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.

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.