Film Review | Ida

The problem with a lot of films we see released on a weekly basis is that they’re not really films at all.

Bear with me.

If we all agree that film is a visual medium, then the bulk of our cinematic offerings don’t do good on that offer. If they’re anything they’re closer to moving picture books than actual narratives told through the medium of film (that they’re often lazy adaptations of popular novels and/or comic books is significant).

Crucial parts of the story are often delivered to us through clumsy, ‘info dump’ dialogue, and locations are often just dry stage backgrounds in which the ‘real action’ can unfold at leisure… an approach that is, quite literally, prosaic.

In short, very few films are like the Polish black-and-white period drama Ida. Directed by Paweł Pawlikowski and hotly tipped for the Foreign Language Oscar, the quiet, carefully composed coming of age story is a reminder that telling stories in film requires both restraint and aptitude.

In 1960s Poland, Anna (Agata Trzebuchowska), a young novice nun, is told by her prioress that before her vows can be taken, she must visit her family.

Anna travels to her aunt Wanda (Agata Kulesza), a heavy-drinking judge and former prosecutor associated with the Stalinist regime, who dispassionately reveals that Anna's actual name is Ida Lebenstein, and that her parents were Jewish and were murdered during the war. Ida decides she wants to find their resting place. She and Wanda embark on a journey that both sheds light on their past and decides their futures.

One of the most admirable things about Pawlikowski’s film is its pacing. There are only a few key details that edge the story forward, and the director makes good use of them without ever making us feel he’s overstretching an otherwise sparse well of material. Ida and Wanda’s little quest is also a perfect example of how to manageably tackle big historical themes ‘in miniature’. Trudging through post-war Poland, Ida and Wanda’s little odyssey evokes a number of things in one fell swoop.

The hard-drinking and promiscuous Wanda mirrors the damaged state of her country at the time. She is irrevocably damaged by the past, and can’t understand the ‘solution’ presented by Ida – a desirable young girl who appears to be on the brink of shutting herself away from society for good.

None of this is telegraphed, but neither is it a stretch to consider because Pawlikowski sprawls it out before us with the greatest clarity. That’s not to say that Ida can’t be enjoyed on its surface merits as a coming-of-age story with a dark, Holocaust-laden underbelly. But Pawlikowski’s use of film language ensures that form and content are one and the same.

The use of black and white normally comes across as either a vulgar gimmick (Sin City) or a twee attempt at injecting old-timey charm (The Artist). Pawlikowski instead makes it part and parcel of his artistic programme. It’s a Spartan aesthetic for a Spartan protagonist: being frugal is what being a nun is all about.

The porcelain-like perfection of Ida and her world at the convent is contrasted with Wanda’s world, but the colour scheme ensures us that Ida’s worldview is being carried across even there – though the implications are that it may be in crisis.

An uncomplicated story also allows Pawlikowski to dedicate his full attention to every single frame. The first thing you’ll notice about the film is that heads – particularly those belonging to nuns – are placed at the bottom of the shot, allowing for plenty of ‘extra’ room up ahead. You’re free to speculate as to what this actually points towards, if anything at all (the ineffable presence of the divine? The insignificance of human action in the face of history?).

But what is certain is how it appears on the screen. It’s consistently uncrowded, and composed to a geometric perfection that feels delicate rather than calculated.

Though it may be too early to call – or at least, just about – we may have our film of the year, ladies and gentlemen.

Ida will be showing at Eden Cinemas, St Julians as part of the Side Street Films initiative until December 9