Zorg fixes houses. He repairs their damage, seals their cracks. Betty’s swift arrival into his world destabilises this mundanity—she is, for lack of a more autonomous word, a distraction. To stay afloat, and to sustain their languorous bohemian lifestyle together, they fill their days renovating neighbouring shacks by painting them pink and blue; to the inferential promise that by night, they can fall into each other’s arms and into the starry role-play of a writer and his lover, as if there is nobody else on earth.
In the hands of Krzysztof Kieślowski, the camera is awarded sentience. It forges a path intent on capturing the elusive inner life of its subject, the candid sincerity of fleeting expressions and subconscious habits. It longs to see individuals as they are when they are alone, lingering on that not privy to any other observer. In Three Colours: Blue, the way Kieślowski examines the grief of its protagonist implies that his camera does not merely ponder her bereavement, but in a way that seems entirely human, feels it also.
THREE COLOURS: BLUE / READ MORE
E, S, A, R, I, N, T, U, L, O, M... This chorus line of letters is choreographed not by any common codification, but by the frequency of each letter in the French language. Elevated beyond the basics of communication, these letters, or rather their specific usage at a hospital in Berck-sur-Mer, endeavour to liberate the life of Jean-Dominique Bauby (Mathieu Amalric) from one of excruciating loneliness and frustration.