‘START’ & What Then? The Lost Works of a Pioneering Film Collective |Poland 1939: Interrupted Country

‘START’ & What Then? The Lost Works of a Pioneering Film Collective

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‘START’ & What Then?
The Lost Works of a Pioneering Film Collective

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A still from the film ‘Strachy’ (Fears), directed by Eugeniusz Cękalski, 1938, photo: www.audiovis.nac.gov.pl (NAC)

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September 1939, Warsaw under siege. One of the first artillery shells hit the building at the corner of Polna and 6 Sierpnia streets. On the fifth floor, lived the camera operator Stanisław Wohl. Highly flammable, the tapes he had collected exploded like fireworks. That day in that apartment saw the destruction of most of the accomplishments of the START Association of Artistic Film Amateurs.

In the 1930s, its members were the rebellious youth of the Polish cinema, the independent enthusiasts who wanted to liberate cinematography from ‘the grasp of business’. After the war, (almost) all of them became the most influential figures in the cinema emerging from the ruins in an altogether different Poland. Paradoxically, their lost works helped them to create their legend and build their position.

The worldview of young lunatics

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The START Association of Art Film Lovers, among those pictured:: Eugeniusz Cękalski, Jerzy Zarzycki & Marta Flantz

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photo: Filmoteka Narodowa / www.fototeka.fn.org.pl

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In the Warsaw cafés of 1930, popular among the cultural elites, one question was often repeated: ‘Are you in the business, sir?’ (‘Sir’ because 99% of those ‘in the business’ were men).

In this case, ‘the business’ meant the film industry and men in the business shared a certain conviction, best expressed by the head of Sfinks, a leading film studio:

Those who believe that we should make artistic movies are madmen […] And those who claim that you could make artistic movies in Poland are simply daydreamers with their heads in the sky.

The heroes of this story thought otherwise: they believed that film should be artistic and (socially) useful.

The 1930 Warsaw population of one million people had 57 cinemas that could hold more than 30,000 viewers together at the same time. No mean number, but they were dominated by foreign productions. Polish ones were usually trash, as a young member of START would say. They referred to contemporary cinema as ‘the film dump’ or ‘worthless nonsense unrelated to life’. Years later, Wanda Jakubowska expressed this with panache:

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We considered that cinema as the bottom of the bottom. Most of these movies were about a noble damsel harassed by a repulsive Bolshevik with a knife in his teeth and a brave soldier always had to rescue her at the very last moment. As 19 and 20 year olds, we considered those movies to be poorly made and that they were stupefying the audience.

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In 1930, Wanda was 23. She studied art history and attended theatre school. At the time, there was still no higher school for cinematography in Poland.

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Eugeniusz Cękalski, 1933, photo: www.audiovis.nac.gov.pl (NAC)

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‘The crowd’s getting bigger, everybody brings what they’ve got – a poem, a song, ears for listening, a mouth stretched out in a smile.’ The air was thick with smoke from cigarettes and pipes, while white wine and coffee were drunk with gus

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Poster for a discussion evening held by the START Art Film Lovers’ Association, photo: Filmoteka Narodowa

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A discussion club for amateurs & militants

They tried to register a Society for the Propaganda of Artistic Film, but this name was rejected by the authorities. So they settled for the more neutral ‘amateurs’.

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Poster for a discussion evening held by the START Art Film Lovers’ Association, 1932, photo: Filmoteka Narodowa

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Jakubowska later said that ‘Gienek was the heart and soul of the whole thing’, but among START’s founders there were also:

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Stanisław Wohl, 1933, photo: www.audiovis.nac.gov.pl (NAC)

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The Themersons, or an urge to create visions

Many years later, Franciszka said: ‘He was just like me, crazy about movies.’ His love of cinema did not stop Stefan from coldly assessing the condition of Polish film market: ‘The diff

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Franciszka Themerson, photograph from their family archive 1906-1962, photo: Polona National Library

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They filmed Apteka (The Pharmacy), a ground-breaking movie in the history of Polish avant-garde) in their kitchen (they always remained faithful to the ‘Do It Yourself’ ethos: ‘At Złota Street, we had a studio in a small r

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Franciszka & Stefan Themerson, Warsaw, 1930s, photo from their family archive 1906-1962, photo: Polona National Library

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The Themersons’ first encounter with the startowcy apparently did not go very well:

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Franciszka & Stefan Themerson, Warsaw, 1930s, photo from their family archive 1906-1962, photo: Polona National Library

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Their second movie, Europa, was met with much more enthusiasm.

