Why Kryzstof Kieslowski's Three Colors: Blue, White, and Red Is The Greatest Trilogy Of All Time

Now before we even get underway, let me first apologize for the clickbaity title.  This is the internet, after all, and catchy titles seem to be a requirement.  So let me somewhat bury the lead here by admitting up front that I have no idea if Krzystof Kieslowski’s Three Colors trilogy is the greatest of all time.  Neither do you.  The beauty of cinema is that every work of art connects to an audience member in its own way.  And no two moviegoers are the same.

But, for me, I don’t think there’s ever been a better trio of films than Kieslowski’s own entry, and, in today’s essay, I’ll discuss a few reasons why.

Before I get to fawning over Blue, White, and Red, we should first acknowledge how many great trilogies cinema has produced.  For some reason, good things often come in threes and movies are no exception. 

Many people immediately think of Star Wars when they hear the word “trilogy.” The two things are almost synonymous.  In fact, I’d be hard pressed to think of a better action trilogy than Star Wars’ A New Hope, The Empire Strikes Back, and Return of the Jedi.  Those movies are so good that they’ve spawned an entire cottage industry which has raked in enough cash through spinoffs and merchandising to be considered its own independent segment of the economy.  Then again, now that the franchise has had three separate trilogy segments and has ventured into endless spinoffs for both film and television, can we really only think of it as strictly a “trilogy” any more?

The second “trilogy” that might come to mind for most people would be The Godfather trilogy based on the books by Mario Puzo.  The series is so iconic that some 50 years since the release of the first film, so many scenes and quotes from that franchise are so burned into English vernacular that its influence has permeated all segments of society.  Going to the mattresses.  Leave the gun, take the cannoli.  Going to make them an offer they can’t refuse.  Then again, I don’t think anyone would disagree that the legendary reputation of that trilogy relies heavily on the quality of the first two entrants into the series.  So much so that The Godfather Part Two is arguably one of the only sequels in film history that actually exceeds the quality of the original.  That part is a matter of debate.  But I don’t think many people would debate that Part Three was not quite up to the same level.

The third contender in my mind is less heralded than the previous two, but, in many ways, even more accomplished.  Richard Linklater’s Before Trilogy, consisting of Before Sunrise, Before Sunset, and Before Midnight, tells the ongoing story of a romantic relationship.  Whereas the first two series we discussed were a space epic and a gangster epic respectively, Linklater’s trilogy is far more humble of presentation.  The first film was literally a two-hander with its main characters essentially engaged in one long conversation from the beginning of the movie to the end.  It attempted to capture the excitement of young love and the sparks that fly when two people fall in love at first sight.  The second film, released nine years later, catches up to the same characters later in life.  They are at that time where they are now old enough to have some experience under their belt.  Yet not so old for it to be too late to change their life trajectories.  The final film (unless he decides to make more), shows us the same couple another nine years after the second meeting.  Whereas the first film was all about romance and potential.  The third film is all about reality and, to a certain degree, regret.  It is still very much a love story.  But one rooted in what it feels like not to fall in love, but to actually be in love.  With all the ups and downs that come along the way.  

I should say that I'm actually not the biggest fan of sequels in general.  For me, the greatest thing about filmmaking is the ability to tell an original story.  It’s the opportunity for an audience to walk into a theatre and see something they’ve never seen before.  So sequels, which are, by definition, based on something else, more often than not seem to suffer from a lack of originality.  They are usually treated as just money making exercises.  A way to capitalize monetarily on pre-existing goodwill from the first film.  They tend not to take too many risks and more or less just give us more of the same with just enough alterations to think we are seeing something different.  What I love about all three trilogies that I’ve discussed so far is that they each presented ongoing narratives worth telling.  When Linklater returns to the Before series, for example, those characters are at different points in their lives.  Even if their plots were to be the same, which they aren’t, the characters would experience those plot points differently because they’ve matured as people.  They aren’t the same human beings in part three that they were in part one.  Life has happened.  And this new chapter of their story is equally worth telling.

The brilliance of Kieslowski’s Three Colors trilogy is that the stories are all related, but, at the same time, they are not.  The film takes its color structure from the blue, white, and red of the French flag.  The exact meaning of those colors has changed over time, but since the French Revolution have often been said to equate to liberty, equality, and fraternity.  Much like the ten films in Kieslowski’s foundational work, The Decalogue, don’t necessarily equate 1 to 1 with biblical commandments but are related, so too are the films in the Three Colors trilogy loosely related to these principles.

In the first film, set in France, Juliette Binoche’s character is free for the first time in while following the death of her famous composer husband.  The new widow is trying to navigate the new outlines of her life while still dealing with a number of unresolved issues from her marriage.  

