POST-WAR CINEMA

After 1945, the rebirth of the Polish cinematography took place under extremely difficult circumstances. As a result of the war, the infrastructure was destroyed and in a dramatic state. Only one cinema out of four remained intact. Despite some visible efforts, it took five years to rebuild the pre-war, quiet modest assets. The film technical and photochemical industries were practically non-existent. The film industry personnel was decimated, with only thirty persons having some pre-war work experience; besides, not all of them were approved by the new rulers. All these tampered the film production and limited the creative, artistic ambitions.

Similarly, the quest by the film makers to find some fruitful problem areas and their own style posed another complex challenge. The memoirs and documents present a picture of an authentic craving for the national cinematography. The first, post-war film premiers  were met with enthusiastic euphoria, despite  their  various shortcomings; it seemed that the springs of the pop culture bubble out right here. However, this artistic field was soon deformed by some administrative decisions, and by the censorship restrictions which were invisible at first but very painful.  As soon as in „Zakazane piosenki”, the films had to hide in some strange anonymity their heroes – the soldiers of the Polish Home Army (AK); at the same time, some attempts were made, in some films,  to diminish the role of this dissenting, pro-independence legend. With the exception of the concentration camp martyrdom, all other significant war events became   taboo subjects. “Robinson warszawski”, a film based on a touching story of  Władysław Szpilman who was hiding in the ruins of the capital city following the Warsaw Rising, has become, has become a symptomatic example of this negative attitude.  This story was completely deformed by the censorship intervention, which was then contested by Jerzy Andrzejewski and Czesław Miłosz, the scriptwriters, who removed their names from the opening credits; finally, the story was shown in cinemas under the title of “Miasto nieujarzmione”, only to return 50 years later in a famous Roman Polański production of “The Pianista”, a film made abroad, however, with a significant Polish input.

A radical departure from the post-war cinematography – with its reality, climate, or even actors – was unavoidable. The scars of war and the determination of the post-war transformations changed in Poles the way of thinking, and consequently, the expression of feelings. The patriotic rhetoric and nostalgia became a thing of the past; together with such films as “Zakazane piosenki” or “Skarb” the nostalgic climate of which was already regarded by a wide audience as passé.

By a mean twist of fate, the rejected conventions were soon replaced by other trends, enforced externally as a socialist realism doctrine. The Polish traditional film fiction was exchanged for a gloomy utopia of work competition, social class struggles and manhunt for imperialistic agents. In 1949, the Convention of Film Industry proclaimed this trend as an officially binding canon.

The social realism left behind only scorched earth in Poland, as well as in the Soviet Union, and some other socialist countries. This film trend bound by ideological orders, which was made unreal by principle, and consequently made the depicted world unreal, signified for the Polish cinematography yet another break from the continuity. Leaving this state of deadlock was not simply made possible with the death of Stalin, but posed a slow and gradual process. One precious point of reference was discovered in the Italian neorealism with its real, not doctrinally  enforced, social engagement, thorough  observation of life, with an opening onto the unfaked   reality. The influence of this method of expression can be observed in early debuts of Kawalerowicz (“Celuloza”) and Wajda (“Pokolenie”) made in 1954, and particularly in “Godziny nadzei” by Rybkowski. This was a bridge making a link to the film productions of the post-Stalin era, the novelty of which was described some years later by Wajda as an acquired ability to enfold a story with a picture.

1956 shall be regarded as a significant landmark in the process of transformations in the Polish cinematography, and broadly speaking, in the culture, regardless of the short-lived political thaw. The ideological patent was upheld together with the “white spots” and censorship regulations, but the gulp of freedom was just considerably immense as for that era. Some years of revival was enough to provoke the reflection on the fate of the Poles from the Columbus generation, on the aspirations of the generation entering the life of the post-war era. This was present in films, in form of a multiplied voice, made by the Polish Film School.

There exists a justified temptation to use the above term to cover the majority  of achievements and artistic experiments from the second half of the 50s and the early 60s. Blending the films produced in those years into an open, dynamic, and flexible structure is well-grounded, since the “Polish School” term has simply a journalist nature (being created by Aleksander Jackiewicz), introduced into the history of film making and by this history established and preserved.  However, despite its semantic vagueness, the dominant features of this trend can be easily emphasized; it is namely the generation experience connected with the current history.

The Polish Film School has become a distinctive, generation phenomenon, represented basically by artists having their debuts after the war, and born in the 20s: Andrzej Munk (1921-1961), Wojciech Has (1925–2000), Jerzy Kawalerowicz (1922-2007), Tadeusz Konwicki (1926), Kazimierz Kutz (1929), Janusz Morgenstern (1922), Stanisław Różewicz (1924), or Andrzej Wajda (1926), just to mention the best known names.

