The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Arts
Friday, November 16, 2018 — 6A
Though deceivingly similar
in their structure and sound,
the concepts of loneliness and
being alone are completely
different. The distinguishing
feature between the two is
often the element of choice. We
choose to be alone, isolating
ourselves from the outside
world when we need a moment
to breath or a beat to reflect.
But to be lonely is another story
entirely. In his brief yet striking
documentary, “Quiet Hours,”
Paul Szynol softly captures
the concept of “loneliness”
through sound, image and
color, demonstrating its quiet
grief as a tiresome burden.
Donald
Hall
is
an
80-something widower living
alone
in
a
house
seeping
with nostalgia of memories
past.
An
American
Poet
Laureate,
National
Medal
of Arts winner and former
University professor, Hall is
far past his glory days and put
on vulnerable display for all
to see. The film is composed
of a mixture of flashbacks,
juxtaposing Hall’s former life
in the literary spotlight with his
current day-to-day routines of
mild aerobic exercise, grocery
trips accompanied by one of
his several female caretakers
and painful reminiscence over
his deceased wife and lifelong
love, Jane Kenyon.
The back-and-forth between
moments of the past and
present
have
the
intended
effect of filling the viewer
with a sense of sullenness and
almost-pity for Hall. Hall’s
acknowledgement
of
his
wife’s passing 20 years prior
is paired with a numb sense of
acceptance that he will never
find real light or joy again.
This mood of numbness and
gloom is intensified through
the prominence of blues and
greys in the film’s color palate
and a minimal soundtrack. In
fact, the main source of sound
in the film, other than Hall’s
own voice, comes from the
repetitive dripping of a faucet,
a figurative, blinking reminder
that just as the tap continues
to drip unceasingly, Hall will
never move on from his wife’s
passing.
The one line of the film that
best expresses its entirety is
when Hall remarks that, “old
age is a ceremony of losses.” The
film is short, a mere 14 minutes
long, yet it somehow manages
to thoroughly personify this
quote, crafting a strong sense
of profundity and sympathy
within viewers. Watching Hall
onscreen, we can’t help but
ponder the looming threat,
not of aging, but of aging
without
companionship
or
love or something dear to us.
By showcasing a man who has
had so much success and joy
in his life in such a solemn
light, Syznol urges audiences
to consider the “quiet place”
that loneliness has the power
to create within us all.
‘Quiet Hours’ is a sullen
portrait of Donald Hall
SAMANTHA NELSON
Daily Arts Writer
ITCHY DOG FILMS
ANN ARBOR POLISH FILM FESTIVAL
“Quiet Hours”
Michigan Theater
Itchy Dog Films
The chatter before a movie is
always entertaining as people muse
about the coming movie. This time,
though, the people were talking in
Polish as they waited for the start
of “Cicha Noc,” or “Silent Night” in
English.
The movie opens with a shaky
shot from a home movie recorded
by Adam (Dawid Ogrodnik, “Life
Feels Good”) as he returns home
to his family and wife. Doubt about
Adam’s intentions is sewn into
the audience with every awkward
hug and interaction that suggest
he hasn’t been with his family in a
long time. “Silent Night” created
refreshingly
real
relationships
between each family member
that are often lacking in typical
holiday movies where families
fight, but everything works out in
the end. Each one was tinged with
the lingering feeling that Adam
used to be the beloved eldest son,
the golden boy of the family. But
as the movie progresses, things
have obviously changed, causing
the kind of dynamic tension that is
often rampant throughout families.
Predictably, “Silent Night” uses
the iconic Christmas song as a theme
throughout the movie. However,
the name is also indicative of the
way the film creates drama and
pressure. In moments where some
movies may have inserted yelling
or whispered arguments, “Silent
Night” was simply silent. Looks are
exchanged and bodies are rigid, but
there is no outright yelling. It is the
kind of understated judgment that
often comes from family members,
and, when fighting does actually
break out, it is a more dramatic,
satisfying moment to watch the
characters release their anger.