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A collage by Stefan Themerson, 1931, from the family archive, photo: Polona National Library

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However, it was voices like this that prevailed:

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A collage by Stefan Themerson, 1930s, from the family archive, photo: Polona National Library

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A collage by Stefan Themerson, photographic album from the family archive, circa 1930-1950

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photo: Polona National Library

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The Circle co-operative

Years later, Stefan Themerson said that their knowledge of great works of foreign avant-garde cinema left much to be desired: ‘We didn’t really see any movies before 1937, when we brought some of them for a screening in Warsaw.’

Their circle often discussed movies which they only knew from descriptions. Importing Western films was expensive and Warsaw movie theatre owners preferred to invest in things that would bring them profits. Soviet productions were rejected for political reasons.

Attending START’s film mornings started to be seen as something refined among Warsaw’s cultural elites. Over the course of three years, the association organised almost 70 events attended by around 12,000 people. Lists of members regularly paying their dues include Wanda Telakowska and Marian Eile. The former was a graphic designer who created the Institute of Industrial Design after the war, while the latter became the creator and editor in chief of cult weekly Przekrój.

In total, the association was joined by 240 people – a third of them were women, which might not be impressive today, but in the context of the era’s highly masculinised film industry, START stood out in a positive way. According to Jerzy Bossak, who tried to create a branch of the association in Łódź, it attracted ‘progressives of every kind’.

They also tried to reach different audiences. One of the members of the association, Aleksander Minorski, conducted some informal research in which he asked representatives of various social groups (such as orthodox Jews, newspaper vendors and the unemployed) what kind of films they would like to see. In working class neighbourhoods, they also organised private screenings of Soviet films banned by the censorship, which brought them the attention of the police.

Years later, they claimed that it was political engagement that brought them financial troubles. But the real reason may have been a lot simpler. As Jerzy Toeplitz admitted, ‘paying municipal taxes was highly inconvenient for them’. The association disbanded in 1933, but the paths of its founders did not actually diverge.

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Aleksander Ford on the set of 'Legion of the Streets', directed by Alexander Ford, 1932, photo: Filmoteka Narodowa / www.fototeka.fn.org.pl

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Sometime during the end of their activities, the group was joined by Aleksander Ford. The 20-something year old had just filmed Legion Ulicy (Legion of the Streets) which was said to be a revolution in Polish cinema. The readers of Kino (Cinema) magazine awarded it the golden medal for best Polish production of 1932. According to the reviewers, Ford managed to avoid all the cardinal sins of Polish filmmaking:

Not a single policeman or soldier, no cabaret, no war, no noblemen sham. Not a single star. The street and the people of the street – the newspaper vendors.

Ford also made a few warmly received short documentaries: Nad Ranem (In the Morning), a realistic portrait of Warsaw streets at dawn, and Tętno Polskiego Manchesteru (The Pulse of the Polish Manchester) about the workers from his hometown Łódź (according to one review, ‘he poetically summarised regret and a protest. A protest against the reduction of man to a mere machine’.). It is not difficult to guess that he easily found a common ground with the startowcy.

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A still from the film ‘Legion of the Streets’, directed by Alexander Ford, 1932

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photo: www.audiovis.nac.gov.pl (NAC)

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Still from the film ‘Legion of the Streets’, pictured: Zofia Mirska as Jaśka & Stefan Rogulski as Józek

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photo: www.audiovis.nac.gov.pl (NAC)

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Before ‘Legion of the Streets’, Alexander Ford made one other feature-length film, ‘Mascotte’. However, the film passed by without much notice. One reviewer wrote:

‘The attention is drawn to the visual side of the film. It seems that Alexander Ford, making his full-length debut, tried everything here. He placed the camera wherever he could. He also placed it where it couldn’t be placed. As a result, we have the first shot in cinema history from the point of view of a ball on a roulette table. Let’s hope it’s also the last.‘

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A still from the film 'Mascotte', 1930, pictured: Ina Adrian & Jerzy Dal-Atan, photo: www.audiovis.nac.gov.pl (NAC)

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A still from the film ‘Mascotte’, 1930, pictured: Jerzy Dal-Atan & the ballet group Tacjan Girls

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photo: www.audiovis.nac.gov.pl (NAC)

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In 1932, Alexander Ford travelled to Palestine, where he made the film Sabra. The film tells the story of Jewish settlers from Poland, struggling with the hardships of colonising desert areas and the ensuing conflict between them and the Arab population. The film features actors from the Habima Jewish theatre from Tel Aviv.

