In 1961, Stanislaw Rozewicz created the novella film "Birth Certificate" in cooperation with his brother, Taduesz Rozewicz as screenwriter. Such brother tandems are rare in the history of film but aside from family ties, Stanislaw (born in 1924) and Taduesz (born in 1921) were mutually bound by their love for the cinema. They were born and grew up in Radomsk, a small town which had "its madmen and its saints" and most importanly, the "Kinema" cinema, as Stanislaw recalls: for him cinema is "heaven, the whole world, enchantment". Tadeusz says he considers cinema both a charming market stall and a mysterious temple. "All this savage land has always attracted and fascinated me," he says. "I am devoured by cinema and I devour cinema; I'm a cinema eater." But Taduesz Rozewicz, an eminent writer, admits this unique form of cooperation was a problem to him: "It is the presence of the other person not only in the process of writing, but at its very core, which is inserperable for me from absolute solitude." Some scenes the brothers wrote together; others were created by the writer himself, following discussions with the director. But from the perspective of time, it is "Birth Certificate", rather than "Echo" or "The Wicked Gate", that Taduesz describes as his most intimate film. This is understandable. The tradgey from September 1939 in Poland was for the Rozewicz brothers their personal "birth certificate". When working on the film, the director said "This time it is all about shaking off, getting rid of the psychological burden which the war was for all of us. ... Cooperation with my brother was in this case easier, as we share many war memories. We wanted to show to adult viewers a picture of war as seen by a child. ... In reality, it is the adults who created the real world of massacres. Children beheld the horrors coming back to life, exhumed from underneath the ground, overwhelming the earth."
The principle of composition of "Birth Certificate" is not obvious. When watching a novella film, we tend to think in terms of traditional theatre. We expect that a miniature story will finish with a sharp point; the three film novellas in Rozewicz's work lack this feature. We do not know what will be happen to the boy making his alone through the forest towards the end of "On the Road". We do not know whether in "Letter from the Camp", the help offered by the small heroes to a Soviet prisoner will rescue him from the unknown fate of his compatriots. The fate of the Jewish girl from "Drop of Blood" is also unclear. Will she keep her new impersonation as "Marysia Malinowska"? Or will the Nazis make her into a representative of the "Nordic race"? Those questions were asked by the director for a reason. He preceived war as chaos and perdition, and not as linear history that could be reflected in a plot. Although "Birth Certificate" is saturated with moral content, it does not aim to be a morality play. But with the immense pressure of reality, no varient of fate should be excluded. This approached can be compared wth Krzysztof Kieslowski's "Blind Chance" 25 years later, which pictured dramatic choices of a different era.
The film novella "On the Road" has a very sparing plot, but it drew special attention of the reviewers. The ominating overtone of the war films created by the Polish Film School at that time should be kept in mind. Mainly owing to Wajda, those films dealt with romantic heritage. They were permeated with pathos, bitterness, and irony. Rozewicz is an extraordinary artist. When narrating a story about a boy lost in a war zone, carrying some documents from the regiment office as if they were a treasure, the narrator in "On the Road" discovers rough prose where one should find poetry. And suddenly, the irrational touches this rather tame world. The boy, who until that moment resembled a Polish version of the Good Soldier Schweik, sets off, like Don Quixote, for his first and last battle. A critic described it as "an absurd gesture and someone else could surely use it to criticise the Polish style of dying. ... But the Rozewicz brothers do no accuse: they only compose an elegy for the picturesque peasant-soldier, probably the most important veteran of the Polish war of 1939-1945." "Birth Certificate" is not a lofty statement about national imponderabilia. The film reveals a plebeian perspective which Aleksander Jackieqicz once contrasted with those "lyrical lamentations" inherent in the Kordian tradition. However, a historical overview of Rozewicz's work shows that the distinctive style does not signify a fundamental difference in illustrating the Polish September. Just as the memorable scene from Wajda's "Lotna" was in fact an expression of desperation and distress, the same emotions permeate the final scene of "Birth Certificate". These are not ideological concepts, though once described as such and fervently debated, but rather psychological creations. In this specific case, observes Witold Zalewski, it is not about manifesting knightly pride, but about a gesture of a simple man who does not agree to be enslaved.
The novella "Drop of Blood" is, with Aleksander Ford's "Border Street", one of the first narrations of the fate of the Polish Jews during the Nazi occupation. The story about a girl literally looking for her place on earth has a dramatic dimension. Especially in the age of today's journalistic disputes, often manipulative, lacking in empathy and imbued with bad will, Rozewicz's story from the past shocks with its authenticity. The small herione of the story is the only one who survives a German raid on her family home. Physical survial does not, however, mean a return to normality. Her frightened departure from the rubbish dump that was her hideout lead her to a ruined apartment. Her walk around it is painful because still fresh signs of life are mixed with evidence of annihilation. Help is needed, but Mirka does not know anyone in the outside world. Her subsequent attempts express the state of the fugitive's spirits - from hope and faith, moving to doubt, a sense of oppression, and thickening fear, and finally to despair.
