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."
每当鼓点响起，你就是雄狮。没鼓点的时候，生活还要继续，只是雄狮隐在内心。
有点程式化的故事，按流程走最后总能掐到点泪点。
虽然看上去似乎很用心，但实话不得不说，这片属于可看可不看的那种
还有师父的那句“别认”，即使睡在最下铺，看着角落的狮头，不能认。
芬奇之于杰夫如师如父。上次看这么细腻温暖又动人的末世题材还是机器人瓦力。
我不理解，世界末日了最后是60多岁的老头子活下来？？又是一个大数据电影，乏味老套抄的很笨拙
不负这个年代的动漫之作。据说粤语版即将面世，我打算再看一遍～～
最大的亮点是画面细节做得不错，但故事过于简单直白且陈旧，没见过一个电影把主题挂在人物嘴上一个向观众念叨的。《乐夏》的音乐塞得这么满，让我恍惚觉得导演是马东。
现实是，咸鱼师傅和女阿娟都放弃了舞狮，于是当女阿娟鼓励男阿娟坚持梦想时，我们倒也可以将此视为一种讽刺与继承。最后，雄狮以英雄花幻形跃上擎天柱，女阿娟一鼓牵动百鼓，为梦想画上悲壮感怀的句点，反观男友的行为，更是可以直接导出一套现实公式：阿娟以一种新的姿态再落尘世，续写的，也不过是咸鱼师傅的宿命罢了。
片子叫芬奇不叫杰夫，是因为废土设计的机器人杰夫一直叫着芬奇的名字。它被制造出来的使命是保护那只小狗，将死的人希望让这微小崇高的人性延续下去。就那么简单，世界让你我成为孤岛，但我最爱的机器人，照顾好我最爱的小狗，总会有希望的。
这是一个关于父亲的故事：你“创造”了一个人，你看着他成长。你教会他忍耐、教会他信任、教会他警醒、教会他守望、教会他爱……你看着自己的一部分缓缓的注入到另一个生命中，成为某种延续，这是比宗教更为切近的信仰，即便你自己的生命慢慢耗尽，你仍会保有希望和信心。当然，这一切不会一帆风顺，但正如另一部影片中所说：成为父亲，是一个男人最后的伟大冒险！
金刚狼引领着，病猫，瘦猴，肥猪所组成的咸鱼队，在一场绝·美的舞狮大赛中，大放异彩，技压群芳的励志故事。
这部片子太难得，不仅没有僵尸，也没有团伙军阀、没有大阴谋，只是纯粹孤独、带着浪漫的公路片。
配角完全工具人，人物和景物像是俩团队搞出的风格
想一想未来社会，有机器人收尸送终也不错。况且还是穿派克大衣、翘兰花指的机器人，又能帮你喂狗。《我是传奇》《火星救援》《荒岛余生》式的鲁滨逊孤独生存故事。只要日子里依然有书、硬盘里有片儿、有狗、有音乐和伙伴，就能不那么像末世。最有意味的一幕：杰夫发现了镜子，也第一次发现了“我自己”。
动画界的贾樟柯作品，涉及到农民工、留守儿童，一直踏踏实实的没有架空这个时代，这在当前电影界已经非常难得。哭了至少半个小时。这个时代是这些底层中国人建设的，可惜他们被辜负了。他爸爸受伤是个隐喻，没有保障的拼命工作，而儿子同样继续着爸爸的命运，高空腾挪没有安全网。还有很好的展示了南方人的拼搏精神。中间有一段小孩子唱的粤语歌吧，非常好听。我不明白为什么宣传陷入了细眼睛“辱华”的大坑，真是个无奈的时代，都是些什么脆弱的人，动不动觉得整天都有人辱你。
末日背景公路片，以细致入微的情感、沉着内敛的气韵打动人心，教会机器如何以人的情感去体会爱、友谊、生命的美好以及存在的意义。内核不算出色甚至主题称得上老套，但在如今这个浮躁的时代能够花费大量篇幅勾勒人物内心、营造浓烈深沉的人文感实属不易。携手走过带有美好祝祷的金门大桥，朝着希望之光前行。
故事不新颖，画面比较细腻。想当然的被欺负，想当然的遇到恩师，想当然的获胜。
终于跳出泛滥的神话IP，以一副体育励志的面孔回归现实，直面城乡的生活，直面大都市的吞噬性。物质现实的复原程度，无论是不是以国产动画的维度来衡量，都算得上非常出色了，就比如核心元素的狮子，那种竹篾、绒布、彩纸舞动起来的质感一度让人忘了自己在观看一部动画电影，而且即便情节、配乐方方面面都给足了情绪，影片也并未陷入春药式励志的陷阱。
故事老套，情节拼凑，但是不妨碍我走出电影院的时候被感动！喜欢藏在古厝树荫下的那尊佛，那是留守儿童的包容之地；下下铺的少年看到的东方旭日都是在高楼大厦挤压的缝隙中的，那个少年在海市蜃楼和阳光下的背影以及他的狮头，这个画面真的太美了。中国风的狮头细节花了很多的功夫，掉落的那一半露出少年一半的脸，也是一个很美的意境。最后跳擎天柱的时候，所有人，放下固执偏见，为他擂鼓，是因为那个少年在挑战所有人心中曾经的不可能，这件事情需要我们去支持他。少年没有跳上去，但是他把象征自己力量的狮头留着那里，故事到这里就已经足够了，他在少年的时候，成就过他自己，结尾处的彩蛋告诉我们，奇迹发生了又如何呢？生活还是在日复一日地进行着，我好喜欢这个结局，我觉得这才是中式的浪漫，在日复一日的滚滚红尘中期待奇迹又安心打磨的浪漫。
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