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Still from the film 'Sabra', 1933, photo: www.audiovis.nac.gov.pl (NAC)

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Still from the film ‘Sabra’, 1933

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photo: www.audiovis.nac.gov.pl (NAC)

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Together, they created the ‘Krąg’ (The Circle) co-operative. They managed to receive organisational and financial support from the esteemed theatre director and actor Aleksander Zelwerowicz. They planned to adapt the prominent novel Czarne Skrzydła (Black Wings) by Juliusz Kaden-Bandrowski for the screen. The author used an authentic story about an accident in the Reden mine in Dąbrowa Górnicza as a backdrop for a depiction of the social conflicts happening in Śląsk. After an evaluation of the script, the local government in Katowice blocked the production of the movie by arguing it was too radical.

The co-operative went out of business, but these film lovers didn’t give up. They became highly appreciated for their shorts and benefited from a boom for such movies. It all started with a law that awarded a 20% tax relief to cinema owners who showed a Polish short before the main screening. Cękalski was particularly successful in this field and his shorts were regarded as exemplary of the newest trends in artistic cinema.

It didn’t cost much to take a camera to the streets and it gave the artists a realist and innovative air. After the war, the Italian neorealists did the same thing for the same reasons. The startowcy proclaimed ‘a holy war against the Polish Telegraphic Agency’, a monopolist in the short film industry, which filled 30,000 metres of film every year. They wanted to film their own newsreels, ones that would be closer to everyday life. As Jakubowska put it:

The newsreels were full of funerals, grand openings, flag ceremonies, diplomatic hunts, etc. We claimed that there are other, more interesting things to be shown, such as Warsaw’s parks in the autumn, Kercelak [an enormous marketplace – ed.], maybe horse races. […] We tried to show images that could recreate life and scenes in an almost ‘live’ way.

They made experiments, with various levels of success. Stanisław Wohl discussed a short called Morze (The Sea) which he filmed together with Wanda Jakubowska and Jerzy Zarzycki: ‘The main idea behind the movie was supposed to be a parallel between the sea waves violently crashing onto the shore and wild animals, most importantly a tiger pouncing on its prey. Unfortunately, nothing came of it. The tiger was locked in a cage and we couldn’t find any similarity between it and the waves.‘

But it was not a complete waste of time. As Wohl said: ‘I lived off that piece of film for a long time by selling sunrises and sunsets to many other movies for 20 złoty per metre of film.‘

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A photogram by Stefan Themerson, Editions Ottezec, 1983, London, photo: Polona National Library

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They filmed a lot of commissioned works, especially when clients gave them freedom. This way, they managed to bring the idea of ‘socially useful cinema’ to life. That’s how they made the urbanist movie Budujemy (We Are Building) commissioned for the first anniversary of the Warsaw Housing Co-operative, which constructed modernist neighbourhoods of cheap apartments for workers and poor intelligentsia. Similarly with Gore (It’s Burning), a film about fire hazards created for the Polish Insurance Company.

The Themersons also made two productions of this kind, both received enthusiastically. Zwarcie (Short-Circuit), created for the Institute of Social Affairs, warned against the careless use of electricity. Its score was composed by Witold Lutosławski. Another film, Drobiazg Melodyjny (Melodious Trifle) was a three-minute-long commercial for the accessory-making company of Wanda Golińska. This was their first non-silent movie – things overexposed using their favourite technique glittered to the rhythm of Ravel’s music. A reviewer from Wiadomości Literackie (Literary News) marvelled that ‘alligator skin is shining, the quarrelsome horse is prancing and the glass vase is daydreaming lyrically’. Jerzy Toeplitz said: ‘This film trifle is the only unquestionably positive thing in Poland’s entire cinematic output in the years 1933-1934.‘

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A still from Franciszka & Stefan Themerson’s film ‘A Melodious Trifle’, 1933, reprinted by Editions Ottezec, 1983, London, photo: Polona National Library

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A film co-operative

Stanisław Wohl wrote:

After the year 1935, when we really wanted to make feature films, […] there was a time when we made up with the part of the business that had ambitions.

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A still from the film ‘Strachy’ directed by Eugeniusz Cękalski, 1938, photo: www.audiovis.nac.gov.pl (NAC)

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Sensationalism and cheap thrills will have to make room for social uses of the great invention that is cinema. […] Not looking back at the film industry […] we are trying to fulfil the ideals of the new cinema avant-garde.

