Silent Love review: Polish docu-drama fosters hope in the face of discrimination
“You are simply alone as siblings,” is what Agnieszka is told quiet early in Silent Love, when she is interviewed in order to be deemed suitable to parent her teenage brother Miłosz, after the death of their mother.
Its a strikingly poignant statement delivered in a heartbeat, and one that instantly strikes at the core of this Polish docu-drama by director Marek Kozakiewicz. It premiered at the Slamdance Film Festival, where it won the Honourable Mention for Documentary Feature.
Silent Love, which was first intended to be just focused around how Agnieszka’s mother deals with the stages of cancer, focuses instead on the aftermath of her death. The scene sets itself like an independent narrative feature, where the real-life characters never confront the camera to position their thoughts, ideas and reflections. Director Marek Kozakiewicz, who is also credited here as the cinematographer and writer, handles the story with a deceptive eye for detail. As Agnieszka returns to her small town in Poland with her brother, the conflict begins to take shape. She dare not disclose to the conservative and homophobic authorities, as well as to Miłosz, that she is in a serious relationship with her girlfriend Majka. If she tries to, the strict LGBTQ+ laws of Poland will make sure that she loses custody of Milosz. “I can’t imagine not taking care of him,” she says.
When Majka returns to be with Agnieszka for some time, Silent Love tethers around the edges of a coming-of-age story interspersed within a generational family structure. The scenes with Miłosz in his traditional school dance rehearsals are uncommonly revealing, when he shows a certain sense of remove when instructed to be more masculine, and dance with a female partner. The subtext is built without the need for any repetition- Miłosz can feel the coldness as well as the toxicity to adhere to the strict hetero-normative rules in order to belong.
Kozakiewicz lets most of the film unfold as a set of small, languid moments set within the household. It provides the docu-drama with a rare sense of clarity about the lives of these individuals and how they respond to the more systemic control that dictates strict notions of livelihood. The scenes, which might seem carefully orchestrated, take a cinéma vérité approach to the coming-of-age story. This decision works tremendously, and gives Silent Love enough opportunity to breathe and blossom in an environment filled with acceptance and grace.
At home, Majka is keen on letting Miłosz realize the significance of a rainbow flag, when they see a group of LGBTQ+ people protesting against the homophobic laws on TV. Even if he wants to dismiss the conservative garbage that is so institutionalized, there are traces that still follow him in small instances. Some of the most moving moments of the film are between Majka and Miłosz, as they develop an playful bond with one another, playing football and cleaning the house. These fleeting moments of care and acceptance stand out in the reality of discrimination and hate that prevails. The love is silent, but the consequences of those invisible layers of discrimination and hate are deafening.
Silent Love is a small miracle of a film- grounded by its piercingly compassionate and hopeful gaze on one family that expands on a country at odds with itself. At no point does the lens feel intrusive and voyeuristic- their bodies and their choices are their own. It lets them be. Within a runtime of 72 minutes, director Marek Kozakiewicz injects Silent Love with uncompromising truths, that hides a brimming sense of ferocity and anger over its gentler, more sombre brush of a family potrait. By the end, you somehow feel included in the family, and wish to stay longer.