Category Archives: Movie Review: “Ida”

False Dichotomies in Ida

Movie Review: "Ida"

Paweł Pawlikowski’s Ida (2013) features dichotomies that are not as starkly different as they seem. The film’s main characters are a contrastive aunt/niece pair. Wanda Gruz Agata Kulesza) and Anna/Ida (Agata Trzebuchowska) differ in the big things: lifestyles, religion, and personalities. In early 1960s Poland, Anna is a young novitiate, forced to visit her only remaining relative before completing her vows. The women are immediately compared when Anna arrives at Wanda’s apartment; they take long, silent seconds to size each other up. Anna enters and Wanda’s one-night stand leaves. Their introduction establishes stark differences between the two and gives the role of judge to Anna despite it being Wanda’s profession. Wanda,under Soviet rule, was a well-known communist prosecutor and sentenced Polish nationalists to death. During this visit, Anna learns her real name is Ida Lebenstein. She and her aunt come from a Jewish family. Her parents, and Wanda’s son, were hidden by a Christian family during the Nazi occupation of Poland, but a member of that same family later murdered the Lebensteins. After learning this news, Ida wants to find where they’re buried and so the two go on the road: a young, solemn, Christian nun and an older, promiscuous, alcoholic judge. 

While following leads about their family’s suspected murder, the two women drive through Poland’s empty countryside and pick up a hitchhiking musician, Lis. The movie opens in near silence at the convent, with bare rustles of everyday activity as the only sounds. When Ida goes to see Wanda, the city’s bustling crowd introduces a bit more sound, but it isn’t until Wanda shares family pictures and stories with Ida that there is diegetic background music. Music is used to contrast Wanda and Ida. Throughout the film, music is associated with Wanda and her more casual lifestyle. Music plays in her apartment, in her car, and in her final, culminating moment. Also, Lis’s role is a seducer, using music to sway Ida’s conscience: to “know her effect” and give “usual life” a try. He invites them to see his jazz show while they’re in town, and although she goes, she isn’t tempted at first. For Ida is associated with quietness, which is reflected in her behavior: what she lacks in dialogue she makes up for it in facial expressions and the subtle flick of the eye. Surprisingly, as their trip progresses, the audience gets to see that while Wanda and Ida continue to clash, they share this trait. Often, in their conversations what is said is less important than what isn’t. Their similarities arise to show the two aren’t actually all that different.  

As with sound, Pawlikowski uses cinematography to create another false dichotomy; between the women and within the country itself. The film is shot entirely in black and white, making the most of natural light to illuminate scenes and draw the eye of the viewer. This decision evokes the association of white with goodness and rightness and black with badness and wrongness. However, Ida brings a subtle complexity to this overused trope. The film sets Ida up as good, Wanda as bad, and dramatically emphasizes their differences. In many shots, the natural light falls on Ida, emphasizing her association with goodness.  

But as the film develops, Pawlikowski begins to introduce the idea of nuance and layers in characters. Their archetypical contrast implies the Madonna-Whore complex; however, labeling them as so would demonstrate a shallow understanding of the two women. Despite Wanda being categorized as ‘bad’, there is no demonizing of Wanda or her lifestyle. The director does not pass judgment on her and encourages the audience to not do so as well. Through arguments with Wanda, Ida’s assumption of what is right is challenged. Wanda forces her to rethink certain things about life and encourages her to “sin” before she takes her vows. Black and white also serve to highlight present and past social tension in Poland. Shooting in this way calls to mind the two prominent narratives about Poland during Nazi occupation: Poland as a victim, or complicit. In response to the government’s “Holocaust Law” — which criminalizes those who voice the opinion that Poles are complicit — Pawlikowski challenges the narrative of Poland as a victim. He does so by complicating a stereotypical binary by introducing nuance. His use of contrastive characters, sound association and black and white film help to introduce the binaries that he later undermines. 

