"Life gets boring."
Knife in the Water came out of nowhere (a.k.a. Poland) in 1962 to take the international art house scene by storm, earning that nation's first Academy Award nomination of any sort, landing on the cover of TIME magazine and instantly establishing first-time feature director Roman Polanski as a noteworthy force to be reckoned with by all those interested in tracking new directions in the development of cinema. His minimalist, psychologically intense and claustrophobic character study of a couple's strained relationship and divergent response to the stimulus of a random stranger interjected into their lives hit squarely on resonant themes of middle-class disenchantment, the coming of age of a young, entitled generation and an increasing candor in regard to marital tensions and infidelities from both the female and the male perspective. Building upon the rigorous foundation established in contemporary precursors like Bergman's Through a Glass Darkly (with its small cast and chamber drama atmosphere) and Antonioni's L'avventura (with its pivotal sailing expedition and an ambiguous, existentially bleak conclusion), Polanski was able to adequately match both of those veteran masters in his directorial debut and even extend the game a bit further by speaking directly from the vantage point of that younger generation. He was just entering his late 20s when Knife in the Water marked his big leap from the experimental, somewhat surrealistic short films gathered on Disc 2 of Criterion's DVD release on to a much larger stage. (The early career compilation reminded me, somewhat unexpectedly, of the similar collegiate apprenticeship anthology I found earlier this year in Criterion's release of Lena Dunham's Tiny Furniture.) And as his track record shows, it was only the first of many high-risk, hazardous leaps that Polanski's made over the course of the fifty years that have followed.
Going by the reviews I've read, the standard take on Knife in the Water focuses mainly on the rivalry that develops between wealthy middle-aged businessman Andzrej and a young, unnamed hitchhiker who's invited to join an overnight passage on the sailboat owned by Andrzej and his wife Krystyna. Her age falls somewhere in between that of the two men, though it probably lands closer to the hitcher's than to her husbands. Given Krystyna's physical attractiveness and erotic desirability (which gradually unfolds over the course of the film), it's no surprise to see each man put some effort into one-upping his challenger, using whatever assets of virility, wit, knowledge or life experience they have at their disposal in order to both impress their female admirer and bolster their own sense of potency. The male (well, actually human) need to find gratification through whatever means are at hand, even if it requires the humiliation of others to make ourselves look better, is shrewdly dissected here by Polanski and his fellow screenwriters Jerzy Skolimowski and Jakub Goldberg. Any man who has ever found himself in some variation of a pissing match with another guy to impress a romantically available onlooker can pretty easily relate to antics that Andrzej and the hitcher resort to in making their case.
But I prefer to step back just a bit further and look at the bigger picture, focusing on the element of unnecessary risk that people often inject into their lives in order to pursue some objective that eludes a clear or rational explanation. Whether borne of ennui or alienation (so fashionable an affectation in 1962 and in many circles ever since) or rawer carnal urges, the human propensity toward recklessness and provocation for the sake of... what, exactly?... seems to me a more fitting topic of contemplation than the mano a mano gyrations that take place on the yacht Christina over the course of a summer's day and night. From the moment that Andrzej grabs the steering wheel while Krystyna is driving to the dock where the boat named after her is moored, nothing of any consequence happens that can't be construed as an avoidable risk, a gamble that puts peace, contentment and serenity on the line in order to prove some kind of point that, viewed a bit more objectively, wouldn't really prove anything at all. Every ingredient for Andrzej and Krystyna to enjoy a pleasant, tranquil excursion out on the water is in place, but somehow, that's just not quite enough to hold their interest. Instead, after losing a game of chicken with the young man standing in the middle of the road, Andrzej loses his cool. In a momentary snap of road rage, he takes on an extra passenger, mostly to spite his wife, intuitively aware of the threat that a sharp, gangly teenager poses to a marital relationship apparently grown stale. No extra deck hand is needed - the couple are easily capable of handling the boat, and the hitcher's lack of familiarity with nautical vessels makes him more likely to just get in the way. Despite the strong potential for menace or mischief that comes from including the hitchhiker in their outing, there's some ineluctable attraction that compels Andrzej to practically insist that he come aboard. How often it is that we similarly press ourselves, and by extension our loved ones, into dangerous territory for the sake of a gratuitous ego stroke, when prudence and common sense tell us to leave well enough alone...
