“Thou shall not bear false witness.” The eighth installment of the Decalogue is nothing new from the others in the series in that it presents a moral dilemma that has no easy answer, except this one sort of does. When an ethics professor is visited by someone from the past, she is confronted with the fact that her principles may have caused a little girl her freedom during the second world war. It is this story from the past that haunts our two characters throughout the film as the audience follows civil, composed confrontations about this incident. As the story progresses we see more of the truth start to emerge, and maybe the moral situation in question is actually easier than it seems initially. Yet as we hear more, we’re challenged as the audience to decide if we truly want to believe what we’re being told, if the characters are trustworthy or if their witness is false. If they are lying, the moral question here is just as convoluted as the other installments, but if they’re sincere then we see a nice break from previous installments and are able to appreciate this episode of reconciliation between two hurt souls. Either way, great questions are raised here.

This film also manages to make exciting connections to past installments of the Decalogue with short cameos or mentions of other characters from previous episodes who live within the same apartment building. This serendipity is a staple in Kieslowski’s films, (he does a similar technique in his Three Colors Trilogy), and it’s fascinating to see how he does it here, but perhaps it really isn’t that much of a coincidence. “Interesting building…” “Not really. Like any other one.”

The seventh installment in the Decalogue centers on the commandment of “Thou shall not steal,” but as in all the rest of Kieslowski’s works in this series, he presents a devastating situation with no clear answers to the moral dilemma presented. In this film, the commandment takes shape in the life of a young woman, Majka, who had a daughter too young at the age of 16. Because of this, Majka’s daughter was raised by her mother, the child’s grandmother. Years later, Majka kidnaps her own child with the mentality, “Can you steal what’s really yours?” This sets off the course of this bitter episode as mother and grandmother fight over the right for the right to mother this child. Feeling betrayed and unworthy, Majka goes to desperate measures to steal what belongs to her, and in one particular instance, desperately tries to bring out the words “mommy” from her little girl. But to her own daughter, she will always be Majka, and never her mother. It’s a devastating moment within an episode of equally unsettling scenes. Although it seems at first as if Majka’s mother is the thief in this story, we learn that the daughter’s adoption was a mutual agreement and completely legal. Perhaps the story is suggesting that the true sin in all of this is the bitterness that grows out of being robbed. Ouch.
Kieslowski’s work here, like so much of his other stuff, seems to take its time, observing the world at a pace that feels deliberately slowed down, yet somehow more indicative of real life. When you watch closely though, you see a world under the surface and get to experience characters at their most private and vulnerable. What I think is the biggest achievement of this episode is how much we really get from those quiet moments. With a runtime of about 1 hour, we see and know Majka’s entire childhood history, not through flashbacks, but through small lines, close up shots, and the conflict we witness with her and her mother. And because of this understanding, we mourn with her the loss of her childhood and the potential of her motherhood as well. It’s a sad one.

The sixth entry in Kierstof Kieslowski’s profound series of films on the 10 commandments, this one focused entirely on the taboo and unsettling topic of adultery. It’s worth noting that Kieslowski chooses to approach this topic with unfiltered boldness. He shows us a truly strange story within this series. Focusing on the young man who finds himself being seduced, we see a window (literally) into the life of an isolated individual who is driven by his desire to watch a woman who lives across the street from him. This desire grows until he cannot help but come clean to her in the street and tell her the truth about his actions, while comically introducing himself to her at the same time.

This is where the film takes a sharp turn from the study of the seduced young man and shifts to the seducer, an older woman who initially is (rightfully so) disturbed and upset, but who later that night invites the boy into her room. They never sleep together, they only talk of it, but the event leads to a heartbroken young boy who has lost the mystery of his desire and is left with the shame of him not being able to fulfill what he had dreamed of in his mind. From here on out the film centers on the woman who now is obsessed with checking up on this young man and helping him, feeling guilty for somehow hurting him yet also desiring someone to desire her.

It’s a very twisted, yet believable story of two people who must’ve gotten something wrong about love along the way through their lives. It’s got an achingly powerful yet somehow heartbreaking final line:
(SPOILER)
“I no longer watch you.”

Little Women is the rare kind of book to film adaptation. It feels as if it should’ve always existed, as if it was always there just waiting to be made by this director with this cast at this time. Each scene is so filled to the brim with heart and emotion, that it’s difficult to not find yourself at the mercies of the score and story and dare I say it: tear up once or twice (or several times). To me, it seems to have all the sentimentality of a hallmark film, but without the forced plots or fake characters. Instead, this film is something so achingly real and authentic, filled with character’s overlapping dialogue in a perfect chaos that often reflects reality (with every overlap precisely scripted by Greta Gerwig). The film’s script also takes a radical but smart approach to the structure of the film, intercutting the young March girls with their older, adult selves. Gerwig, who grew up reading about the March sisters her whole life was able to communicate the more challenging and repetitive aspects of the book through this method, and added another incredible layer of depth to the film, by comparing 4 young girls against their 4 older selves, essentially balancing 8 different characters who remain connected throughout the years, as if time could not stop their bond and connection. It’s a beautiful strategy for the film, and I think it truly adds something to the experience.

After her directorial debut Lady Bird, there was many who thought that Greta Gerwig’s sophomore feature could not top such an incredible achievement with her first film, but I genuinely think Little Women actually does. Reuniting Saoirse Ronan and Timothee Chalamet on screen again, this film captures that same irresistible chemistry they shared in Lady Bird, but this time in an even more compelling and challenging way. Perhaps the greatest accomplishment of the film is how perfectly we understand why the sisters love each other as they do. We see it so clearly on screen. It’s there. An unspoken connection that can’t be faked and must be presented honestly, and it is. It seems as if this story was the perfect film for Greta Gerwig to adapt, and her love of the source material is so evident. It’s clear that her sensibilities and skills as a director breathes a fresh outpouring of love and warmth into this story that makes it the most emotionally engaging film of the year for me. When I see it I think, “of course, how could it be any other way.” Greta Gerwig, you’ve done it again.