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A still from the film ‘Strachy’ directed by Eugeniusz Cękalski, 1938, pictured: Hanna Karwowska as Teresa Sikorzanka with her dog (probably a Welsh terrier), photo: www.audiovis.nac.gov.pl (NAC)

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‘This film will be remembered for an eternity in Polish cinematography. Suddenly, it turns out that not only can a good film be made here, but also that all the conditions are in place for it to be made, that there is already a place for it, that its style has already been defined. This style is not an accident, it is not a lottery win, it is closely related to many years of attempts and efforts by the Polish film avant-garde, the very avant-garde that has always been surrounded by disbelief and whose short film achievements were always met with an indulgent shrug of the shoulders: nothing will come of it.‘

Stefania Zahorska, ‘Finally a Polish film: “Strachy”‘, Literary News, 1938, no 47

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A still from the film 'Strachy' directed by Eugeniusz Cękalski, 1938, pictured: Georg Groke, photo: www.audiovis.nac.gov.pl (NAC)

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Actresses on the set of ‘Strachy’ directed by Eugeniusz Cękalski, 1938

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photo: www.audiovis.nac.gov.pl (NAC)

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‘A gamma of delight accompanied the first screening of the already censored film People of the Vistula. Experts unanimously hailed the creation of People of the Vistula as an event in the history of Polish film culture. “Thanks to this,” they said at the screening, “we have crossed the boundaries which had hitherto separated Polish film from the best production models. The subject matter, the background, the acting and finally the directing in compact and perfect harmony have pushed aside shallowness and banality.” “With this film we have boldly entered the forum of European cinematography”, declared the press representatives present. “The artistic success of ‘Ludzie Wisły’ guarantees success at the box office for cinemas,” echoed the representatives of Poland’s biggest cinemas present at the screening.‘

‘”People of the Vistula” – Event of the day’, Film magazine, 1937, no 9-10.

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A still from the film 'Ludzie Wisły' (People of the Vistula River), directed by Aleksander Ford, 1937, pictured: Marian Trojan as Petty Officer Hajnus, in the background Kazimierz Gella as Skipper Firlus, photo: www.audiovis.nac.gov.pl (NAC)

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Still from the film ‘People of the Vistula’, directed by Alexander Ford, 1937, pictured: Ina Benita as Anna, Julcia’s sister

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photo: www.audiovis.nac.gov.pl (NAC)

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Still from the film ‘People of the Vistula’, directed by Alexander Ford, 1937, pictured: Ina Benita

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photo: www.audiovis.nac.gov.pl (NAC)

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Strachy is a breakthrough moment for the heroes of this story. As Wohl remembered it: ‘After Strachy, which received good press, we became recognised as people worthy of trust, as people who had mastered the filmmaking profession.‘

What followed was a series of debuts that never took place. September 1939 was supposed to see a release of Wanda Jakubowska’s feature film debut. The production was unusual for the co-operative: a cast full of stars, a decent budget guaranteed by a private producer and, to top it all off, a screenplay based on a classic novel (On the Niemen by Eliza Orzeszkowa). In an interview that took place almost 50 years later, Jakubowska suggested that it was the experience of Czarne Skrzydła that convinced her to start with a more neutral subject.

As far as we know from people’s stories, the filmmakers settled for realism: they shot the film in the Grodno region, where the novel was born and they found places and people that served as an inspiration for Orzeszkowa. They collected stories (which confirmed the authenticity of the novel’s plot) and browsed through old photo albums. The costume designer Jan Marcin Szancer ‘went through every possible attic in these backwoods, taking traditional clothing and designing costumes based on these authentic pieces.‘

The screenplay was written by Jerzy Iwaszkiewicz, who was also one of the last people to see the movie – the director himself did not get the chance to watch the whole cut. The premiere was scheduled for 5th September 1939 in the largest Warsaw cinema, the Colosseum. Reportedly, some people even tried to attend, but it was impossible to screen the movie: at the time, bombs had been falling on Warsaw for the past few days and cinemas were turned into shelters for refugees and displaced people. The resistance is said to have hidden copies of the film in the basements of some houses in the Żoliborz neighbourhood, but they were never found after the war.

The outbreak of the war interrupted the production of Antoni Bohdziewicz’s debut film, an adaptation of Michał Choromański’s psychological novel Zazdrość i Medycyna (Jealousy and Medicine). Jerzy Zarzycki managed to finish shooting his debut vaudeville Żołnierz Królowej Madagaskaru (The Soldier of the Queen of Madagascar), but it was edited by the employees of the Nazi Film-Propaganda Abteilung, who did not follow Zarzycki’s creative vision. Nobody asked the director for his permission and the film was screened in the occupied country while the Polish resistance boycotted German cinemas. Zarzycki would make the film again, 20 years later.

