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."
这并不是一个穿越的故事，而是是一个母亲在弥留之际创造出来安慰女儿的梦，真的特别特别特别好，贾玲值得。9/10
脱离了男性凝视，镜头聚焦的胸和屁股。我只记得李焕英的每一个漂亮裙摆，被风吹起来露出一截细长的小腿，原来每一个妈妈都曾是美丽的少女。
“等你也当了父母，你就会明白爸爸/妈妈的良苦用心了”，“非得等到爸爸妈妈死了，你才会懂事”——李焕英之所以成功把大家都弄哭了，是因为中国式亲子关系的痛点，就是在做这样一种徒劳的挣扎，试图在三观截然断裂的两代人中，触发一种身份互换的共情（aka 绑架），也就是李焕英结尾里经由电影视点完成的反转。
因为被剧透了结尾，我从开始就在寻找线索，从片头哭到片尾。技巧不足，但感情真挚。另外女性叙事真是太舒服了，没有刻板印象、没有颜色笑话、也没有常见的用歧视某一方面的弱势群体来做笑点。每个人都那么鲜活热烈，我真太喜欢了。
片子最动人的还是贯穿始终的来自创作者内心的真情，那些爱与悲伤都如此真切可感。所以即便在大设定并不新鲜的情况下，影片的真情依然让人感动，不觉得俗套。电影中还是有不少小品式的处理的，但大都比较顺畅，不会觉得刻意。把私人记忆转化成电影故事是一件既幸福又痛苦的事情。幸福在于，自己的记忆可以在电影中重现、扩展和封存。但自己那些曾经的遗憾和悲伤，如今重拾起来会有着自我剖析般的痛苦。这部电影作为贾玲的导演处女作，是一次比较成功的私人记忆到电影的转化，这其实还挺让人羡慕的。恭喜了。
值得一看，但没有你想象中那么好看，尤其是当你带着豆瓣8点多高分期待去看！都说哭的稀里哗啦，但我确实没有哭……
前面100分钟笑点密集，笑得人仰马翻，后面从贾玲奔跑那里没忍住看哭了，全片没有拉垮的演员，满分好评。
新年里，全中国那么多人陪贾玲缅怀她妈妈，她妈妈在天上应该能很开心了。也愿天下父母都能健康长寿。
咋说呢，贾玲太牛了，不玩梗的那种搞笑，一点都不低俗，但是笑点通俗易懂，演员也都特别好，而且有一个点很戳我，就是后面暗示了王琴的发达不是因为靠男人，中国就是应该多有这样的思想纠正啊！！催泪的地方也容易产生共情，后半段我一边哭一边骂：这特么咋没完没了了……然后继续哭....好了好了，我爱我妈妈，虽然我们也会吵架，但是我很爱她，一直爱她
微博上发不出负面评论，怒打低分。浓缩成一出小品 或者 拍一个短片，也许会不错。作为一部电影，一塌糊涂。难过。
好哭不等于质优，但汹涌的真情让故事的动人量级无限拔升。我深信无数背负心债的儿女被李焕英震碎了泪水阀门包括我，哭的不是母亲大爱也不是时光逆流，梦可补圆，而是有这么一次释放来填充现实对母亲的亏欠，对本我的埋怨。裂痕终无法缝补，矛盾也无法被偿还，我们心里都知道。这不妨碍冷酷的我们偶尔被染一点点温情之色。就这么一次也好。
这次感受注定是感性压倒理性的，所以就不打分了。
贾玲好棒 抢结婚证那里 结婚证被撕坏了 小斐眼里含泪的说 我这一生真的很幸福 你为什么就不相信呢 当时看的时候觉得很奇怪 后来全明白了 剧本好棒 拍的也很好 不过李焕英不管票房多少 她应该只想让贾玲健健康康 开开心心吧
小斐边喊着“我的宝儿”边双手张开朝着贾玲奔去那一幕哭得我可大声了……女性导演镜头下下的女性都好美啊。
很美，舞台感在大屏幕上毫不違和反而更有衝擊力。每一次飯桌上的長鏡頭都把人物性格刻畫地很到位，太喜歡導演可愛的想像力了。
泼辣，厚实，乡土，生猛。以川剧兴衰的视角折射中国近代史，戏剧式的布局与布景更添一层讽谑面纱，三小时笑看历史与记忆荒腔走板。
从第一秒妈妈出现就开始哭了，足够简单也足够真诚，好羡慕贾玲，有这样纪念母亲的才华和方式
好好笑啊！
可惜国内院线估计是看不了了……只能说牛逼 a new old play 戏里戏外是戏也是现实 新老交替是新的也是老的
一度非常出戏摸不着边 全靠最后的标准程序式煽情告白拉回 哪怕贺岁档也请主创走点心吧；当然母亲最真挚也最朴素的愿望是希望下一代健健康康开开心心是没错
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