Note that I'm not decrying this practice or in any way proclaiming myself as some kind of exception to the rule. I'm just an observer, noting the propensity for getting ourselves in trouble through impulsive, half-thought through behaviors that has clearly settled in as an occupational hazard of being alive.
Polanski's film making technique, as much as the story and interpersonal dynamics of his scenarios, deserves equal credit for the sensation that Knife in the Water created. It's easy to take for granted the challenges associated with shooting this film within the limited confinement of a 30-something foot sailboat. The cramped quarters necessitated some incredible looking shots - crazy high and low angle perspectives, massive close-ups with deep focus subjects in the background - that must create powerful, even overwhelming impressions on the big screen. Shots of the sailboat Christina being pulled through a marshy wetland feature grasses and twigs thrust directly into the lens, reminiscent of Mikhail Kalatozov's similar technique used in The Cranes are Flying and Letter Never Sent. Faces and bodies are often cropped in ways that were still very unconventional back then, focusing attention on torsos and limbs to a degree once considered provocative and arousing, though we've become so accustomed to seeing such tight closeups on breasts, midsections, groins and thighs since then.
The middle segment of the film is largely dedicated to explicating the rivalry between Andrzej and the hitcher, allowing us to understand and appreciate each man's abilities and relative merits when compared to the other. The assumption gradually settles in that Krystyna is also doing her own assessment, evaluating each man's response to a debacle involving a hot soup pan, quietly calculating whether or not the unexplored potential of this handsome young man is sufficiently alluring to serve as a replacement for the husband who clearly sees her as a being inferior to himself. The seductive chemistry is amplified by a breezy jazz soundtrack, which comes across as simply "cool" in today's terms but represented something truly subversive in the uptight Poland of 1962. Just as Polanski pushed the tolerance level of government censors in his day, Adrzej and Krystyna test their own limits by jumping into the water for a swim, leaving a complete novice at the helm. His inability to reliably steer the boat leads to a mildly frantic effort on the part of the couple to get back on board. Though they're strong swimmers, it's still hard to move fast enough to catch up to a boat cruising with a full sail. But they do manage to clamber back aboard, once more affirming their survival skills and convincing themselves of their ability to shake their fist at fate and emerge intact, if not exactly smiling about it.
Krystyna becomes sexier, more alluring as the trip continues, showing her own strength as she sheds her cat's eye glasses and the dowdy prim appearance that confined her natural beauty on the car ride and early portions of the outing. She turns out to be a robust, desirable woman as her hair hangs free and she exerts herself to successfully hold course as the wind picks up speed and allows for the freest flight across the waters that we see in the course of the film... until it abruptly runs aground. A brief cloudburst drenches them in rain. Suddenly the sun, wind and carefree sense of adventure seem remote and irretrievable.
With the rain, the action moves below deck, where Krystyna partially strips (never underestimate the drawing power of brief glimpses of nudity in helping art house films of this period establish their commercial foothold), the hitcher casts a few glances her way and gets caught. They drink a toast, practically an acknowledgement by Andrzej that his upstart passenger has managed to pass the audition so far and will be permitted to spar with the skipper for at least one more round, with an appropriate raising of the stakes to enhance the air of intrigue.
At this point, the competition takes on a more overtly game-like quality, as they turn on the radio to listen to a boxing match. The sportscaster calling the fight puts diagetic sound to good use, serving as a virtual commentary for the psychological blows each man is quietly trying to land on his opponent. A contest of jack straws (pick-up sticks) ensues, turning into something that might have wound up like strip poker if circumstances had unfolded a bit differently. As another round of drinks are poured, the hitcher gets preoccupied trying to swat a pesky buzzing fly. His large stilleto knife is produced, and the men take turns tossing it into a carving board across galley; by this point, the "biggest dick" metaphor is made glaringly obvious, to the degree that it becomes rather obsolete.