On the other hand, the movie
establishes a balance between the
family bickering and the love that
is often times hidden underneath
all the disagreements. The key
here was the shots from Adam’s
home movie camera. The movie
periodically moves between blue-
tinted and stable scenes of the story
to the shaky, more realistic view
of the handheld camera. Off-kilter
shots and candid moments capture
the true nature of the family and,
at the end, “Silent Night” compiles
all of the different clips from the
night to remind the audience that,
though family is frustrating, it is
also an important part of our lives,
and, despite evidence suggesting
otherwise, family members do
what they do out of love.
“Silent Night” also touches on
other subjects, such as abusive
relationships,
with
Jolka
—
Adam’s
sister
(Maria
Debska,
“These Daughters of Mine) — and
her husband, or the fight with
alcoholism that plagues his father
(Arkadiusz Jakubik, “The Art of
Loving”) and mother (Agnieszka
Suchora, “Off the Stretcher”).
There is a quick nod to racial
tensions between those of Polish
descent and the rest of Europe that
is meant to explain Adam’s father’s
reasoning for wanting to keep his
son in Poland, but that feels a little
forced, thrown into the end of the
movie. Kasia, Adam’s youngest
sister
(Amelia
Tyszkiewicz,
“Planeta Singli”), is really the
only put-together character in the
whole movie and plays an integral
in keeping the family grounded,
reminding them of the growing up
they all have to do.
One of the feature films of
Ann Arbor’s 25th annual Polish
Film Festival, “Silent Night” is a
typical dramatization of the family
tension that runs so high during
the holiday season. It captures the
diverse experiences that, though
unique to each family in detail, are
often universal in nature and is an
entertaining experience.
In ‘Cicha Noc,’ the holidays
heighten familial tensions
EMMA CHANG
Daily Arts Writer
STUDIO MUNKA
ANN ARBOR POLISH FILM FESTIVAL
“Cicha Noc”
Michigan Theater
Studio Munka
“Universam Grochów”
Tomasz
Knittel’s
documentary
chronicling
the life span of Universam
Grochów, a supermarket in
Warsaw, is not pretty, and it
doesn’t try to be. However,
such directorial prudence is
the exception rather than the
rule in “Universam Grochów.”
The
filmmakers
boldly
endeavor to render a seemingly
unextraordinary supermarket
worthy
of
a
documentary,
but their argument in favor
of
Universam
Grochów’s
importance is never adequately
developed. So while audience
members may remain intrigued
by the compelling but disjointed
scenes, they never know enough
to feel persuaded.
Some of the arrangements
of scenes in the film work. For
instance, it shows its audience
Universam
Grochów
first
through the eyes of one of its
most
loyal
employees,
and
then through a historical lens.
This ordering of encounters
with
the
supermarket
—
subjective
first,
objective
second — successfully initiates
the
filmmakers’
argument
in favor of the supermarket’s
unlikely notability. Some of
the
interviews,
especially
with
a
younger
shopper,
further develop this argument.
In
several
segments
of
her
interview
interwoven
throughout the documentary,
this younger shopper makes
a
fascinating
argument:
A
person’s possessions have an
immortalizing
function,
for
perhaps they do not merely
outlive their owners but allow
their owners to live on in them.
Other arrangements in the
film, however, simply don’t
work,
undermining
those
that do. For instance, the
documentarians
only
hint
intermittently at the historical
importance of the supermarket,
which
is
an
especially
surprising absence given the
context of Poland’s history
of communism. As another
example, several transitional
montages are set to the songs
of a troubadour who performs
regularly
just
outside
the
supermarket, but the film does
not dive into the questions his
role in the film raises (e.g. as an
outsider, as a man struggling
financially). By and large, the
filmmakers place an inordinate
portion of the burden of forging
connections between scenes on
their audience.
On
top
of
that,
mere
accumulation of scenes that
address the documentarians’
driving question does little
to advance an argument, and
this
disconnect
will
likely
confuse and frustrate viewers.
He’s talented, but why are you
showing me the troubadour
who
sings
outside
the
marketplace? Their dialogue
is vivacious, but why do you
keep showing me the elderly
women gossiping before they
shop? Such questions run the
risk of congealing into the last
question a documentarian ever
wants to hear their audience
ask:
Why
does
this
topic
warrant a documentary?
