POLISH FILM ACADEMY

ON SET WITH THE MASTER

Andrzej Reiter

When in around 1973 Kawalerowicz was contemplating making
Death of a President, the unit I was working in was granted
the status of a production unit and I was appointed Assistant
Director. My first encounter with Jerzy Kawalerowicz was very
pleasant because he turned out to be a very sociable, outgoing
and friendly person. We took to each other instantly. For me,
the most valuable thing was to be close to a great person of
tremendous technical film skills. I felt that our collaboration was
giving me an incredible amount of experience. When we started
making the film, I had to put aside my studies because it was
a huge production with huge crowd scenes and I simply could
not manage both. And so I took my education from the master
himself. Kawalerowicz was very anxious to make that film.
The first thing I needed to do was a historical study because a lot
of factual documentation from the inter-war period was needed,
lots of photos of people. The next stage was the cast, and to
Kawalerowicz that was very important in two senses: to get the
best actors and to make sure they looked as close to the historical
figures as possible. In his choice, Kawalerowicz relied strictly on
historical photographs. To me, the resemblance between the
film characters and the persons they play in that film is evident.
It took a great effort to browse through various archives and
select materials for Kawalerowicz to study very closely; these
were parliamentary minutes and speeches or press articles from
that period.
Our collaboration was already very close at the shooting script
stage. He taught me what was in his blood, namely that one must
be very meticulous about the authenticity of details for the film
to be as true as possible.
Kawalerowicz was one of those directors to whom making
a film never came easily. He always had to wait a long time.
Obstacles of different kinds kept piling up– political, financial,
even from the filmmaking community. As a result, even a major
author like him had problems starting a film production. The
screenplay for Death of a President was ready much earlier than
the production began. Then the pre-production took a very
long time because, for example, the set design itself was very
rich and, consequently, was expensive. The whole pre-war
Sejm was reconstructed in the sound stages of the WFF Film
Studio in Łódź – each room with its equipment and every detail
accounted for. There were several hundred extras in the benches
and about twelve thousand in mass scenes like, for example,
President Narutowicz’s funeral procession through the streets
of Warsaw. This took several months of intensive preparations.
Kawalerowicz was very exacting, both to himself and to the
team. He believed in setting standards high and not making any
compromises. He knew perfectly well that not everything would
go well all the time and therefore we could give up something
because of difficulties. If I had gone to him to tell him that I did
not know how to do something, I would certainly have gone
down in the master’s estimation. So that was the basic rule – the
standard set as high as possible because film as such is a very
obstructive matter, both in terms of money and in terms of
people. And if you do not aim high you lose. And Kawalerowicz
did not like to lose, he did not know how to lose and he did not
want to.
What I remember best are the crowd scenes, mainly Narutowicz’s
funeral – this was probably the biggest crowd scene in a Polish
film by that time. The centre of Warsaw was paralyzed for
several days as the procession moved from Aleje Ujazdowskie
through Nowy Świat all the way to the cathedral. Thousands
of extras, props, horses were needed. Getting them ready for
the march filmed by several cameras simultaneously was hard
work. But when the whole lot started from Plac Trzech Krzyży,
I felt the grandeur of the scene and the relief that all had gone
well. That was the most difficult scene of the film; the rest was
normal routine work for the following weeks. While working on
that film I had my first chance to go to the West, which was not
easy then. In Switzerland we shot the sequence of the funeral
of Narutowicz’s wife and his last days there before coming to
Poland.
My next film with Kawalerowicz was Encounter on the Atlantic.
It was a cool adventure; it meant another chance to collaborate
with the master and many weeks at sea during the voyage to
Canada and back aboard the ocean liner Batory. Shooting on the
Batory was a series of extraordinary events and adventures. For
economy, the crew was very small and so each of us had sundry
extra duties. The main scene in which the two main characters
fought on deck was planned for stormy weather. We needed
a storm and Kawalerowicz managed to enthral the captain to the
extent that the Batory steered well north where it was blowing
really hard. In addition, they turned off the stabilizer and the
ship started rolling heavily. The passengers must have felt close
to death but as they all were taking part in the film – in crowd
scenes in the restaurants and during balls – they forgave us,
I think. The waves were so high as to wash half across the decks.
It was hard to keep one’s balance. When Jerzy Łukaszewicz was
shooting handheld, we all had to literally hang on him to stabilize
his body. With that feat we won the respect and admiration of
most of the ship’s crew, who acknowledged us as regular sailors.
After the shooting they threw a special party and the next day it
was really hard for us to continue working.
1982 marked another big film – the famous Austeria and the
third encounter with Kawalerowicz. Pre-production had
started earlier than usual and it was Kawalerowicz’s biggest
enterprise since Pharaoh. For him, Austeria was probably
the most important film in his career. This was evidenced
mainly by the casting, which this time took a very long time.
Kawalerowicz’s dream was to give the leading role to Topol,
famous for his brilliant interpretation of Tewje the Milkman
in the American movie version of The Fiddler on the Roof. That
proved impossible for financial reasons and schedules. The next
natural candidate was Franciszek Pieczka. The choice could
not have been better; Pieczka entered the role fantastically and
Kawalerowicz often emphasized this in informal conversations.
With the rest of the cast the job was easy; the roles were assigned
to actors from the State Jewish Theatre. Its director Szymon