At the same time, the Jewish girl's search for refuge resembles the state of Polish society. The appearance of Mirka results in confusion, and later, trouble. This was already signalled by Rozewicz in an exceptional scene from "Letter from the Camp" in which the boy's neighbour, seeing a fugitive Russian soldier, retreats immediately, admitting that "Now, people worry only about themselves." Such embarassing excuses mask fear. During the occupation, no one feels safe. Neither social status not the aegis of a charity organisation protects against repression. We see the potential guardians of Mirka passing her back and forth among themselves. These are friendly hands but they cannot offer strong support. The story takes place on that thin line between solidarity and heroism. Solidarity arises spontaneously, but only some are capable of heroism. Help for the girl does not always result from compassion; sometimes it is based on past relations and personal ties (a neighbour of the doctor takes in the fugitive for a few days because of past friendship). Rozewicz portrays all of this in a subtle way; even the smallest gesture has significance. Take, for example, the conversation with a stranger on the train: short, as if jotted down on the margin, but so full of tension. And earlier, a peculiar examination of Polishness: the "Holy Father" prayer forced on Mirka by the village boys to check that she is not a Jew. Would not rising to the challenge mean a death sentance?
Viewed after many years, "Birth Certificate" discloses yet another quality that is not present in the works of the Polish School, but is prominent in later B-class war films. This is the picture of everyday life during the war and occupation outlined in the three novellas. It harmonises with the logic of speaking about "life after life". Small heroes of Rozewicz suddenly enter the reality of war, with no experience or scale with which to compare it. For them, the present is a natural extension of and at the same time a complete negation of the past. Consider the sleey small-town marketplace, through which armoured columns will shortly pass. Or meet the German motorcyclists, who look like aliens from outer space - a picture taken from an autopsy because this is how Stanislaw and Taduesz perceived the first Germans they ever met. Note the blurred silhouettes of people against a white wall who are being shot - at first they are shocking, but soon they will probably become a part of the grim landscape. In the city centre stands a prisoner camp on a sodden bog ("People perish likes flies; the bodies are transported during the night"); in the street the childern are running after a coal wagon to collect some precious pieces of fuel. There's a bustle around some food (a boy reproaches his younger brother's actions by singing: "The warrant officer's son is begging in front of the church? I'm going to tell mother!"); and the kitchen, which one evening becomes the proscenium of a real drama. And there are the symbols: a bar of chocolate forced upon a boy by a Wehrmacht soldier ("On the Road"); a pair of shoes belonging to Zbyszek's father which the boy spontaneously gives to a Russian fugitive; a priceless slice of bread, ground under the heel of a policeman in the guter ("Letters from the Camp"). As the director put it: "In every film, I communicate my own vision of the world and of the people. Only then the style follows, the defined way of experiencing things." In Birth Certificate, he adds, his approach was driven by the subject: "I attempted to create not only the texture of the document but also to add some poetic element. I know it is risky but as for the merger of documentation and poety, often hidden very deep, if only it manages to make its way onto the screen, it results in what can referred to as 'art'."
After 1945, there were numerous films created in Europe that dealt with war and children, including "Somewhere in Europe" ("Valahol Europaban", 1947 by Geza Radvanyi), "Shoeshine" ("Sciescia", 1946 by Vittorio de Sica), and "Childhood of Ivan" ("Iwanowo dietstwo" by Andriej Tarkowski). Yet there were fewer than one would expect. Pursuing a subject so imbued with sentimentalism requires stylistic disipline and a special ability to manage child actors. The author of "Birth Certificate" mastered both - and it was not by chance. Stanislaw Rozewicz was always the beneficent spirit of the film milieu; he could unite people around a common goal. He emanated peace and sensitivity, which flowed to his co-workers and pupils. A film, being a group work, necessitates some form of empathy - tuning in with others.
In a biographical documentary about Stanislaw Rozewicz entitled "Walking, Meeting" (1999 by Antoni Krauze), there is a beautiful scene when the director, after a few decades, meets Beata Barszczewska, who plays Mireczka in the novella "Drops of Blood". The woman falls into the arms of the elderly man. They are both moved. He wonders how many years have passed. She answers: "A few years. Not too many." And Rozewicz, with his characteristic smile says: "It is true. We spent this entire time together."