The closing sequence of the
film summarizes the missed
potential
of
“Universam
Grochów.” The documentary
captures the life span of the
beloved supermarket, so the
finale rightly showcases its
closing — its death, so to
speak. The scene can only be
described as a supermarket’s
memorial,
complete
with
a crowd of mourners and a
eulogy delivered by the same
adoring employee who opened
the film. If the filmmakers
had
committed
more
fully
to
personifying
Unviersam
Grochów, perhaps this scene
would
have
felt
climactic
instead of disconcertingly cult-
like. And perhaps audiences
would have felt something
other than bewilderment with
respect to the subject of this
documentary, too.
“A Sky without Stars”
How does a father love
his
son?
Let
Katarzyna
Dabkowska-Kułacz (“Between
the Worlds”) count the ways.
For while in theory, her majestic
documentary “A Sky without
Stars” is about Robert, father
of five-year-old Gabriel, losing
his sense of sight, the father’s
disability never overshadows
the father-son relationship at
its crux. What results from
these
fastidious
efforts
on
Dabkowska-Kułacz’s part is a
testament to the strength and
adaptability
humans
claim
when buoyed by unconditional
love.
The opening sequence alone
accounts for the luminescence
of this documentary. In this
sequence, we witness multiple
incarnations of the impossible
tenderness
between
Robert
and his son. Perhaps the most
stunning among these opening
scenes captures the two seated
in their backyard swing set,
Robert cradling Gabe while
Gabe puts eyedrops in his own
eyes.
Aside from its beauty, this
scene introduces two points
Dabkowska-Kułacz
develops
throughout
the
remainder
of her film. On one hand, it
addresses a harsh reality the
documentary does not shy away
from yet still approaches with
ample
compassion:
Robert’s
disease is genetic, and his son
will likely lose his vision the
same way his father has. We also
see in this scene that Robert’s
relationship with his son would
be
better
approximated
by
the term “partnership.” Five-
year-old Gabe, is, of course,
dependent on his father. As
Robert’s vision deteriorates,
however, he becomes more
dependent on Gabe. But as
the abundant affection in the
scene illustrates, neither of the
two see their codependence
as weakness; instead, it is
portrayed as an incomparable
source of strength.
Though
“A
Sky
without
Stars” sets a high bar for itself
with this opening sequence, the
film hardly ever departs from
that standard. An example
of a subsequent triumph of
the film lies in the singular
sensory experience it forges.
In several shots, the camera
is claustrophobically close to
Robert and Gabe, so we see
them only in part but hear them
in full. In a display of directorial
wisdom,
Dabkowska-Kułacz
appreciates
that
there
are
times when it is more effective
to speak through silences. In
a
particularly
heartrending
scene
following
a
checkup
with his doctor, Robert is
filmed undertaking a vigorous
exercise routine. The subtext
is that in a previous scene, his
doctor recommended exercise
to prolong his ability to see after
Robert lamented the prospect
of never being able to see his
son’s face again. Dabkowska-
Kułacz is wise enough to let
the
emotional
complexity
contained in this scene speak
for itself.
These
sensory
overloads
and
deprivations
remind
able-bodied
viewers
not
only how much they take for
granted but also how much
Robert maintains despite his
disability. In a prime example,
Dabkowska-Kułacz
lets
the
sound of Gabe’s laughter steals
several scenes, reinforcing the
fact that nothing can steal that
sound from his father.
The same can be said of
the unrelenting love viewers
witness every second of the
film. Highlighting this love, “A
Sky without Stars” radiates its
own inimitable light.
‘Universam’ bewilders,
and ‘A Sky without Stars’
radiates with love & light
JULIANNA MORANO
Daily Arts Writer
TFT STUDIO
ANN ARBOR POLISH FILM FESTIVAL
“Universam
Grochów”
Michigan Theater
Striktfilm
“A Sky without
Stars”
Michigan Theater
TFT Studio
By and large, the
filmmakers place
an inordinate
portion of the
burden of forging
connections
between scenes
on their audience
The opening
sequence alone
accounts for the
luminescence
of this
documentary