Double Life of Véronique (15)

Dir: Krzysztof Kieslowski, 1991, France/Poland/Norway, 98 mins, French/Polish with subtitles
Cast: Irène Jacob, Philippe Volter

Krzysztof Kieslowski is to film what Chopin was to music, and has forever inextricably linked Poland and France through the Double Life of Véronique. This carefully constructed and sparsely laid out narrative reveals itself to the careful watcher to be a rich tapestry of symbols, metaphors and hidden meanings. Kieslowski, just as in his other movies, demands participation from the viewer. He was a consummate auteur, exploring themes such as identity, the transformative power of music and the moral guidelines set down in the human condition, all of which are touched upon in this film.
The principle thread to the plot is that Polish singer Weronika (Jacob) and French music teacher Véronique (also Jacob) exist in a parallel time frame showing the same face to the world. They are identical, unaware of each other’s presence, but equally inclined towards the notion that they are not alone in this world of post Communist Poland and new Europe. Not only are their minds and worlds inextricably linked by the laws of probability, but also their hearts – as though the other is the result of the separation of previously conjoined twins.

Weronika is the more outgoing and boisterous half of the pair as she throws caution to the wind in following a solo singing career that leads to her premature death during her inaugural performance. Véronique feels her departed ‘sister’s’ pain and being a more cautious type, has avoided a similar fate by foregoing the same career path decision. Instead, that nagging feeling and events unfolding encourage her to find the truth behind her and her doppelganger’s existence. A puppeteer who realises the link between the two women from a photograph taken of one by the other, lays down clues to the existence of Weronika, as his infatuation with Véronique develops.

This, as would be expected from such as master as Kieslowski, is no mindless plundering of all available leads, but a study of the mind and the greater social consciousness that can exist if one is tapped into it through exceptional circumstances. Kieslowski never brought the story to any conclusion and as such, it's an all-encapsulating lyrical film.

As in the Three Colours trilogy that was to follow, all the actions in the film are underpinned and underscored by the brilliantly empathetic scores of Zbigniew Preisner. The working partnership between he and Kieslowski spanned the majority of their careers, and was such that each worked not merely on an audio or visual level, but reinforced the other to make it more powerful on a deeper, subliminal one.

Jacob is stunning in her role, holding fort with a simple glance, lifting hearts with a hint of a smile. Philippe Volter plays the marionette artist Fabbri, who is more of a poetic rather than real character, but is still pulled off confidently. Visually all is glued together marvellously well with a sepia tinted overlay. It is set in the late eighties, but feels as though the political events had been filmed at a parallel time in the sixties or seventies. This otherworldliness brings artistry to the carefully calibrated mood of the film, hooking one deeply, as though in a mystery about a murder that never actually occurs.

Such was the working bond between Preisner and Kieslowski that Preisner continued to work in regard of his colleague, producing the stunning Requiem for a Friend, for Kieslowski’s funeral service a decade ago in March 1996. It is crass to pick a best work of Kieslowski, as the Three Colours trilogy and Dekalog (1988) are all worthy of the highest praise. But, if one were to wish to access Kieslowski’s whole gamut of capabilities in his art in one instance, then one could do a lot worse than The Double Life of Véronique as an entry point to his world.

Matthew Roman Kopinski