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Wanda Jakubowska recalled: ‘We took pictures on the Niemen River, in the authentic Bohatyrowicze (because that was the name of this hamlet, slightly changed by Orzeszkowa). The man who was the prototype of Jan was still alive. He said to me: “Oh, here on this bench sat Mrs Eliza”. A wonderful old man, tall and thin. The entire homestead was described very accurately by Orzeszkowa. The only memento I have left of this film is the announcement of its premiere in the magazine Ace.‘

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Still from 'On the Niemen', directed by Karol Szołowski & Wanda Jakubowska, 1939, photo: Aleksander Leszczyński / Filmoteka Narodowa / www.fototeka.fn.org.pl

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Jan Marcin Szancer: ‘We have to admit that Wanda as a director was merciless, but when we saw the pictures on the screen during the review, we were blown away. It was really beautiful. At least, that’s what I thought.‘

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Still from 'On the Niemen', directed by Karol Szołowski & Wanda Jakubowska, 1939, photo: Aleksander Leszczyński / Filmoteka Narodowa / www.fototeka.fn.org.pl

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The Nazi German occupiers also liked the film. They decided to re-edit the film and put in an appropriate dialogue track to make a propaganda film about German colonists oppressed by Poles in East Prussia. The director of the Falanga studio informed the filmmakers about the plan, upon which they decided to hide the reels immediately. The copies, divided into three parts, were walled up somewhere in the cellars of the Żoliborz district. They have not been found to this day.

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Still from 'On the Niemen', directed by Karol Szołowski & Wanda Jakubowska, 1939, photo: www.audiovis.nac.gov.pl (NAC)

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The war

Their wartime fates and post-war choices are something of a synthesis of the Polish experience of this moment in history, but on a microscopic scale.

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Stefan Themerson in the uniform of the Polish Armed Forces, photo album from the family archive, 1930-1950, photo: Polona National Library

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A still from ‘The Eye and The Ear’ by Franciszka and Stefan Themerson, 1944

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Stefan Themerson, Editions Ottezec, 1983, London, photo: Polona National Library

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A still from ‘The Eye and The Ear’ by Franciszka and Stefan Themerson, 1944

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Stefan Themerson, Editions Ottezec, 1983, London, photo: Polona National Library

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In Poland, there operated an underground Department of Photo and Film associated with the Bureau of Information and Propaganda of the Headquarters of Home Army.

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Film "Powstanie Warszawskie" - zwiastun | "Warsaw Rising" film - trailer

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Meanwhile, Wanda Jakubowska was allocated camp number 43513 in Auschwitz. During the first years of the war, she had been part of the socialist resistance in Żoliborz.

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Wanda Jakubowska on the set of the film ‘Ostatni Etap’ (The Last Stage), 1947, photo: Wojciech Urbanowicz / Studio Filmowe Kadr / Filmoteka Narodowa / www.fototeka.fn.org.pl

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Wanda Jakubowska: ‘My intention to make a film about Auschwitz, which I undertook when I entered its gates, was known to a large number of women. They brought me various pieces of information, told me about various events, shared their experiences and reflections. I took notes – obviously only in my memory, but I tried to remember as much as possible. In this way, I collected a huge amount of documentation. “It must not be forgotten” and “the world must know about it”. This was the leitmotif of all the prisoners’ lives. Yes, there are a lot of books coming out about the camp and all this is supposedly known – and yet unknown. The truth about the camp is indescribable and impossible to convey, because it does not fit into the dimensions of human imagination.‘

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Still from the film 'Ostatni Etap' (The Last Stage), directed by Wanda Jakubowska, 1947, photo: Wojciech Urbanowicz / Studio Filmowe Kadr / Filmoteka Narodowa / www.fototeka.fn.org.pl

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Wanda Jakubowska: ‘When I did The Last Stage everything was still very fresh, untouched. There were well-preserved material traces, except that instead of mud, a lot of flowers had grown there. Saucer-sized marguerites covered soil fertilised by blood and ashes. In our memory, too, everything was fresh.‘

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Still from the film 'Ostatni Etap' (The Last Stage), directed by Wanda Jakubowska, 1947, photo: Wojciech Urbanowicz / Studio Filmowe Kadr / Filmoteka Narodowa / www.fototeka.fn.org.pl

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Some prominent startowcy ended up in the USSR. In Moscow, they were assigned to organise the Film Spearhead of the Polish Army which was formed under the Red Army. They received their own service jeep and military ranks: Lieutenant Colonel Ford, Major Wohl and Captain Bossak.

