The transition from Weronika to Veronique is stark and abrupt. The casket is in the earth, the screen fades to black, but we still hear the shovels at work covering the casket fully. As the sound continues, visuals of Veronique begin. She is bathed in that gold tinted light again,
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Kieslowski doesn’t give us a lot of time to get to know Weronika. We are thrown right into the plot and given only subtle hints about her inner life. I wrote earlier that there is nothing mysterious about Weronika, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t confusing, especially
Weronika’s audition is unusual. It appears to be in a very beautiful, well-appointed home decorated with items of gold, maroon and muted green, the familiar palate of the film. An older woman who personally fits this palate, especially with her red hair, sits at a piano and plays out
Weronika seems too delicate for the world; She’s childlike and blissfully adrift. Irene Jacob gives off this quality. Kieslowski cast her because of her shyness, he found it endearing. The way the last segment recalled “The Umbrellas of Cherbourg” was likely not accidental, because Weronika seems like a character
The French title of the film suggests a double meaning — La Double Vie de Veronique. Double Vie (vee) is double life … but it sounds so close to Double V (vay), which is French for W. Or, to put it another way, La W de Veronique … Weronika, the Polish version of
In my opinion, Dekalog 4 is Kieslowski’s most difficult and essential artistic statement. This is a dense episode where 20 years of relational subtext comes bursting out, immediately and dangerously. The intense, forced audience trauma of Dekalog 4 is something I have rarely experienced outside of an Ingmar Bergman