The Double Life of Veronique - Krzysztof Kieslowski

Watching The Double Life of Veronique is like trying to read a map without a key. The audio commentary by Annette Insdorf –  who authored Double Lives, Second Chances: The Cinema of Krzysztof Kieslowski and appeared in featurettes on each of the Three Colors DVDs – clarifies a few elusive story details, but mostly she clarifies my frustration, which makes me glad I watched the film again, because at least now I'm clear on something. Insdorf explains that Kieslowski didn't consider himself an artist, because an artist provides answers and he provided questions. But Kieslowski, in playing with narrative form and thematic meaning, toys with and withholds from the audience in a way that becomes tiresome. He leaves us with questions: specifically, what did he make this film about?

There is a character named Alexandre (Philippe Volter), a puppeteer and author who beguiles a young French music teacher, Veronique (Irene Jacob), with clues that she must follow in order to find him. And when she does he tells her it was all a psychological test, a manipulation for his own purposes. Insdorf confirms that Alexandre is a kind of analogue for Kieslowski, and I felt a kinship with Veronique in this scene, disappointed and feeling used. She hoped to find something authentic but instead found only a puppeteer pulling strings.

Double Life is very much like a film Kieslowski would make three years later: Red, the final film of his Three Colors trilogy and the last film he would make before his death in 1996. That film would also star Irene Jacob, employ a doubling of characters, and present a vague idea of human interconnectedness. That was the first Kieslowski film to give me a sense of intrigued dissatisfaction. The other two Three Colors installments were more straightforward, including Blue, which was subtle but direct, complex but didn't play games with the viewer.

I have often quoted Roger Ebert, who says, “If you have to ask what something symbolizes, it doesn't.” Red and even more so Double Life seem to be constructed of symbols that refer to nothing. Nothing on-screen anyway. Insdorf's commentary suggests I may not be off the mark. She discusses certain imagery (flickering light, reflected images, recurring objects, trees and dead leaves) and speculates about their meaning, ascribing to them metaphysical significance without ever deciding what they represent. A woman shown lingering in the background of scenes, Insdorf says, may represent either the specter of death or a guardian angel, but she could as easily represent a ham sandwich. To find a consistent point of reference in this film, you'd have to make one up. Kieslowski, like the puppeteer, wants us to come to him, but I wish he'd meet me halfway, or at least have something more substantial waiting for me when I get there. That he offers questions instead of answers is not a problem. That it's not clear what question he's asking, however, is.

The story begins with Weronika (also Irene Jacob), a Polish singer for whom music takes a toll. One day, she sees a woman who looks exactly like her boarding a tour bus. It's Veronique. Many details, small and large, connect them. The music of fictitious 18th Century Dutch composer Van den Budenmayer (all the music is really written by the film's composer, Zbigniew Preisner) is important to both women. Both suffer from heart conditions and have close bonds with their fathers. There are moments in which each woman feels, like an instinct, the presence of another version of herself. This is a tantalizing premise: to have an intimate connection to a stranger, to feel experiences you have not lived and to even learn from them. That mystery should be the heart of the film. But the particulars of each woman's life distract from that central idea instead of drawing it out. There are two scenes involving the divorce of one of Veronique's friends that are entirely irrelevant, remnants of a subplot that Kieslowski decided to cut from the film.

I reacted in a similar way to Ingmar Bergman's Persona, which is beloved by just about everyone, but not me. That film also concerned two women bonded in a mysterious way and also had more questions than answers. Perhaps I am too literal-minded; I tend to lose patience with filmmakers I find to be willfully obscure  in the contemplation of their navels. The Double Life of Veronique pulls our strings but then leaves us dangling.