Sweet Rush (Tatarak) (Tatarak)

present a new film by Andrzej Wajda

SWEET RUSH

based on a novel by Jaroslaw Iwaszkiewicz

and Sandor Marai "Unexpected Call" and Krystyna Janda "Last Notes"

as "Mrs Marta"

Starring

Editor

Costume designer

Makeup

Make-up for Mrs Marta

Sound

Art director

Cast and production manager

Producer

Composer

Director of Photography

Screenplay and director

We were supposed to shoot this film last year.

Somewhere in Poland.

Where there's a river, a bridge, a landing stage.

I remember coming to Andrzej to tell him I couldn't do it.

That I had to be in Warsaw.

Actually, I thought back then

we could still do it somewhere close.

I didn't know what was ahead of us.

I remember the twitch in Andrzej's face when I told him about Edward's chemo.

That I couldn't leave him just then,

that he was sick.

He said it's ok, that he understands, that he'll play it by ear

they'll look for a location somewhere close.

Come to think of it, it wouldn't have been possible at all.

I didn't realize...

...how intense the following days would be.

I didn't believe things would turn bad, then get worse.

Doctors said:

"try to live your life as usual."

He didn't have the energy.

He couldn't walk.

I kept taking photos.

Just in case.

He let me, he was even pleased.

I thought to myself how your profession affects the way you think.

Cameraman.

He knew how much it matters

to seize the expression, the image,

the moment.

I often took photographs of him when he was asleep.

He would always wake up after a while and smile at me ironically.

I don't know what I felt back then.

I wasn't filled with panic.

Calm.

I took him to his brain CT-scan.

And in his brain there were just those three grains of sand, not more.

Nothing else.

And they aren't changing, aren't getting any bigger.

Nothing is changing.

He shows no more mets.

Or maybe these aren't even mets.

We laughed a lot. I came up with redecoration.

We painted the rooms. I photographed him in empty rooms.

When I was driving him home, from chemo,

he had to pee about ten times on the way.

We laughed about it. He would stop wherever and pee.

I took photos of him through the car windows.

Now I look at these pictures all the time.

They are like a treasure to me now.

I haven't cancelled his mobile number. I pay the subscription fee and

I've kept it for myself. Sometimes I call him.

There's this message he recorded by himself.

Sometimes I leave a message. I always called him.

About anything.

About any problem and he always knew how to rescue me.

The phone's still there, waiting,

anyone can call.

"SWEET RUSH"

- From the beginning? - That's right.

- That's the most important part. - The most beautiful one.

Sweet rush has two kinds of fragrance.

When rubbed between two fingers, its green ribbon, wrinkled in places...

Wrinkled on this side. That's right.

...gives off a smell,

a faint scent of water shadowed by birch trees, as Slowacki says.

Yet, when one crushes its blade,

when one buries the nose in its groove, lined as if with cotton wool,

apart from the fragrance of incense,

one will detect the smell of muddy loam,

rotting fish scales,

mud,

the aroma of death.

That fragrance at the beginning of my life

blended with an image of a violent death.

Marta lost her two sons during the German

occupation and she is now extremely lonely.

Her husband, terribly busy.

Aside from working at the hospital, he is also running an enormous surgery

for the townsfolk. Marta is very much affected by her solitude.

It must be added, however, that Marta never complains.

She never gives voice to her feelings. She looks after the house diligently.

Receives phone calls, makes appointments for patients and does her best

so that the weary doctor could return to a house in order, peace.

Tatarak, take one.

Take a seat.

- Do you have the results? - Yes, here they are.

Excuse me.

Something's wrong?

No. Why?

You look pale.

No. Maybe I just didn't sleep well last night.

I'll have to examine you.

And don't even try to resist.

Are you in pain?

No, I'm not in pain.

I just don't feel well.

- Have you lost weight? - Yes, I have.

How much?

Six kilos.

- Since when? - Since two months ago.

X-ray.

Thank you.

- Here. - Thank you.

And that?

How long have you had that?

It's been two weeks since I noticed.

- Why didn't you tell me? - Because.

You've lost six kilos?

Maybe seven.

Breath in.

Hold your breath.

Good afternoon.

It's just a common cold. You are a little weak.

I'm tired.

She may not live through the summer.

Are you going to tell her?

No.

Off you go.

Thank you for coming to see us...

Doctor, Doctor...

Next, please.

Why did you come?

I've grown old, I've changed. You've come to see how Marta is doing?

Not at all... Why would you... Marta...

We've all changed, grown old.

You have too.

But so much time has passed. Hard time.

Do any of our old acquaintances keep in touch with you?

No, none. Whatsoever.

There was a time when they would call, write. But now none whatsoever.

And not even one of our old female friends?

Listen, is it true that, after her last visit,

Tesia started telling tales around Warsaw that there's

this Ibsenesque atmosphere in our house.

No, no, I haven't heard anything of that kind.

Look.

That's the only thing they've rebuilt after the war. That stage.

As if they knew people need a place of entertainment to enjoy themselves.

That's the most important thing right now.

But people need to enjoy themselves. They want to.

Or they'd go mad after all that's happened.

Don't tell me you go to dances.

No. Not to dances.

All townsfolk come over here to enjoy themselves.

One comes over here to parade about and to observe others.

I come here too, sometimes.

Or the only world I'd know would be that of my husband's and his patients'.

And this is where our youth comes to play about.

Look how...

...how beautiful they are,

how robust.

What are they drinking?

Oh, this is liquid fruit,

the local pride, our speciality.

- Would you like to taste it? - Yes, please.

Wait a moment.

I do apologise, Madam.

But for Alina, I would be entirely alone.

Janusz is in America,

Robert and Zbyszek in London.

Robert doesn't even think to come back. He's afraid.

He says he'll come when the system changes. And it'll never change.

So he'll never come back.

That's good.

Juice.

- It's just juice. - Well, yes. And what did you think?

They'd probably like something stronger, but they don't have any money.

- Do you know these people? - Yes.

It's a small town. We know one another, well... by sight.

It's a really small town.

Zbyszek's going to come. His wife's English.

He'll come with her so I hope they'll let him go back.

He's got two girls.

He works at the airport in London. It's an easy job. He's a ground officer.

You may remember Janusz the best.

Remember when Janusz, on his own, brought a tree for Christmas?

Do you remember that Christmas before the war?

That was so joyful! So much enjoyment,

so many children.

Your two, the three of mine.

Alina, and, well, Henryk was still alive.

And Alina's fine. Her husband's a commie.

I wonder if he'll let her see her brother.