Krzysztof Kieślowski makes a harrowing case against capital punishment without making his central figure easy to pity. The yellow tint can be overbearing, but the acting and the sustained attention to suffering justify the ordeal.
Decalogue V is a powerful, punishing crime drama whose chief weakness is how often it tells us to expect the worst. Krzysztof Kieślowski takes the commandment ‘Thou shalt not kill’ seriously enough to apply it to people we may struggle to care about. A film arguing against capital punishment can make its task easier by giving us someone sympathetic to defend. This one makes that sympathy difficult. It is exacting work, and the distress it causes is largely earned.
The screenplay by Krzysztof Kieślowski and Krzysztof Piesiewicz gives Jacek Łazar little by way of an explanation. Mirosław Baka makes him hard to look away from without inviting us to enjoy his unpleasantness, an important distinction in a crime film. Jan Tesarz gives Waldemar Rekowski, the taxi driver, enough presence to stop him feeling like someone put there simply to prove a point. These performances keep our attention on individual people when the discussion could easily become too general. Krzysztof Globisz plays Piotr Balicki, the young lawyer who opposes the death penalty.
Sławomir Idziak’s cinematography gives the film a sickly yellow tint that makes ordinary surroundings feel unhealthy. It is effective, but we sometimes wanted the colour to stop warning us and let the actors do their work. Halina Dobrowolska’s production design survives this treatment: we still believe people live and work in these places, even when the image seems determined to make them repellent. The trouble is the accumulation of dread before we have had much chance to judge anyone.
We were horrified by how long the film lets physical violence continue. The extended, graphic passages deny us the relief of a quick move to the next piece of story; the suffering keeps demanding our attention. Ewa Smal’s editing keeps us painfully aware of the time passing. We cannot settle back and treat what happens as a necessary incident on the way to a more interesting investigation. The film spends time on the act itself, and it becomes difficult to think about anything except the person being hurt.
Zbigniew Preisner’s music adds sadness, though it offers little comfort, and that seems the right judgement for this material. The greater risk of sentimentality lies with Piotr Balicki, whose decency can leave him sounding a little too ready with the proper objection. Krzysztof Globisz makes that earnestness credible, but the lawyer is less fully felt than the people whose behaviour troubles him. His convictions get more attention than his personality. The writing is stronger when it lets us watch people we cannot readily account for.
The film’s strength is that it does not require us to find Jacek Łazar agreeable before asking us to care about human life. That keeps its opposition to capital punishment from becoming a comfortable exercise in defending someone we already like. Crime dramas often hurry towards the reassurance of a verdict, and this one makes punishment itself something to examine. At 57 minutes, it leaves little room to recover from that examination. Give it your full attention, but choose an evening when being unsettled is an acceptable outcome.