The Doll – Maciej Kawalski | #film

The Doll – Maciej Kawalski

This film is an adaptation in the truest sense of the word – there has never before been a film so faithful to the literary original and so driven by the ambition to adapt the entire novel. But does this fidelity not, by any chance, turn into subservience?

Maciej Kawalski’s adaptation is hardly the first of the classic novel by Bolesław Prus; the film actually comes out just over a week after the premiere of Netflix’s serial version. However, this latest film adaptation is sure to go down in history. Not only as one of the most eagerly awaited Polish films of the year, nor even as a grand, big-budget production made outside the framework of the Polish Film Institute or the festival circuit – led by the Gdynia Film Festival – but, let’s face it, adaptations are a difficult art form in Poland, and certainly a rare one.

This version also stands out for its ambitious fidelity to the original novel – perhaps comparable to Ryszard Ber’s adaptation (1977), though that was made possible by its nine-episode television series format. As the film’s producer, Radosław Drabik, pointedly remarked, the filmmakers’ intention was to consciously distance themselves from Wojciech Jerzy Has’s 1968 adaptation, which still sets the standard – after all, the great filmmaker was not so much interested in telling Prus’s story as in transplanting it into his own distinct, original universe.

Maciek Kawalski, the director of this 21st-century adaptation clearly sets his own ambitions aside, and in the screenplay written by himself, Piotr Sobociński Jr. and Łukasz Światowiec, Prus’s status as the author of the story is never undermined. This decision has its merits and, one has to admit, even displays a certain paradoxical courage in defying audience expectations. At the same time, however, it also entails problems which an adaptation so faithful to its literary source could hardly have avoided.

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Let’s begin with the ambivalent version of courage – ambivalent because it’s not connected to pushing the boundaries of cinema, but rather to a retreat into Prus’s own 19th-century idiom, resulting in a film that’s almost positivist in nature. At a time when we view the former ambition to provide a comprehensive account of social life, the belief in the possibility of a complete, exhaustive narrative, with a pinch of salt, and when we take it for granted that adaptations of classic works are always deeply imbued with a contemporary, updated and critical perspective – the prospect of a reading that is equally faithful to the text and a faithful adaptation, unafraid of tradition and of a noble yet somewhat comical old-fashionedness, actually has something refreshing about it.

And indeed, the only major plotline that Kawalski completely omitted is the story of Helena Stawska. In Prus’s novel, this woman, who is in love with main character Wokulski, also played a significant role in the ‘doll’ trial – arguably the only part of the book where we are given an unambiguous – though not necessarily correct! – clue as to the metaphorical meaning of the title. Given the length of the novel The Doll – around 1,000 pages, or well over 30 publishing sheets – this is a truly impressive achievement in the attempt to adapt the novel as fully as possible for the screen, a task which, it would seem, requires the screenwriter and editor to make decisive cuts and condense the narrative for dramatic effect.

The price of such a faithful adaptation is a distinctly palpable sense of the narrative rushing. Prus’s book can be read over the course of weeks – a film, even one as long as this one at two and a half hours, cannot manage to depict such a vast and immersive landscape without leaving certain elements as rough sketches. The desire to fit everything onto the screen results in a flurry of episodes that unfold just as quickly as they end – as in the case of Wokulski’s famous speech, delivered after he has been ostracised by the aristocracy because of his lower social standing. The speech wins him the favour of the snobbish rich even before they have quite finished showing him their disdain. The transition from derisive snorts to a pat on the back is simply too abrupt here, and this also serves to trivialise Wokulski’s inner conflict, whose plight clearly loses its tragic edge so strongly emphasised in the book.

This also involves the narrative orchestration of the audience’s emotions. As one watches the rapid succession of highs and lows, the emergence of conflicts and their immediate resolutions, the emotional rollercoaster becomes rather predictable and, in a sense, unconvincing. Paradoxically, the dynamic jumping between storylines also undermines the credibility of the world between shots – the not always consistent build-up of tension in segments larger than a single scene, combined with the film’s narrative breathlessness, creates an impression of fragmentation and incoherence in the characters’ world. The attempt to bring everything from Prus’s novel to the screen also means limiting the underlying scenes that are not shown to the viewer, the presence of which we should sense in the gaps between scenes – yet the ambition to render it as faithfully as possible paradoxically prevents this.

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Pictured: Marcin Dorociński (Stanisław Wokulski) & Kamila Urzędowska (Izabela Łęcka); still from ‘The Doll’, directed by Maciej Kawalski, 2026, photo: Kino Świat

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The Doll leaves almost nothing to the imagination, all of the original is laid out for us on screen. The same can be said for the casting. Such a star-studded cast is not often seen in Polish cinema. Practically anybody who is anybody is in the film. Apart from Marcin Dorociński (of international fame) and Kamila Urzędowska as the main characters, the film also features the creme de la creme of Polish film: Andrzej Seweryn, Krystyna Janda, Maja Komorowska, Marek Kondrat, Maria Dębska, Agata Kulesza, Andrzej Chyra, Borys Szyc, Maja Ostaszewska, Dawid Ogrodnik, Cezary Żak, Jan Englert and Karolina Gruszka.

