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