就怕一个人没变，一个人已经变了
但即便故事没有走向另一种结局，
就怕一个人没变，一个人已经变了
這……相對於這麼宏大的命題，實在太單薄了。翡翠白玉羹去掉那濃稠的味精芡，本來可以是鍋挺好的白菜豆腐湯的。不是本樂盲想把爵士抬得多高，但說起人生看開就上爵士，是不是有點太糊弄。再扣一星。
这部电影将成为我最喜欢的爱情片，他拍出了我想要的，也拍出了我失去的，还拍出了我恐惧的，更拍出了我坚持的。
靠消费主义维系的恋爱是抵抗不了资本主义秩序的。
-我的人生目标就是和你维持现状
小朋友看的很高兴，我也很喜欢！皮克斯真是强，又一次照顾到了所有观众群，甚至连最挑剔的爵士乐迷群体对这片的喜好也是五五开哈哈哈。
“我要重新去抓住生命中的每一次spark”。说句实话，本片这主题深度已经完全把《头脑特工队》压下去了，甚至可以说超越了《飞屋环游记》，皮克斯前三或前二的位置。第三幕钢琴前的顿悟简直超神(这哪是给小朋友看的)。我最热爱的、为之奋斗半生的音乐是白月光是人生理想，却不是我存在的一切意义，那些成日陪伴着我带给我平淡的美好火花组成了我，却时常被我忽略。从小就被教育要成功，小的我还没来得及感受这个世界。不想去永生极乐的原因是差一步实现梦想，可当它真的实现，再次踏上地球的我决定要珍惜眼前人身边事。我享受梦想，但我更享受梦想路上的每秒。
-我想笑着对他说再见
b.本来这部上映在《短剧开始啦》之前，但因为国内的资源滞后，反而在《短剧开始啦》之后才看到，仿佛给那边的二人续了结局。
结局正为娟和麦分手掉眼泪，以为四年的感情分手后肯定会后悔 复合，但直到结尾，也没有任何复合的迹象。结局 山音麦看见全景地图里 五年前自己和娟并肩走的样子，没有哭 只是惊喜的大笑，他大概率已经释然了。电影结束了，只剩下我一个人 一脸呆滞，三次提起结婚，最后还是各奔东西，可能只是因为不再合拍了吧。爱情不能只靠合拍维持，现在想想“我想和你一起浪费时间”果然是顶级的浪漫
当看到一对学生恋人走进餐厅，他们哭得汹涌，应该不是败给了现实，是直面了内心，坦诚，友善，成熟，自然。
-我想笑着对她说再见
“开始是结束的开始，相遇总是伴随着离别”。她看到了爱情的死亡，于是他顺应了爱情的结束。坂元在「四重奏」里写道“夫妻是可以分开的家人”，那我想是否可以说“恋人是还没结婚的家人”？不用去承诺遥远的将来，不用婚姻孩子将彼此捆绑，让所有被电影小说漫画音乐游戏填满的日常一如既往，所有的合拍与默契仿佛初见时那般得以延续，所有的对话不用小心翼翼，所有的心动与笑容都自然而然。想两人穿着帆布鞋，在夜晚的行人自助信号灯前，或者彼此手机的取景框中，以及经常一起去的面包店里，感受与经历这种理想又纯粹的爱情-这近乎被谷歌地图拍摄入镜同等概率的奇迹。
看点依旧是坂元充满孤僻、神经质和可爱的生活细节。但故事显然已经失去了对爱情的热情与憧憬，直接用死亡和绝望作为感情的底色，但这又与那种哀伤的隽永大相径庭。恋人设定是魔幻般的——一个不用任何努力，就完全和自己相通的另外一个灵魂伴侣，仿佛是对生活无情的嘲弄。走完用清新爱意装点的过场，再用残酷的现实将爱消磨。"爱情"就像娇弱的花朵，被"沮丧"消了音，只能毫无反抗的静静盛开和凋零。这种人造美，失去了生命本真的热力，绽放的绚烂，那些本该有的华彩魅力与深刻意义。
感觉膝盖中了无数箭，甚至真的有过几乎一模一样的对话情境……怎么可能有那么相似的两个人呢，当然不会有，所以在最后才坦白出原来木乃伊很可怕，原来储气罐很无聊。差异早在一开始就存在，只是时间与际遇慢慢将其放大了。一开始是两个人的分别独白，在一起后变成第三视角，分开的时候又是分别的独白。最后分开时没有用廉价的闪回，而是变身旁观者窥视曾经的自己，从而觉出无可挽回与无法妥协，非常动人。这才是爱情电影应该有的样子啊，哪有那么多狗血，讲好大多人的故事就很厉害了。
刚从影院出来时很感动。本意是为了给社畜的朋友一点生活的活力而观影。事后回想起来，其实更认同的还是22。知道了那么多大道理，并没有什么用，反而滑向了虚无的深渊。生命是挺美好的。但是如果没有执念好像在哪都没差。事后回想这部电影，多半是痛苦的。
过家家般的恋爱终于陷入琐碎。低开高走，从日渐分歧开始好看起来，不再是孩子式的悬空游戏。文青最大的问题在于把音乐、电影和文学这类东西当做一种重大的自我构筑的要件，用来当作自我确认存在感和价值感的基础，但其实是很可笑的，本质上这和抽烟喝酒烫头打麻将没有区别。一种只摄入而不具备输出能力的文艺生活不值得炫耀，谁还不喜欢听歌看故事呢？所以在更庞大和坚固的生活面前，那更像顾影自怜。这电影小情小调里的困境写得真是不错，最重要的是就认可于描摹这小情小调而没有扩展宏大背景，普通人面临的无非就是这种最小单位的爱别离和求不得。
這就是愛情！看完的感覺悵然又豐盈，分手有時才是最好的結局。正因為曾經深刻相愛過，才無法忍受不再相愛的你和我。繼續在一起也可以白頭偕老，但，不再有愛意的幸福感，空落落的暖意比實實在在的涼意更令人心冷！接受了愛情就如花束般短暫美麗，記住兩人之間極致的美，也就不負同行的時光與彼此。
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