The second film, White, is the most comedic.  Ironically, it also stars Julie Delpy, star of the Before series, as the object of affection for the film's hero, Karol Karol, played by Zbigniew Zamachowski.  As that film opens, the dynamic of the couple is anything but equal.  Delpy’s character is suing Karol Karol for divorce, and it is clear that the desire to separate is decidedly one sided.  This leads to one of my favorite scenes in film history where the Polish Karol Karol, who speaks very little French, is forced to sit in a courtroom for an excruciatingly long time to hear the response to a basic question.  Does his wife love him anymore?  This would be a hard response to wait for to begin with.  To have to wait for it while, at the same time, being funneled through an interpreter must be unbearable.  The bulk of White, which takes place largely in Poland, is essentially a tale of a man trying to win back equality in the relationship through one elaborate ruse after another.

The final film, Red, stars Kieslowski favorite Iréne Jacob as a model who befriends an aging judge after finding his dog in the street.  If Blue is drama and White is comedy, Red is somewhat closer to suspense.  I almost want to say thriller, but it’s definitely not that.  You’re not going to see any gunshots or sudden car chases.  Rather it's a story about the budding of this new relationship as we simultaneously learn things about the mysterious judge and some of his idiosyncratic behavior that help to reveal deeper meanings.  Like all great Kieslowski work, the film is filled with side characters and little moments that are open to audience interpretation.  This allows us to not only enjoy the basic plot of each film but also to leave the movie theatre and continue to think about it on the way home as our brains try to work out all the little intricate pieces.

And I think that’s where the genius of Kieslowski lies.  He was a big thinker.  And he presents ideas on screen that not only apply to the film we are watching but to larger questions of morality that we could potentially face in real life.  Is the judge in Red an ethical man?  What was the real basis of Karol Karol’s relationship with his wife?  Were they ever truly equal?  Is too much freedom, as in the case of Blue, a good thing?  Or can excess freedom lead to even more suffering?

Kieslowski teases such questions without ever answering them.  His goal isn’t to present a morality play.  His goal is to raise certain questions that you might not have considered and observe to complexity.  I frequently find myself reflecting on the question he poses in episode 2 of The Decalogue.  In that film, a woman’s husband falls into a coma as the result of an accident.  She goes to the husband’s doctor and asks if her husband will live or if the husband will die.  The doctor, of course, has no idea.  He can’t say for sure.  But when the woman persists, we learn that she is pregnant.  And the father of the child is not her husband.  If her husband is going to live, the woman is going to have an abortion so that he never knows.  If the husband is going to die, she’s going to keep the baby.  Now, the doctor, a deeply religious man, has a dilemma.  Do you lie and say you know the husband will die to save the life of the child?  Or do you tell the truth, that he will live, and risk convincing the mother to abort the child?  Both lying and killing are immoral.  But how do we go about assigning value to one moral versus another?  How do we go about choosing between the lesser of the two evils?

I recently had the great pleasure of seeing the entire Three Color trilogy on the big screen courtesy of The American Cinematheque here in Los Angeles.  Now, even for a cinephile like myself, sitting in a sold out theatre for six hours straight watching the films back to back to back was a physical feat.  But it simply confirmed for me how I’ve always viewed the films.  Whenever referring to the Three Colors trilogy, I always find myself thinking of all three films as really one long film.  I have my favorite.  White.  It’s just so funny and the lead is so memorable that it’s the one I most enjoy.  But, I always rewatch all three together.  Because they are really all of one piece.  You can’t fully understand one without the other two.  And there are recurring characters and visual motives that connect the films that make more sense when considered as parts of a whole.  Because of this, it’s a series that rewards the viewers for repeated viewing.  There’s no way you’ll catch everything the first time around.  So revisiting the series periodically leads to uncovering more clues and provides more questions in need of answers.

And this is the reason why I’d argue that the Three Colors trilogy could be considered as the greatest trilogy of all time.  Each film is a masterpiece of its own, but collectively they are greater than the sum of their parts.  The films build off of each other to tell a complete story without becoming self referential.  Each has its own distinct reason to exist and none of the three suffer by comparison.

Technically, the films are what I call subtly stunning.  The frames make no effort to overpower you.  But his considered compositions and unique use of lighting to both give each film its own visual signature while also tying the three together is a rather deft sleight of hand.  The performances are particularly good.  And there is a fearlessness in the filmmaking that lets you know that you are watching something not quite like anything you’ve seen before. 

Now, to be fair, I am a huge Kieslowski fan.  Very little of what he did as a director wasn’t, at the very least, interesting and thought provoking.  His films offer so much to the cinematic language that a study of his work is truly required viewing for anyone hoping to understand the broader concepts and ideas it’s capable to contain within a film framework.  And his Three Colors trilogy is the culmination of all those talents into a true masterwork.

We lost him too soon.  But, thankfully, his art lives on.  And the questions his films pose are still as vibrant now as when he first suggested them.