再年轻一些的时候我也吃这套；小玛雅说“我背叛了” 老白赶紧说“我乱说的 你们什么事都没有”；老乌的爱情神话 看哭了 葬礼那段很喜欢 来和去都本应是如此自然的事
画室的三人谈话，两场聚会，阳台和门槛男女主对话，鞋匠的男女之见都写的非常有趣且深刻。
如此纯熟自然的轻喜剧，对现代两性关系做了恰到好处的典型化，成熟得不像是一个非科班出身导演的处女作
前半部分笑点很多，徐峥杵那里弄个表情就想笑。大家称赞的两场戏，餐桌上与画廊墙壁投影上的女性主义宣言都有种话剧感乱入之尬（因为是将更年轻点的小资亚逼故事移植到中年中产身上？中年人会这么讲话么？）；对于觉得老乌那故事最尬的观众，我们是否可以理解成是有意经营的荒诞，尤其是他死亡的缘由。开头话剧名字的自嘲就很好笑，所有人除了吃穿讲究睡来睡去并无展现多少“艺术涵养”，一张dvd进去，野鸡字幕组免责声明飘出来，看到困觉不如涂护手霜；国际学校校车反复停，“我在推特上看到”，“八九年出国留学”，“你外公留下的房子”。而最“悬浮”的正是这个，在一团和气的片子里唯一差点显出地域歧视的老乌，写着满是病句的策展语，念叨着早已过时的风流韵事，爱惯浪头，但精神与物理居所都脆弱地仰赖他者，一副老灵的肌肉下喝点酒就能一脚去
很久没有看到过这样的国产电影了，没有道德绑架，没有把手伸出屏幕对着我们观众指指点点，没有明确的「谁要跟谁在一起」，有的只是生活。这才对啊，这才是一个经济水平达到“发达”的城市所应当交出的答卷。以一场饭局始，以一场饭局终，《繁花》早已告诉过我们：「食色性也」。悬而未决的故事，只能在觥筹交错间吐露一点点真心；爱情无关乎真假，而是一种体验——经历它，忘记它。其实我一直觉得自己不像上海人，也在于我很难做到这种「轻松」，我的感情太重了，所以很难在上海故事里找到知音。这是我背负的枷锁，但并不妨碍我欣赏这个故事。
不难看，但没啥意思。迪士尼后的皮克斯一再让人失望
祠堂描绘的阴森恐怖，约束你的家人都是精神不正常人类，为了讨好合群交朋友说慌欺骗，打着青春的幌子，实际上还是西方有色眼镜批判东方的传统文化。一分给动画特效。
蛮好的，这种电影就像痒痒挠，能让你舒服了就是灵。个人没有特别喜欢，但有趣的是观影的经历。本来是吃完饭去商场随便逛逛，这部电影准备明天看的，结果发现有票，于是一拍即合，立刻买票进场。稍微错过了开头的五分钟，但也无妨。从某个角度来说，倒是蛮需要这种“上海视角”的爱情喜剧，但同时正是因此，整部电影呈现的质感更像是某部剧的几个片段。个人喜欢结尾，是本人最喜欢的荒诞感日常。能这样收尾真的是，配上里面的几个片段，导演的迷影感和剧本的平衡性，才是当下国内导演所稀缺的。
生动的爱情小品，真是出乎意料地好看！
支持电影用方言的我对于接地气的上海话感觉每个字都叨叨叨在我神经上 生理不适 但是不得不承认这部电影把上海和上海人表现得真挚又可爱 饭桌戏很好看 （但是没事就靠配英文歌铺情绪很低级 跟某些人打造的上海的“洋气”一样非常刻意
看了让人心情巨好的一部“爱情神话”。像冬天里的一锅热汤饭。导演用生活流素描笔法展现了新上海带点雅致和讲究的烟火气，上海的市井生活是有其独特生态的，尤其是新时代背景下的上海风貌，人们的说话方式、生活习惯跟我们印象中老上海石库门里的那种市井生活大不相同。那个一直爱吹牛的老乌、昨夜还坐在一起喝酒聊天的老乌，说没就没了，荒唐吗？可这就是中年人会遇到的命题啊，面对突如其来的死亡、变故、离别。这不是简单的致敬，这是将费里尼的精神融入电影了。给平凡的生活加点浪漫的佐料，有什么错呢？
我！真！的！太！喜！欢！了！
你信不信老白和倪虹洁发生过，就你对一夜情的态度。 你信不信老乌的罗马故事就像你信不信爱情。
6/10。将外部冲突消解、捏碎为日常状态的动作，随着白老师去修鞋摊、接送孩子、喝咖啡和老乌闲谈或行走在梧桐树下的窄道，充满市井味的上海逐渐显现，并联想到候麦式拒绝与追逐的爱恋关系：白老师追求李小姐的各种动作（做饭和发微信、修高跟鞋和修电灯）貌似温情，但李小姐对他的求爱更多是迟疑和拒绝，一夜情后的早晨她悄悄逃走，而她和狂放的格洛瑞亚、精干的蓓蓓做客白老师家的聚餐戏，用‘‘剩菜’’暗示她们对白老师的争夺欲望，接着轮流用‘‘女人这辈子没有......是不完整的’’造句，宣示她们主动选择情感又时刻准备放手的洒脱状态，反而是白老师和娘娘腔的儿子等男性处于弱势。结尾众人在银幕的仪式中，祭奠老乌和索菲亚罗兰那一去不返的爱情神话，却被费里尼晦涩断裂的情节弄得兴趣索然，正如这部情节寡淡的电影本身只是小众文艺观众的狂欢。
前妻出轨后，他坚定的选择离婚，就算他妈劝了那么多次也不复婚。
Copyright © 2015-2023 All Rights Reserved
