The Tree of Wooden Clogs

Very rarely, films transcend their medium and break through into some other dimension. These are not merely technically superb films with fine cinematography and wonderful performances. Rather, something else has been addressed; at the risk of seeming pompous, I'd call it "what it means to be human." Maybe some of you know what I'm talking about. After the film is over, you walk out into the world and your life has changed in some fundamental way. You actually experience colors and shapes and smells afresh, as though you've re-emerged into a different universe.

I can think of several films that have had that effect on me. Eric Rohmer's "Summer (Le Rayon Vert)" and Kieslowski's "Decalogue" spring to mind. But "Tree of Wooden Clogs" approached the core. I'm not Catholic, would pronounce myself an atheist if that didn't suggest the arrogance of certainty, but this movie comes as close to touching the soul as any I've ever seen. It is one of the most shattering, delightful, and profound works of art ever created. After first seeing it, I sat in my car, clutched the steering wheel, and sobbed for half an hour.

Since that day, many years ago, moments from it continue to haunt me. I'll be walking down a street lined with trees and remember the boy walking home from school. Out of the blue, the looks on the faces of the just-married young couple as they adopt a child will come to me. And, of course, the image of the villagers watching the lone wagon disappear into the darkness is one which will live with me until I die.

In short, as I stumble my own way through life, this film is one of the touchstones that reminds me why I'm here.