Polish director Krysztof Kieslowski’s last films comprised a trilogy. Bleu, Blanc and Rouge, the French tricolor — liberté, egalité et fraternité. Bleu begins with a car crash that kills the woman’s husband and young daughter. She tries to free herself not just from her memories but from all involvement with life. But she can’t do it: the present and the past keep impinging on her. The blue glass beads from a ceiling ornament reflect sunlight onto her face, reminding her of her child — and of the music her husband, a famous composer, had left unfinished.
Or, as had been rumored, was she really the composer? She destroyed the unfinished manuscript after he died, but a copy survived. Here, as at last she finishes the piece, we see her pen and its shadow, as if another ghostly hand were helping to inscribe the notes on the page.
Surface, reflection, depth, rising from the blue into the blue.