These dichotomies in Ida, that are later proven to be false, complicate our binary thinking and create a thought-provoking film. It’s important to understand that after the years of the Nazi occupation and Soviet rule, it was difficult to trust fellow countrymen when it was possible they committed atrocities. This information will help set up the viewer to understand the social tension during the 1960s, as well as the subtlety in which it is portrayed. Viewers are in for a delight if they desire three-dimensional female characters. Ida and Wanda have a complicated and interesting relationship throughout the movie, and it’s only made more so in the final ten minutes. Pawlikowski asks for viewers to watch with a historical critical eye, but for his characters, he asks only for empathy.

Ida: Pasts Unburied

Movie Review: "Ida"

Ida (2013) is a film with a uniquely layered story, evoking multiple periods of Polish history through the lives of its protagonists. The Polish language film, a 2015 Best Foreign Film Academy Award winner, was directed by Pawel Pawlikowski and written by Pawlikowski and playwright Rebecca Lenkiewicz. Pawlikowski was born in Warsaw in 1957 and grew up in Poland before leaving for the UK at age fourteen. In an interview with NPR, he explains that “in a way, Ida is an attempt to recover the Poland of my childhood.” Raised catholic, he learned that his paternal grandmother was a Jewish woman who died in Auschwitz in his late teens.

Set in 1962, the Poland of his youth, Ida follows a young woman about to take her vows as a catholic nun (Agata Trzebuchowska) as she meets her only living relative––her aunt, Wanda Gruz (Agata Kulesza)––and learns she is the daughter of two Polish Jews who died during the Holocaust. Her name is not Anna, but Ida Lebenstein. She and her aunt travel to her childhood home to uncover the truth of their shared history. Her visit to her aunt, which she undertakes only on the orders of her mother superior, dislodges her entire identity. But any reaction or emotion is strongly subdued. Trzebuchowska makes her debut in the film, having been scouted by Pawlikowski’s friends from a cafe. Her pale, concerned face manages to convey all the confusion and uncertainty her character never speaks of. This soft, sweet character is perfectly balanced by Kulesza’s portrayal of “Red Wanda,” a jaded judge and former state prosecutor whose love for her sister is revived by Ida’s presence.

The movie’s rapidly-paced plot is belied by the quiet, pregnant dialogue and drawn out shots. Filmed in black and white with a now out of style 3:4 ratio, which appears boxier than our normal widescreen ratios, the cinematography evokes the French New Wave style of cinema that was popular during the late 1950s and early 1960s. As a result, before any character speaks or any plot is revealed, we are transported to the time period of the film. We are confronted by a new perspective and the first layer of history is brilliantly clear. The in-era cinematography does nothing to traditionalize the radically honest content of the film, which unearths still-silenced truths about the cultural and individual effects of the Nazi occupation of Poland. While the images are black and white, the world they portray is anything but. Whatever idea we have of Communist Poland in the 1960s (if we have one at all) is certainly less complex than the story of a Jewish-Catholic soon-to-be nun and her alcoholic, tired, and righteous aunt road tripping through the backwoods to find whatever truth they can of their shared past.

Ida and Wanda connect in a way neither expect and Wanda decides to bring Ida to their past home in hopes of discovering where her parents are buried. Their differences are clear: where Ida is quiet, Wanda is aggressive. Where Ida is yielding, Wanda is demanding. Where Ida is restrained, Wanda is self-indulgent. As they travel from one town to another in search of answers Wanda seems to drive their quest, though the camera follows Ida. As a result, what we do not see is as important as what we do. We wander to the barn with Ida while a drunken Wanda drills Feliks Skiba, the current owner of the family home, for answers. Ida’s pale, soft face is in awe of the stained-glass window her mother made “to make the cows happy” when Wanda returns to the screen with the location of Feliks’ father, Szymon. We watch the shadows of tree branches play across the windshield of their car before we cut suddenly to an empty road. A moment later the car is being towed out of a ditch and Wanda is put in a holding cell to sleep off her intoxication. Occurring throughout the film, these hidden scenes––where the important action that takes place off-screen––mirror the history of World War Two which, to this day, has been obscured by censorship and revisionism. 

