领养

電影開始，女主角卡塔就說，我想要一個孩子。 卡塔四十二歲，做着一份看似麻木的工作，有一個情人，我姑且把他稱爲情人，因爲他有家室。卡塔沒讓她情人離婚，她接受這樣的一種關係，可能她也懂得，她無法將他擁有，他有妻子，甚至有屬於他但卻又不屬於她的孩子。所以，卡塔希望有一個真正屬於她、被她所擁有的一個孩子，一個家庭。 電影的人物特寫鏡頭很漂亮，除了構圖具有美感外，演員的表演也頗爲細膩。片中有兩個鏡頭令我記憶猶深。一個是卡塔和安娜在餐廳吃飯的場景，一個是最後宴會中安娜男人強吻安娜的場景。兩個鏡頭都有一個相似之處，就是安娜與另一半有親密接觸之時，實焦部分我們都只能看見安娜，另一半都被一個景深外的虛焦男人所遮掩。我不想去揣測導演的用意，只是這個鏡頭給我的感覺是，永遠都有一個未知在等待着我們。別輕言擁有。 除此之外，宴會那段衝突鏡頭更可謂全片精華，精彩至極，一大段愉悅場面的鋪墊下，筆鋒突轉，安娜男人想去吻安娜，但安娜卻把他推開，這种意外的震撼實在顯得有力無比。導演用了省略的手法去述説他們的不和，我們不知道他們爲什麽不和，但原因已經不重要了，我們跟情人一起，不也是會無端地出現不和嗎？我們不知道爲什麽會這樣，熱戀時候明明不會如此，但此時卻實實在在地發生了。或許這就是所謂的緣起緣滅。 安娜曾經也有養父養母，不曉得安娜是否真的曾經把他們視作一生的父母，但她的養父養母必然在領養安娜之時懷着一顆照顧她一生一世的心。可憾的是，時間遠去，養父養母對安娜的情也消失殆盡，甚至巴不得她儘快離開這個家，永遠不回來。安娜懂得不能永遠擁有養父養母，所以她拒絕了卡塔做她養母的要求，她把這個擁有，寄望于他的男人，可惜的是，最後事與願違。 卡塔也一早懂得不能擁有她情人，所以她才寄望于擁有一個孩子。她也懂得她不能擁有安娜，安娜告訴她，不要領養孤兒，因爲他們有他們的經歷，永遠不屬於你。不曉得她是否因爲聼了安娜的話，最終卡塔領養了一個很小很小的孤兒，一個心智還沒發育、沒有自己記憶和思想的孤兒。 但領養，孩子本身就不屬於自己，可以擁有他現在，甚至未來，但能夠擁有他真實存在過的過去嗎？哪怕只有一年、一月、甚至一天。但其實，就算是親生的骨肉，又能肯定自己可以擁有他所有的未來嗎。卡塔或許覺得可以，她堅定地說，她可以照顧那孩子。結局的結局到底如何，我們不並曉得，我只是在想，到底什麽才算擁有，難道這次我抱緊你未必落空。 這部電影讓我想起了林夕的一篇文，《生命中不能擁有的》。在那篇文章的結尾，林夕引用了他自己的一句歌詞，“愛若難以放進手裏，何不將它放進心裏”。

ADOPTION, the Golden Bear winner from Márta Mészáros, once married to Jancsó, is an entirely different monster, defiantly sets an unmarried, 40-something woman as its focus point, she is Kata (Berek), a factory worker who intends to have a child on her own, even to the firm disapproval of her married lover Jóska (Szabó), and she has a dry run when a girl from the nearby children institution, Anna (Vigh) seeks refuge in her house, so she can meet her sweetheart Sanyi (Fried) in private, Kata’s maternal potential is under test as a capricious Anna is hardly a cakewalk for her, however, a unique bond starts to shape and a deeply felt compassion prompts Kata to take it on her self to seek consent from Anna’s delinquent mother and stepfather, so that she and Sanyi can tie the knot, start their life anew.

The two women’s growing tendresse is mesmerically invoked by Mészáros’ considerate, intimate camera that, more often than not, takes a closer attachment to its subjects in dreamlike soft-focus, conjures up a sensible, sensual aroma that shores up the feminine rapport which becomes the backbone of the story, yet Mészáros neither romanticizes nor dents the edge off the strains that germinate from two strangers’ tentative elicitations. Also her keen eye on realism coheres with a judicious awareness of the location, whether in the factory where female wage slaves toil in an insalubrious environment, or a pokey apartment where Kata braves herself with Jóska’s unwitting wife, Mészáros’ female instinct and acuteness prevails in this heartfelt, earnest gem.

Remarkably, she doesn’t opt for a radical strategy to tackle the sexism issue head on, Kata, through Berek’s sterling interpretation, who particularly resembles Helen Mirren but foregrounds her steely fortitude, unalloyed emotion to the fore with flying colors, is not designed to be a crusader, no banner is brandished, no rousing speech is required, she is a feminist fighter in the most pragmatical way, do the right thing within her capacity, she sees the problems (whether it is in the self-seeking Jóska or the national institution), but realistically, she is not in the right position to challenge the status quo, in lieu, she smartly capitalizes on her savoir-faire to get things undone, actions are louder than words, Kata is a heroine that we can all emulate.

Meanwhile, Anna is mutable and rebellious, also sensuous and daring, played by Vigh with a pixieish alertness and unabashed mystique, her fate is also sagely open to interpret, when we last see her, her matrimony might not be a manna from heaven as we reckon, some cracks already materialize, still, it is her own journey from then on, for better or worse. In the end of the day, a massive shout-out to Mészáros’ fearless film whose ideological maturity and perspicacity are head and shoulders above its peers, not to mention, it is such a well-honed film that leave audience transfixed by its intimist pulchritude.

referential entries: László Nemes’s SON OF SAUL (2015, 7.4/10); Ildikó Enyedi’s MY TWENTIETH CENTURY (1989, 7.2/10).