Szurmiej helped us greatly by introducing us to the Jewish world
with its atmosphere, customs and history. Kawalerowicz and
Szurmiej were friends and their long conversations provided
much necessary information. I have already mentioned that
Kawalerowicz was a very sociable person. I must add that at work
he was a tyrant and after work he changed into a friend and great
bon vivant. The more complex photography was done near Łódź.
It was then that Kawalerowicz fell in love with Borki on the Pilica
river; he would go there every year on holiday. We both grew
fond of Borki and with Kawalerowicz being a family man we
moved there with our families during the pre-production period
- while the scenery was being constructed. It was there that the
title inn and its buildings were put up. We had a problem hiding
the nearby dam from view but solved it by having some artificial
hills built.
Kawalerowicz had a very well organized imagination. His
shooting scripts were extremely precise. When you compared the
final effect with the script, you found that ninety per cent was
in agreement. He practically did the editing in his mind on set
and that was why all the takes were meticulously set; composed
and framed exactly with the editing in mind. Still, generally
Kawalerowicz believed that a film is born during the final
editing stage. He had his own editors, one of whom, Wiesława
Ochocka, could read his thoughts and knew perfectly well
exactly when to cut. Kawalerowicz had a great sense of film
rhythm. This showed also on set, where scenes were rehearsed
many times with stopwatch in hand and only when the
right rhythm had been achieved and nothing unnecessary
remained, did the camera start rolling.
At every stage, his films were ready in every detail. Of course,
in the pre-production phase he gave us some freedom by
outlining what interested him. My job was to gather material
and then he discussed things with me, the cinematographer,
costume designers, set designers. He listened very carefully
to our suggestions. He had good intuition for casting. We
presented candidates – after long consideration so as not to
make fools of ourselves – but the final decision was of course
his. He also had his favourite make-up artist Ms Tomaszewska
and sometimes it was she who had the final word. She was
guided more by the actor’s resemblance to the historical figure.
She knew straight away if she could make, for example, Fetting
into General Haller. Sometimes two actors were proposed
but when she made a choice that was it. And on set, the only
person to have anything to say was the cinematographer. It
was generally accepted that rehearsals, directing, set design
and blocking belonged to Kawalerowicz and that was final.
Also actors did not have much say; they were expected to
precisely realize the director’s instructions. Any opposition
to that meant a tremendous row. Very frequently, though,
Kawalerowicz quarrelled with the film editor during the
edit. The shots were always described very precisely and the
rough cut was up to the editor herself. Kawalerowicz would
join in at the stage of shortening the footage and giving the
film its finishing touches. But sometimes Ms Otocka did not
like something in the arrangement and tried to force through
another version. Kawalerowicz sometimes would agree if she
managed to win him round - after intense creative arguments.
He simply had to understand why something would be better
this or that way.
Austeria had big problems with the censors; they did not much
like some of the scenes. The film was blocked, censored and
remade for a long time. It was difficult to find fault with the film
as such because of its high calibre, so objections were made to
particular scenes. Most controversial was the ending, where the
appearance of the Cossacks at the river bank heralded an attack
on the inn. You could also hear a machine gun so it was clear
that the Jews were being murdered by the Cossacks. That could
not possibly be accepted and the censor’s decision was final: edit
the scene or no permission. So it was re-edited: there were no
Cossacks, the Jews ran to the river and when they were in the
water the machine guns could be heard and the water turned red.
Kawalerowicz kept relating that scene to the Holocaust. It was
meant to be a parallel between the pogroms during both wars.
The party authorities absolutely did not like that - remember that
every film had to be screened at the Central Committee before
it was released. So we had this idea that the shots were far-away
artillery fire and the Jews ran away to the river. And that was
finally approved because apparently they thought that if there is
artillery fire in the distance you do not really know who is firing.
We also had problems with the scene in which Bumek is carrying
a dead girl in his rack wagon. He is attacked by Cossacks, who
stab him with pikes and take away the girl’s body. This scene
also had to be cut. And so the censor’s interference in Austeria
was considerable and the ending itself was quite heavily altered.
The last picture that we made together was The Hostage of
Europe (Jeniec Europy). This was a Polish-French co-production
shot in Bulgaria. The French provided the actors; the Bulgarians
- locations and the horrible heat. All the scenery – Napoleon’s
house, servants’ houses, the governor’s palace – was built in
a mountainous valley, or an old crater. The temperatures reached
40 degrees, which was actually good for the film. Everybody
sweated like the residents of St Helena two centuries ago. That
heat reminds me that Kawalerowicz, while being a great artist,
was also a very warm-hearted person. There was always a supply
of good wines in his room which we drank when we met in the
evenings for discussion. With Jerzy it was customary to start
the day with a tasty, filling breakfast. During the day it was just
a quick cheap soup but in the evening, when the set was ready
for the next day, it felt good to eat out well in good company.
In Łódź it was at the SPATiF where the whole film and theatre
crowd would gather every night. Kawalerowicz liked to explore
small cosy eateries in Łódź and so did I. I remember frequenting
the Turystyczna in Sienkiewicza St., where they served fantastic
potato pancakes with quark. To eat tripe we used to go to the
Kolejowa or to the Flisowa. Anyway, for sure, life was very
joyful then and more sociable.

Memories recorded and written down by Andrzej B. Czulda

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