The Double life of Veronique

The Double life of Veronique is showing in cinema again, as part of a programme to commemorate the death of Polish director Krzysztof Kieslowski who died ten years ago of a heart attack. Sadly to say, the movie isn't anyting close to great. It's beautifully shot, the score is absolutely haunting, but other than that, it's empty. The void is so vast that it verges on being pretentious. Kieslowski builds this mordern fable on a weak premise and doesn't care to flesh out the loose narrative with more in-depth characterisations. There're only endless cryptic symbols that tease and taunt but never actually inspire. Ultimately, they can only be regarded as lax, meaningless musings of an artist. This film owes much of its applause to the beautuful Irene Jacob, who later teams up with Kieslowski in Red. But then again, if beauty is a message by itself, it can only be about the emptiness of it. I adore Kieslowski and my eyes were literally welled when he died in 1996. But I can't seem to live with the thought that he's remembered by the indulgently ornate style charactised his later years, instead of the many qualities of his early offerings, namely the spirit of a freedom fighter and the humanistic touch that calms the storm and ease the pain. I still remember the night I went to watch No End with a Polish friend and how he was so moved by the film that he couldn't say anything until we were back at the dorm. The Double life of Veronique is probably the movie that launches him internationally, but it also marks the fall of a great director.