Krystyna's response to this vain strutting and foolishness is to sing a song of faded joyless love that's been on her mind through the day, as she's been humming it to herself. The lyrics (though not translated in the above clip, the body language says it all plainly enough) practically advertise her disenchantment and availability while her husband sits right there, distracted by the boxing match now playing only in one bud in his ear but seemingly occupying his full attention. The drinks keep on flowing, until the hitcher makes his last forfeit payment and suddenly falls asleep.
Night passes into the tranquility of a morning on the marsh. Rising early, Krystyna sits in calm repose, enjoying a smoke, joined soon thereafter by the hitcher, who woos her clumsily by blowing on a reed. Andrzej sleeps, content under the false assurance that the rest of his crew would sleep in alongside him. When he awakens, he quickly surmises what's going on, and at last we detect a note of weariness with the game that he, after all, initiated and has largely controlled up to this point.
Sensing that the time has come for a culminating move that, however it plays out, will at last break the tension, Andrzej makes his move. The hitcher's knife that Andrzej had quietly purloined earlier is produced and offered, teased, tossed and lost. The standoff snaps as the men finally come to blows. Easily manipulated by the boat's captain, as if he were no more than a toy, the hitcher is caught off guard, scooped up by the sail, riding the boom for a moment before he slips off the shaft and deck, slides into the water and is soon presumed drowned.
Rather than kicking the action up into a quick cutting, adrenalin charged moment of panic, Polanski instead presents the rescue attempt through a detached static shot - Andrzej's robe sleeve dominant in foreground while Krystyna, recognizing she's being put to a test but indifferent now to the grade her examiner may award for her effort, swims toward the buoy looking for the hitcher, who somewhat incredibly (upon first watch) keeps himself submerged and hidden until the couple returns to Andrzej's boat.
Under a severe threat of criminal charges and prosecution about to disrupt their comfortable, convenient lives, we see an intense closeup of Krystyna as she accuses her despised husband of murder and allows her long-suppressed contempt to spill over. Andrzej holds her down in a posture of rape, insulting her in return before abandoning the boat and returning to shore. More risky behavior, more heedless impulsivity, with no obvious reward or gratuity to clearly outweigh the dilemmas created by each of their actions.
Though his ruse has succeeded, the hitcher has nothing more to gain by perpetuating the con, so he makes his way back to the ship after recognizing that Andrzej is gone. He's surprised to see Krystyna naked as she gets dressed, certain that her privacy can't be intruded upon and taking advantage of the open air and opportunity to rest, unashamed. He ducks, hears her weeping, then embarks on a new conquest, seizing the moment in which his radical high stakes bet produced its most unlikely payoff - only to get slapped hard for his cowardice and deceit, which he attempts to cover up with lies.
Krystyna shreds the hitcher with her insightful assumptions about the wasted pointless life he leads, and she's accurate on all the main themes, if slightly off on a few details. Still, after venting her wrath and decompressing for a moment, she takes a liking to him, enough to fall into his kiss and embrace when its offered. The sex moves off camera, replaced by fluttering sail and tranquil sunset.
That's the true climax of the film (forgive the pun) but there's an afterword, as Krystyna and Andrzej reunite and negotiate a truce of denial and surface reconciliation. She reveals to him the truth of what happened, which he insists on receiving from her as a false report - better for his fragile conceited ego to believe that he drowned an innocent man than that his wife rescued and shacked up with a teenage hitchhiker on his own boat while he spent the morning waiting in the cool open air, locked out of his car and clad only in a swimsuit while he bided his time. In a bitter twist, the only actual crime that occurs, after all the intimations of conspiracy, kidnapping, murder and abandonment, is the petty theft of the car's windshield wipers, an easily preventable crime that happened only because of Andrzej's presumption that such a thing simply couldn't happen to him. The film ends with the hitcher melded back into the open road and landscape, nimbly skipping over a shaky platform of loose floating logs, while Andrzej and Krystyna sit fixated in their uncertainty at a crossroads intersection, unsure of which direction to head into next, even more uncertain as to whether it will make any difference either way. Plenty gambled, nothing gained.
Next: I fidanzati