The generation category quoted here expands beyond a simple calendar record; its meaning  is more significant than that. It combines the war trauma, the misery of the occupation years and difficult access to the post-war reality. Some of these artists were soldiers, others were active in the underground state structures during the occupation. However, all of them have had their eyes wide open on the world cruelty. And all of them have pondered on the complexity and perplexity of the history of their homeland.

The burden of war experience which remained unspeakable (in „Ostatni  dzień lata” by Konwicki) or was muffled (in „Prawdziwy  koniec wielkiej wojny” by Kawalerowicz and „Jak być kochaną” by Has), the everyday life during the occupation time and the burned-down houses  of the postwar time regarded as an existential experience („Ludzie z pociągu”, „Krzyż Walecznych” by Kutz, and „Świadectwo urodzenia” by Różewicz), antinomies of  faithfulness and responsibility, heroism and opportunism (in „Kanał” and „Popiół i diament” by Wajda, „Zezowate szczęście” and „Eroica” by Munk, „Westerplatte” and „Wolne miasto” by Różewicz , „Zaduszki” by Konwicki) – these are the problem motives and obsessive questions which were transferred from the universal principles   of the Polish School into the journalism and social thought. There was a lot of loud noise made around these artists. The discussion on heroism and  “cheap heroism”, with Wajda nad Munk portraited as iconoclasts of the national tradition, which was first initiated and manipulated by the authorities, reached its peak before the premiere of “Popioły” (1965) and practically meant the closure of the Polish School. The film made by Wajda was even more unwelcome  since it was based on the ill-interpreted prose written by Żeromski.   The national issues became a real minefield during the era of the socialist Poland. This was particularly significant for the artists who set on creating a thoroughly subjective, and at the same time dramatic, vision of the Polish fate.

The reference to the heritage of the Polish literature and theatre was a symbolic feature of the Polish School. The early films by Wajda were inspired by the great romanticism. However, the presence of links to the contemporary issues were also well emphasised. The metaphoric title of “Lotna” by Wajda was borrowed from Bohdan Czeszko; similarly, the vision of the first post-war night was transferred into Popiół i diament” from the prose of Jerzy Andrzejewski. The films made by Wajda and Munk about the Warsaw Rising referred  to the experience of Jerzy Stefan Stawiński, a distinguished scriptwriter who also created the Polish war vision in “Eroica” by Munk. Różewicz recalled the legend of  „Westerplatte” and „Wolne  miasto” quoting Jan Józef Szczepański, the veteran  of the September campaign. The touching tale of “Pies” from “Krzyż Walecznych” by Kutz would have probably never been created without the short story written by Józef Hen; similarly, there would not have been coming to terms with the past in “Jak być kochaną” by Wojciech Has without the prose written by Kazimierz Brandys.

The Polish School seized to exist in the mid 60s, during the so-called small stabilization era, and under the rule of Gomułka, the first secretary of the PZPR party. The process of turning back from the discussion on the history of the nation was manipulated top-down. The artistic works of “revisionists” and “scoffers” came in for criticism a few years before  the nationalistic excesses which in March 1968 lead to national cleansing and forced many artists of the Jewish origin  to leave the country. The stabilization did not create favourable conditions for an in-depth discussion on social issues; it did not stir up emotions, and did not gather the audience around some so-called cult movies, with the exception of the picturesque and genre diptych by Sylwester Chęciński („Sami swoi” and „Nie ma mocnych”). The most interesting film narrations of that time, i.e. the debuts by Polański, Skolimowski , Leszczyński, were placed within autonomous areas being created more as a result of imagination than of life observation.

At the turn of 60s and 70s, the first signs of collective activities started to appear. The Film Studios were established as early as in 1955, but only now the leading ones initiated the artistic discussions and quests. The first such film environment,  perceived as one playing a fair game for the benefit of the Polish cinematography, which inspired young people, and concentrated on the artistic creativity rather than on multiplying the money, was TOR headed until 1967 by Stanisław Różewicz, in co-operation with Witold Zalewski.  The very first films made by Zanussi, Żebrowski, Kieślowski, Marczewski and their contemporaries, could be characterized by the same artistic honesty found in works by Różewicz, and which “meant a unity between what is being done, and who one is, what thinks and feels”.

