How Much Can You Understand?
Andrzej Żuławski and Anxious Cinema
In its core foundation, cinema exists literally to inform us about vision, audio, and emotion. It is a momentary roller coaster; something that tampers with time while simultaneously freezing it. And from the bottom of the trunk, when least expected, emerges a filmmaker like Andrzej Żuławski: the absolute inferno in cinema.
First of all, Żuławski is a director defined by his insanity. But at what point? In relation to what does Żuławski become this director who shocks far more than he pleases? The truth is, he was always this way, right from his earliest works, but he gained major recognition with Diabel (1972).
The Humanism Behind the Chaos
Żuławski’s perspective is humanistic. Indeed, it might not look like it, but it is! I defend this idea by using a highly underrated film of his as a reference: That Most Important Thing: Love (1975). The film is a piece of frenetic insanity that induces a deep sense of overwhelm. Because of this, it is common to watch Żuławski’s films and finish them feeling drowsy, exhausted, or, in the worst-case scenario, irritated.
Consequently, the conception of his films carries another trait alongside intensity: exaggerated dialogue. One of the prime examples of this is Possession (1981), starring Isabelle Adjani.
But to what extent can this figuration, this image of Żuławski, be considered "auteurship" rather than just "yet another free style"?
The Market and Cinema's Auto-Cannibalistic Act
If you have asked yourself this question, I propose a new perspective: cinema itself has always been about being free, but throughout its history, few have had the courage and the backing to materialize their visions. In other words, cinema engaged in an auto-cannibalistic act, where the proportion of creators erroneously limited themselves to the market—a consequence of a somewhat more restrained audience.
When the audience doesn't adapt to a director, or doesn't even try to, the industry tends to exclude them. Consequently, the market either rediscovers them years later and places them in the "cult" category, or the filmmaker "sells out."
One of the most striking examples of this narrative in contemporary cinema is Denis Villeneuve, who, despite maintaining his signature style in massive blockbuster projects like Dune, left the more independent market behind. Meanwhile, Żuławski was never on the shelf of commercial recognition that Villeneuve occupies. Today, he is barely remembered for any work other than Possession, despite having an insanely good filmography.
Aaron Sorkin vs. Andrzej Żuławski: The Level of Dialogue
The core characteristic of Żuławski is not just his ability to build environments, but how he masterfully levels the playing field among his characters.
To better understand this, picture a film by Aaron Sorkin, the screenwriter of The Social Network. In his films, characters are complex yet restricted to a single universe, maintaining a dialogue where everyone appears extremely well-informed. There is no benefit of the doubt: Sorkin builds a universe, levels all characters based on the film's subject matter, and crafts the rhythm around that.
Comparing the styles, Żuławski tends to elitist-proof his mechanics. He utilizes references, complex, and hypocritical dialogues, ultimately collapsing into a dense narrative. If everything feels dirty, poorly organized, and lacks clear distinction between characters, why is Żuławski a good filmmaker?
Because he gives us something he denies to his own characters: the benefit of the doubt.
Żuławski’s characters do not rely on questions. They are constantly asking things they already know, responding, intensifying the debate, and ending up in a continuous cycle of affirmations.
This brings us to the true answer to our last question: the quality lies within our discomfort. After all, does cinema need to be pleasant to be good? For Żuławski’s cinema? No! It will get under your skin, make you question your time, and often, your brain will simply shut down. All of this is orchestrated so that you reach the end and wonder: what on earth was that?
The Technique of Effect and the Legacy in Cosmos
By the time the conservative discourse of modern cinema took hold, Żuławski had already left us. Passing away in 2016, the director left a brief glimpse of what his art would look like in modern times: Cosmos (2015). The film itself comes nowhere near the director's peak, but it still possesses incredible themes and symbolism, along with a modernization of the image.
The difference between a modern director and a classic one isn't nostalgia, but rather the stimulation of creativity. Villeneuve being a modern director does not make him lesser than Żuławski; they just belong to different artistic schools. While one privileges a complexity that resembles a planned architecture, the other prioritizes the spoken image. In Żuławski's work, pure technique is not the priority, but rather the effect of the image—such as animal symbolisms that impact through cruelty (not literal cruelty, but a coldness that strips all empathy from the scene).
Time Doesn't Adapt, We Do
What can we conclude about Żuławski? He was a director who will be missed by some, while for others, he will be just another convoluted, and nowadays, outdated artist.
But do not fall into the trap of thinking a work is outdated. Time doesn't adapt, we do! Watching old movies shouldn't feel like a punishment; it should be a different experience—a chance to contemplate visions that often stemmed from sociopolitical moments that, fortunately, we no longer live through.
When we pause to think about this, we wonder: what happened in Żuławski’s life to make him create such disruptive works, and why did they insist on this vision? At this point, the tendency is to consider that many works might not be to our personal taste, but they still hold invaluable worth.
What about you? Which of Żuławski's artistic choices made you feel the most uncomfortable? And by the end of the film, what were your thoughts? Let me know in the comments below!
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