The cast of The Doll alone reflects several decades of Polish cinema, and Prus’s story truly rises to the status of a myth upon which contemporary Polish culture is founded, as well as a text that, to this day, possesses an undeniable power to foster a sense of community.

It is, however, the supporting roles that leave the strongest impressions – particularly the character played by Dębska (as Kazimiera Wąsowska, Łęcka’s friend) and Kulesza (Ms Meliton, who supports Wokulski in his pursuit of Łęcka), who infuse the story with genuine, albeit completely different, emotions. Thanks to Dębska’s portrayal, her character becomes an exceptionally complex and multi-layered figure – to a degree far surpassing that of the other characters. Feisty, comedic, yet at the right moments most nobly melodramatic, Wąsowska demonstrates the actress’s great versatility in the role. Yet there is no caricature or overacting in her performance; on the contrary, she maintains complete control, even during moments of emotional turmoil, which, in this character’s case, do not seem to be part of a precisely scripted plot, but rather her true inner life.

Kulesza’s Ms Meliton, in turn, introduces an unexpected element of comic relief into this otherwise rather serious, though not entirely humourless, film. Her role is also the only aspect of the adaptation with a distinctly contemporary flavour. Her sense of comic timing, the precise delivery of her lines, and the way she imbues them with what feels like our modern-day awareness and sense of humour all combine to create a surprising performance: tucked away somewhere in the background of the main plotlines, yet at the same time giving the narrative a rhythm such that, as viewers, we find ourselves looking forward to Mrs Meliton’s next appearance on screen. Regular consultations with Wokulski provide a framework for many events, which is why we feel Kulesza’s disappearance in the second half of the film all the more keenly, even if it is justified by Prus. For it is not only she who disappears as a character, but her compositional, organising function is also suspended.

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Na zdjęciu: Agata Kulesza (pani Meliton). Kadr z filmu „Lalka” w reżyserii Macieja Kawalskiego, 2026, fot. Kino Świat

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The performances of the leading characters, however, may disappoint. The talented Dorociński as Wokulski – whose past is revealed here in greater detail than in any other adaptation of The Doll – is, despite this detailed portrayal, surprisingly monotonous and stiff. Urzędowska as Izabela Łęcka has a certain theatrical and exaggerated quality about her. And since we observe the same quality in other actresses playing characters from her social circle, we may surmise that this is a deliberate artistic choice – its aim is to highlight the aristocratic theatre of appearances and forms, which, although already shaking at its foundations in the last quarter of the nineteenth century, still wields immense power. The emphasis with which Urzędowska and Janda throw themselves into each other’s arms and converse may therefore be a depiction of the stifling power wielded by notions of how an aristocrat ought to behave and who she ought to be. And we know from the book that the slightest deviation from the norm is severely punished. I leave it to the viewers to consider whether we learn this from the film as well.

We must spend a little longer on the character of Izabela Łęcka. After all, it is her, and not Wokulski, who is the heart of Prus’s novel – if one can even pinpoint one within such a broad panorama. The filmmakers succeed in achieving something of great importance from today’s perspective – breaking the stereotype of her as a depraved, jaded and spoilt woman who toys with the feelings of the good-natured and vulnerable Wokulski. If there is one thing in The Doll for which the ambition to sketch out the novel’s world as broadly as possible is useful, it is precisely this: to present this reality as an arena of buying and selling, of the flow of capital, in which people and their feelings are bought just as often as fabrics, trinkets and clothes. Łęcka is not a selfish manipulator, but an object, a victim of the transactional logic of her class; and that class, in order to stay afloat, is prepared to sacrifice individual lives and dreams. Class determinism effectively exposes all the relationships between the characters here as, in essence, transactions governed by profit and loss calculations and, above all, the need to possess and affirm one’s status. The filmmakers do not allow the audience to settle comfortably into a romantic, melodramatic story. In keeping with Prus’s spirit, they compel us to recognise in it a commercial calculation, the outcome of which, however, can bring happiness to no one.

The Doll, 2026
Directed by Maciej Kawalski
Screenplay: Maciej Kawalski, Łukasz Światowiec, Piotr Sobociński, Jr.
Cinematography: Piotr Sobociński, Jr.
Editing: Przemysław Chruścielewski
Set Design: Katarzyna Sobańska, Marcel Sławiński, Anna Mocny
Costume Design: Katarzyna Lewińska, Tomasz Ossoliński
Music: Łukasz Targosz
Cast: Marcin Dorociński, Kamila Urzędowska, Marek Kondrat, Andrzej Seweryn, Krystyna Janda, Agata Kulesza, Maria Dębska
Premiere: 30.09.2026