2024 Tarkovsky Prize 1st Place: Logan Ragland

THREE COLOURS: RED

by Logan Ragland

It begins with a simple telephone call: one single voice amongst the clamor of millions, traversing thousands of miles—through underground cables, deep within networks of tunnels and caves, across entire seas—all to be heard by one single person. But it doesn't go through; the phone at the other end of line isn't picked up. Oh well, the film seems to suggest, seemingly forgetting about the call in the midst of the day-to-day bustle of its main characters. Had the phone been answered things might have been different—but it wasn't, so they weren't. The call is never mentioned again; ultimately, it's not important.

So begins Polish director Krzysztof Kieślowski's Three Colours: Red, a sweeping, subtly intricate masterwork which ranks among the most complex and powerful films I've seen. The third in a trilogy of films inspired by the colors of the French flag, Red avowedly addresses the concept of fraternité—the seemingly random forces which cause us as individuals to cross paths with strangers, forming the bonds which shape almost the entirety of our lives. But through this, Red also tackles much more. It's one of a select few works of art that dares to take a grasp at the core question underlying our existence: what exactly it is—if anything—that gives meaning to everyday life.

At the beginning of the film we meet Valentine, a model in Geneva who seems to be doing perfectly well for herself. She's in a decent relationship, has a moderately successful career, and seems happy, in a general way. This, in a way, is realism; Valentine lives an ordinary life, and is portrayed such that she could be anyone, really. But all of this changes when she meets Joseph Kern, a retired judge, after hitting his dog with her car. The two interact only briefly at first, but he immediately strikes her as callous and unfeeling; she wants nothing to do with him, and the two agree that the dog, Rita, would be better off under her care. Time passes, life goes on—but eventually, by pure chance, Rita escapes in a park and leads Valentine back to Kern, causing the two to begin a sort of bond. She gradually learns of the old judge's regrets—his guilt for past rulings, his failed love life—and all the while strange parallels are drawn between him and Valentine's unknown neighbor, a young law student named Auguste. Little connections between each character in the film begin to bud, slowly at first, and then more and more rapidly until each has been driven to the character's very emotional core—much like how relationships develop in real life, often without us even noticing. But in the midst of all these coincidences and sudden change, however, Red never removes itself from reality. Instead, it walks a thin line I would call magical realism—coincidences do happen, after all, audiences will think, and it's not difficult to believe that sometimes life's randomness can just fall into place. But even still, something about how everything plays out doesn't quite seem grounded in reality.

Every shot in Red connects to this theme. The camera glides through the story with a mind of its own—at times drifting between parallel stories in the very same shot—which not only builds a world for the characters that feels whole and familiar, but also grants the film a beautifully poetic sense of intimacy and flow. Of course, nearly every scene is also steeped in varying hues of red, which traditionally represents love, passion, and fraternity. Yet strangely, upon first glance these ideas seem to be discussed rather little in the film: relationships are constantly shattered, trust is repeatedly broken, and the film overall actually feels quite lonely, with its empty city streets and emotionally isolated characters. But perhaps, Red suggests, there are other forms of love and connection—ones that can somehow be established long before two people have even met. Valentine and Auguste, two characters with distinctly warm, burgundy names, do seem destined to come together, after all. This could just be blind chance, of course, but there's a creeping sense throughout Red that some other forces may be—must be—at work. In the film's final sequence Valentine boards a ship bound for England to visit her family, but in the midst of an abrupt and violent storm the ship sinks, killing nearly everyone aboard. The only seven survivors: all the main characters from each film in the Three Colours trilogy, including Valentine and Auguste. In the closing frame, Kern watches television coverage of the disaster through his shattered garden window, at last seeing the pair emerge, shivering in their wet blankets, and briefly lock eyes. The judge's final line before Valentine departed for her journey: "Leave. It's your destiny."

Importantly, Kieslowski was not an especially religious man; he was raised a Catholic, but always saw God as something deeply personal—an abstract concept one ought to carefully consider, and which can be felt at a person's core whether or not they subscribe to a particular faith, or even believe in a God at all. Red follows this philosophy closely. It almost never mentions religion—and certainly doesn't argue for or against there being a God—but there is an unmistakable spirituality embedded in nearly every aspect of the film. "The light is beautiful," the old judge says to Valentine in one early scene right before the room floods with a heavenly glow. Fortune, it seems, can only account for so much before it begins to bleed into fate.

More than anything, Red carries with it a sense of humility—one that allows viewers to feel that there must be something more out there, some order and reason to it all, but simultaneously to recognize that, ultimately, none of us has a clue. There's a certain comfort in this smallness, the idea that what truly matters is building connections and enjoying life, without worrying too much. In the grand scheme of things, it'll be okay if the telephone at the other end of the line is never picked up. It's not religious, but it is a sort of faith. And whether or not you believe it, it certainly is a wonderful thought.