Thus, the second layer of history begins to unfold. While wrapped up in the intricately human paradoxes of 1962 in Poland, we find ourselves questioning the knowledge we have of the Nazi occupation and the country’s role in the Holocaust. The fact that neither aspect of World War Two is explicitly named but remains the undeniable focus of the film reveals Pawlikowski’s professional and personal experience. 

Pawlikowski’s personal ties to Poland and its past help to explain the casual intricacy of the cultural background of the film, but Trzebuchowska’s and Kulesza’s performances are what truly keep the complex plot clear. Both carry the dark, tired ambiance the country takes on through each packed scene. Few could carry the script the way they do.

Still of Ida: Agata Trzebuchowska in the bottom right corner, drawing her hair back over her shoulder
Agata Trzebuchowska in Ida (2013)

Their motivations are revealed by what they don’t say as clearly as by what they do. The fact that their reunion and their drive to find their dead family is motivated by what is unsaid and left forgotten makes these silences all the more meaningful.

Ida and Wanda travel to find Szymon Skiba, picking up a handsome alto saxophonist named Lis, who seems to play the role of “distracting love interest” that women traditionally take on in old black and white films. While it is rather refreshing to see a man boiled down to sexual tempter, his character falls flat because all the depth and development are given to Ida and Wanda. Their journey becomes one of self-discovery. Wanda continually pressures Ida to live in the outside world a little before taking her vows and giving it all up. “It”, of course, doesn’t refer to living in a nice house and cooking her own meals, but rather alcohol, smoking, and “carnal love,” especially with Lis. The lack of soundtrack, combined with the constant close framing of each characters’ face, evokes a realistic sense of discordant views and desires. These shots allow awkwardness, overt discomfort, and ultimately anger to come clearly through without a verbal explanation from any actor. 

As Wanda and Ida continue on to find their answers before trying to return to their lives, the quick cuts, off-center closeups, and isolating long shots keep us in tune with the intimate knowledge that a twitch of the eyes or hands can portray. The pale, monotone faces of Wanda and Ida give more insight into their minds than their dialogue ever does.

As such, it is ultimately the cinematography that gives Ida its slightly unnerving mood and deeply engaging tone. Not only is the film in black and white with unusual ratios that introduce the past perfectly, but cinematographers Lukasz Zal and Ryszard Lenczewski also frame the actors with shots that seem just off. By keeping things gray and on edge, each image is a still of the film itself: dark, compact, and riveting.

“Ida”; An Odd Duo That Sheds Light On Polish History

Movie Review: "Ida"

In the era of ever-present technicolor, the constant swiping, flashing and moving finally meets its match: Ida, the Polish film noir that refreshes American audiences by presenting them with the cinematic elements of silence and stillness in a setting of everyday life. Other non-American audiences are familiar with the aforementioned “surprise” cinematic elements, as they can be found in their own cultures, but that fact could be yet another reason for Ida winning the Best Foreign Film Oscar in 2015. Either that, or the exceptionally expressive silence and simplicity of both cinematography and plot as the heavy, bleak postwar atmosphere is established by an amalgamation of larger-than-life cinematography,  dramatic direction and laconic screenplay. It is also embodied by the two protagonists; Agata Trzebuchowska as Anna/Ida Leibenstein and Agata Kulesza as Wanda Gruz. The Polish-born director Pawlikowksi meets the English-born—yet still somewhat Polish— playwright Rebecca Lenkiewicz and together they grace us with a simplistic, yet not so simple tale of their motherland through the story of the oddly-paired female duo of a niece and her aunt meeting for the first time, each of them holding crucial pieces of the other’s story. 

By 2015, many acclaimed directors, from Tarantino to Curtiz, had attempted depicting war. Most times their war stories were cut short, the spectator left with an ending that celebrated the end of war and the usual heartfelt reunion of the characters, with no thought given to the trauma, censorship and decadence both that war visits upon a nation and its people. Ida shows precisely that trauma, and a little bit more. The story sheds light on a plethora of aspects of daily life, but in addition, and more importantly,it exposes unbearable truths.

