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.

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