the paragon
by Douglas Messerli
Aleksander Scibor-Tyiski
(screenplay), Andrzej Wajda (director) Czlowiek
z marmuru (Man of Marble) / 1977
Wajda's documentary-like film, Man of Marble, centers around a young
film student, Agnieszka (a character based, in part, on the real-life film
director Agnieszka Holland) who has chosen as her subject a national hero of
the 1950s, a bricklayer Mateusz Birkut (played by Jerzy Radziwilowicz). Her faculty
advisor strongly discourages her from tackling this subject, trying to steer
her on to something about steel and industry, as opposed to the now obscure
figure who helped build the Polish city for 100,000 people, Nowa Huta.
No one has yet touched on
the 50s. Why don't you deal with a
subject that has no risk of
ambiguity? A better project would be
facts—facts are steelworks
and their output.
Exactly why Agnieszka has chosen her subject is unclear; apparently she
is simply interested in finding out more about her father's generation. But
once she has begun her research she (and the audience) becomes more and more
spellbound by the mysterious story surrounding Birkut. At first, even the head
researcher is skeptical about the young director, and is disinterested in the
forgotten documentaries she has uncovered for Agnieszka: obvious propagandist
pieces of the day with titles such as "Birth of a City" (an
uncompleted film, where the second director, so the credits list, was Wajda
himself) and "Architects of our Happiness." But as she grows to know
the younger woman, it is clear she becomes more and more fascinated by her
behavior and obsessions.
The lanky Krystyna Janda plays Agnieszka in a manner attune to the
blaring, jazz-inspired score of composer Andrzej Korzynski. Her every move is a
rush forward, her body itself a dare to anyone who might stand in her way.
Awake, she is in near-constant motion, edgy, nervous. The rest of the time she
collapses into sleep. With the help of three camera men, one an old-timer who
admits this may be his last film, and who has a somewhat difficult time
adjusting to her insistence on the use of a hand-held camera. She barges into a
national museum and slips into a back room where no one is allowed to enter,
clandestinely shooting a large marble image of Birkut. When the assistant
queries her about her interest in the back room, insisting, "We've got
better sculptors here now." Angieszka's response is an ironic, "I
daresay."
Through these forays into the past, interviews, and the documentaries,
the filmmaker comes to play the role of detective, gradually revealing the
story of a simple believer, a true "paragon." Like thousands of other
such workers, Birkut, lured from a small village to work on the vast
construction project, was, as he is later described, a real country bumpkin.
His handsome good looks and his obvious innocence and belief in the
system—despite the deplorable working conditions and the insufficient food served
the workers—make Mateusz the perfect victim for the up-and-coming filmmaker
Jerzy Burski, who in order to promote Stakhanovite principles—ideas based on
the theories of Aleksei Grigorevich Stakhanov, who encouraged workers to engage
in competitive battles, resulting in contests in which miners, for example,
mined 607 tons of coal in one shift, etc.—challenges the young bricklayer to
participate in an event where he and others will lay 30,000 bricks in just a
few hours. To Agnieszka, Burski boasts, "He was my greatest discovery, my
biggest coup!"
Birkut wins the challenge, laying 30,509 bricks before he nearly falls
over in exhaustion. That film and his youthful, handsome demeanor make him a
national hero, and for a short while, the young country bumpkin rises in the
party ranks, touring the country with his friend Wincenty Witek in an attempt
to explain his techniques and stimulate the workers.
At one such event, however, Birkut is handed a heated brick and badly
burns both hands. Instead of recognizing the dissention of workers against the
Stakhanovite methods, authorities prefer to describe the event as a traitorous
act emanating from outside the country, focusing on Witek (who was wearing
gloves when he handed his friend the burning brick). Birkut's attempts to
defend Witek end in Kafka-like episodes. At one point when Birkut accompanies
Witek to the criminal offices, he watches his friend enter a small room with
one door, only to soon after discover an official sitting alone at his desk,
who insists he has not seen Witek. Traveling to Warsaw in Witek's defense,
Birkut is told to leave the case alone; if there is an error, it will be corrected.
Having displeased the authorities, Birkut and his wife are forced to
leave their Nowa Huta apartment; in one documentary Agnieszka observes
authorities removing a banner of Birkut and replacing it with another. The man
of the people, the "paragon," has fallen into disgrace. Clearly now
disillusioned, Birkut hires a gypsy band and travels with them to the office of
Internal Security, where he throws a brick through the front door.
In yet another documentary discovered by the film school's researcher,
we see Birkut at the trial of Witek. Hearing that Witek has confessed to
delivering the burning brick, Birkut astonishingly admits that he has been a
co-conspirator, that he knew about the event beforehand. Birkut is found
guilty, along with the so-called Gypsy Band of conspirators, and is himself
imprisoned.
Later in the film the young director discovers that Witek has been
rehabilitated and is now head of the Katowice steel mills. Flying over the
mills in a helicopter, we witness a Witek who has sold out to the system,
ironically running a company that Agnieszka has been encouraged to focus on for
her diploma film.
Birkut is also released, but he returns to Nowa Huta as a stranger,
discovering that his wife Hanka has left after having denounced him. Tracking
her down in a bourgeois apartment where Hanka has indentured herself to a local
restaurant owner, Agnieszka is told the story of how Birkut came to her,
pleading for Hanka's return. Her answer is a painful admission of her moral
decline. Now an alcoholic, she is beaten by her restaurant-owning lover.
By this time in Wajda's powerful film, we have witnessed enough to know
that Agnieszka's film within a film is a significant one, a work of utter
honesty about a world where everything is lied about or hidden. In such a world
it seems inevitable that the school refuses to accept the reels she shows them
and demands that she return the camera.
Dispirited for the first time, we now witness her at her father's home,
lying upon a couch in a near stupor. Her father argues that it is ridiculous
that they have turned down a project to which they had previously committed. If
I were making such a film, he argues, I would want to talk to the subject. As
he leaves the house, he slips his daughter some money.
Tomczyk enters the shipyards, while Agnieszka waits. Upon finishing his
day, Maciej finds her where he left her, admitting that he knew she would not
give up. In the last scene we see them quickly striding forward down the hall
of the film school, apparently convinced that her picture will now be made.
It is a hopeful ending to a rather ambiguous reality. In truth, Wajda
was forced to cut his original ending, which showed the 1970 events in which
Birkut was supposedly killed. Although the film was released in Poland in 1976,
it was withdrawn from distribution two months later, with Wajda being accused
of "falsifying history." Perhaps the image of one of Agnieszka's
instructors about to enter the hall as the young director and Birkut's son move
purposefully forward is more telling; that man quickly returns to his office,
closing the door. Truth is always a difficult thing to face.
Los Angeles, February 27, 2009
Reprinted from Green Integer Blog (March 2009).
Reprinted from Reading Films: My International Cinema (Los Angeles: Green Integer,
2012).
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