Travelling with the frontline, they move west and reach Poland. In Lublin, they take over the villa of Otto Globocnik, a highly ranked war criminal and the head of the SS and police in the Lublin district. They turned it into an atelier. Jerzy Bossak said proudly that ‘in 1944, there was no production company as primitive as this one […]‘. Under makeshift conditions, they created the first Polish post-war film and world’s first film on the Holocaust: Majdanek, Cmentarzysko Europy (Majdanek, the Cemetery of Europe). Wohl recounted it this way: ‘We arrived there literally a few minutes after the Germans escaped. There were partly burned corpses smouldering in the crematoria, exhausted Musselmanns crawled on the ground and the prisoners wanted to greet us but did not have enough strength to raise their arms or shout.‘

On 18th January, a day after the Red Army and the First Polish Army entered Warsaw, they did some reconnaissance. They checked the former addresses of pre-war production companies. There was nothing there and it was even difficult to trace the former street grid among ruins. Finally, they found a trace of Warsaw’s pre-war film culture. Three rooms survived in the Falanga lab and there were broken spotlights lying on the floor.

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Plac Napoleona w Warszawie, 1947, fot. Edward Falkowski / CFK / Forum

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Napoleon Square and the Prudential skyscraper in the centre of Warsaw, 1947, photo: Edward Falkowski / CFK / Forum

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It was impossible to rebuild Polish cinema in the ruins of Warsaw, so they settled down in Łódź. Military trucks often left for Berlin, where in exchange for spirits, watches and reichsmarks, now worthless in Poland, the film enthusiasts purchased equipment.

They already proved themselves to the new authorities and did not have much competition: most of those previously in the business had either died or remained abroad. They also had connections: their wartime companions, but also some of their left-leaning pre-war friends, became the architects of the communist order in Poland. They were 30-something when they became the most important figures in Polish cinema.

Ford was the most successful as he became the head of the state-owned Film Polski (Polish Film) company. Jakubowska said: ‘To be honest, I knew two Fords. The pre-war one was my friend. The other was Mr Lieutenant-Colonel and we did not always see eye to eye.‘

In the new reality, they managed to bring three of their dreams to life: a film school (the Łódź Film School still educates a great number of excellent filmmakers), a film fund (in closed circulation, the money made by cinemas was spent on future movies, which guaranteed some independence in funding new productions) and the creation of film studios. They failed to achieve their most important goal: to create a co-operative cinema. Film production became nationalised.

In Stalinist Poland, the authorities interfered with the creative process to a greater extent than the pre-war producers. During the first decade after the war, every fifth movie was shelved for not meeting their expectations.

The Themersons stayed in London. They did not return to making movies, but they remained extremely active as artists. According to Stefan:

[…] Stasio Wohl and Toeplitz visited us in London in 1945 with an appeal to come back to Poland and help ‘rebuild’ the cinema industry. I remember asking whether we could make movies like we did before (meaning, the kind of movies we can make). Their answer was a no, so I declined as well.

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Stefan Themerson making art, circa 1906-1962, photo: Biblioteka Narodowa Polona

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Cękalski returned to the country and became the head of the Directing Department in Łódź. He made two movies that conformed to the socialist realist doctrine. He died in 1952.

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Mir Kumen On (1936)

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In 2019 though, there was a slight twist in this tale: the original Europa was recovered by the Pilecki Institute and the Themersons’ niece Jasia Reichardt from Berlin’s Bundesarchiv, where it had haphazardly ended up in the 1990s after changing hands across the communist world’s archives. It was given its first screening in over eight decades in October 2021 at London’s BFI, newly restored by Fixafilm and with a new score by Dutch composer Lodewijk Muns.

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To watch Europa in all its vitality is a reminder that the narrative of lostness that surrounds such films is less about the status or story of any individual text or image (although that, too, is materially important) and more about how we can reflect on and work to mend the severed cultural genealogy it represents. What if Europa’s warning had been heeded? What if the film – which faced the circulation challenges that still confront artists’ film and video, even in the digital era – had been more widely screened before it was expropriated? What connections might have been made? What resistance might have been actualised? What might have been continuity rather than memory?

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So Mayer, Frieze Magazine, January 2022

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Originally written in Polish, September 2019, translated by MW, October 2019; additions by AZ, March 2022

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