The film opens with a closeup of a young girl with a porcelain face and a semi-blank expression. The tone is set immediately as the silence in the convent is pin-drop; the three-minute sequence is broken by collective chants of prayer and the cluttering of cutlery. The novice nun, Anna (Agata Trzebuchowska), is ordered by her Mother Superior to leave the convent that she’s lived in her whole life, to meet her only living relative before she takes her vows. Despite initial resistance, the devout Anna takes off for Lodz to meet her aunt Wanda Gruz (Agata Kulesza). Though the city is busier and more lively than the convent, the same cloud of stagnant heaviness and quiet decadence prevails. Once she gets to Wanda’s apartment, Anna is confronted with a 40-something, slim, well-kept woman puffing on a cigarette. As Anna enters, Wanda’s partner from the previous night exits, initiating the first of many instances of unspoken tension and skeptical disapproval between the two women. 

Moments later, Wanda reveals to Anna that she is not, in fact, Anna but Ida Lebenstein, daughter of her beloved sister. With this new awareness of her Jewish identity, Ida decides to visit the village Wanda grew up in; the same village where her parents were first hidden by Christians and afterwards executed, like many other Jewish Poles. Wanda joins her, embarking—perhaps not entirely knowingly—on a journey of discovery of her own and is confronted with repressed trauma that slowly resurfaces after years of being left unaddressed. Their trip to Wanda’s old home leaves them rather empty-handed and Wanda rather unsettled, or at least unsettled enough to drink a respectable amount of alcohol and run their car straight into a ditch. The one outcome of this visit is a wild-goose-chase for Szymon Skiba; a man who not only allegedly murdered the Leibensteins, but whose descendants are now residing in Wanda’s old home. On their way to Szymon, the duo picks up a young—and rather handsome—hitch-hiking saxophonist, Lis; a male siren, though sprinkled with naiveté and not quite as treacherous. Ida’s interactions with him throughout the movie hint at her spiritual struggle and confusion with this newfound temptation. Once the two women find and interrogate Szymon about his actions, Wanda’s rapid decay truly commences. His son, Feliks, pleads guilty to the murder of the Leibensteins and revealing their burial grounds, amongst them being Wanda’s ever-mourned son. This comes as the last drop to overflow Wanda’s bottled up emotions. The iconic closeup shots give much power to both protagonists: Wanda, whose face paints pictures better than words and Ida, whose dark almond eyes do not give us a clue of what she’s thinking. However, that power is taken away through remote shots that reveal how small these women are in the grand scheme of Poland and its history. Along with the unraveling of this odd yet electrifying relationship, through the progression of their road trip and the work of cinematographers, the audience sees endless grey Polish skies, vast valleys and the decaying urban planning of Communist Eastern Europe. The two women have a reciprocally interlinked relationship with their motherland: Wanda and Ida are Polish, but they are where they are because of Poland. 

Pawlikowksi and Lenkiewicz unveil the two stories in parallel, not favoring one over the other. Their stark differences come to light as they reveal their approaches to life: when Wanda pushes forward, discounting potential risk, Ida avoids confrontation. Ida’s spirituality is ridiculed by Wanda, who appears to have lost all faith after being betrayed by both country and party. Wanda’s constant remarks about her niece’s sheltered ignorance render her the experienced one; the one who’s lived, fought, won—or thought she’d won—and lost. Despite their differences, Ida and Wanda’s connected past brings them together. And although it’s  impossible to predict what these women will do once they find their truths, it’s their past that pushes them both towards and away from their revelations. 

The film’s storyline unspools like a silk thread. Conversations are few and short. The lack of overt physical tension or telenovela plot twists might make action-hero-movie-junkies deem Ida uneventful. Yet the tension is there: unspoken, repressed and haunting. In its “uneventfulness”, Ida reveals a distinctively Polish tale of coming of age, discovery of identity, denial, temptation, excitement, pain, mourning, giving up, going on.  Ida deserves a spot on everyone’s “must-watch” list.  Ida was neither the first nor the last Jewish child in Poland left orphaned and raised Christian to be spared death. But through her journey in search of closure, we are exposed to the truth of a shared memory and collective trauma that begs to be recognized and addressed.