The case of Kieslowski becomes quite characteristic in this respect. Long before gaining international fame and recognition for his “Trzy kolory” and „Podwójne  życie Weroniki”, he was initially more appreciated in Poland for his documentaries rather than for feature films. Kieslowski had always stood out for his artistic attitude.  The uncompromising search for the truth, asking questions of the most importance to the human existence, the conviction that the understanding and judgment of others is not possible without understanding oneself and becoming most demanding towards oneself,   the sensitivity towards other human beings with an attitude deprived of the didactic obligation towards others to “influence, shape, force into some directions”; all these left an imprint on the way we think or feel. The idea of talking “about the people who have intuition, or special sensitivity towards the world, who feel something through their skin”, was then deeply rooted into the Polish cinematography and have survived in the most ambitious trials, and in various forms, to these days.

The second  important circle of artistic quests was indicated by the works of Zespół X, the film studio created by Andrzej Wajda together with Bolesła Michałek in 1972 and dissolved by the martial law authorities in 1983. Following her few successful years spent in the West, Agnieszka Holland recalled with some nostalgia “the blessings, asylum, support, school, kindergarten,  club, and mother’s bosom offered by a film studio run by people who at the same time have the authority, energy, enthusiasm for the cinema, as well as the sense of responsibility (…). Wajda and Michałek criticized and  stimulated us, expressed their enthusiasm, but also their lack of belief. They have never done one thing though; they did not try to break us. They helped us to protect all what we ourselves regarded as the most important”.

This community circle of shared feelings, thoughts and activities gave birth to the so-called Cinema of Moral Anxiety (the term formed by Janusz Kijowski) which became one of the most interesting trends of that period, but at the same time a herald of the upcoming events. The objection to individuals being incapacitated by the system, a sharp criticism of immoral deeds and unmasking of hypocrisy, and the struggle to restore the importance of conscience – these are the features shared by  the artistic works by Holland, Falk, Zanussi, Kieslowski and others, despite the variances in their artistic temperaments. Their films were accused of being linked too closely to the public theses, although these theses were well-grounded by the realistic observation. The criticism of the Cinema of Moral Anxiety was manipulated by the authorities out of fear aroused by the name itself. The licence for state-backed morality had already existed, but the anxiety expressed by these young film makers was not programmed by the party officials. Therefore, the films were criticised severely  for the independence presented by their makers, with the film studios coming under severe  attack as well.

The period of turmoil  and upheavals connected with the opposition movement, the August agreements and creation of “Solidarność” Trade Unions resulted in some ambitious films, but was very short. It can be embraced by two dates, i.e. the creation of „Człowiek  z marmuru” (February 1977) and „Człowiek  z żelaza” (July 1981). The second part of the Wajda’s diptych, which has been extremely popular in Poland and was awarded the Gold Palm at the Cannes Film Festival, expressed a prophetic message.  During the last scene of „Człowiek  z żelaza”, a party official expresses an ominous warning by saying that the agreements signed recently by the workers and the authorities are not binding and in fact remain meaningless.

Today it becomes obvious that the entire film decade of the 80s was overshadowed by the events of the martial law. And this is not only due to its significantly repressive character. The censorship regulations were gradually easing off; at some point, the authorities started to build up a specific alibi to confirm the normalization process. Despite all these, the film industry struggled against some permanent drawbacks  and the lack of fulfillment. The funny name of “shelf dwellers”, referred to the films put up on the shelf by an anonymous despot, could not in fact cover up for the dramatic fate of the people  and the art created by them. Not only the fate of individuals would have been different if not for the brutal intervention of the authorities. Our cinematography would have taken a complete different form, namely it would have become a project for social diagnosis. At that time, only   isolated and random attempts in fact were made to regain the lost ground. Even those productions which can be branded as neutral  politically, e.g.  “Ręce do góry” by Skolimowski  or  „Na srebrnym globie” by Żuławski, and which went finally into the distribution,  appeared too late. They were shown in cinemas after some years, as some form of compensation offered to the aggrieved artists, however, those films did not open and present a complex perspective.

Therefore, the role of the films from this period in creating the collective awareness seems no to be sufficiently appreciated. The confusion surrounding the contemporary history prevented a straightforward evaluation of the past, as it was the case with the Polish School. After all, those films, murdered and retained by the censorship, limited by the distribution system and deprived of any promoting campaigns, constitute quite a significant oeuvre. This refers in particular to the anti-Stalinist films, made by film makers born after the war; these films - which were dispersed in time, therefore did not gain any due recognition for their over-individual dimension – return now as a sonorous voice of the generation.

Rafał Marszałek