Writers: Marcin Koszalka and Lukasz M. Maciejewski
Director: Marcin Koszalka
Cinematographer Marcin Koszalka’s historical epic about two brothers forced apart during the Second World War looks fabulous, where every feature of the snow-covered Tatra mountains and every stitch of the national costumes of the Goral people of Southern Poland is rendered exquisitely. It’s no surprise that White Courage was a box office smash in Poland last year.
Just before the war breaks out, the Gorals – Highlanders in English – live a rural life even though their land is close to Bohemian Kraków. Their traditions persist in the face of modernity; for instance, people are taken to die in caves on the mountainside or if they die before this final journey their bodies are dispatched there. Their names are etched in stone by their survivors. And then there’s the dancing, which is integral to their culture.
Elder brother Maciek is a celebrated dancer in his town; his brother Andrzej is a keen and daredevil mountaineer. But their kinship is severed when their father decides that Maciek is to marry Andrzej’s sweetheart Bronka from a nearby clan. The brothers have no say in the marriage as it’s Highlander tradition that eldest brothers from one clan wed eldest daughters from another. Such a union, the fathers proclaim, will give the whole of the Goral people in Poland more political power to demand autonomy from the national government.
Unable to live at home after his brother’s wedding, Andrzej goes to Kraków, where he meets Wolfram, a doctor working for the Nazis who have just invaded Poland. While the two men bond over mountaineering, Wolfram is especially interested in Andrzej’s heritage, believing that Aryans and Highlanders share the same ‘purity’ of blood. Andrzej, with the Nazis in tow, returns to his village to encourage his people to take part in a series of eugenic examinations.
This part of the story is eminently more interesting than the love triangle between the brothers and Bronka, but Koszalka devotes equal time to both, especially at the start of the film detailing the period before Germany has invaded Poland. The second half of the film feels rushed in comparison, suggesting that a lot was left on the cutting room floor. However, White Courage always looks spectacular, from the shadowy interiors of the Highlanders’ log cabins to the swathes of Nazi red that hang down the front of buildings. The shots of Andrzej climbing one of the peaks of the Tatra mountains are thrillingly constructed; the image of a lone figure perilously gripping snowy outcrops of rock as the camera zooms out demonstrates Koszalka’s vision throughout.
Filip Plawiak is a blank, hard-to-read Andrzej whose motives are unclear. Perhaps he wants to wreck his community because he wants revenge on his brother. Or is he drawn to the Nazis because he carves a position in a culture that appears so different to his own? Whatever, it doesn’t take him long to pick up a gun. Julian Swiezewski’s Maciek is not so indecipherable as we are privy to his thawing relationship with Bronka, the wife that carries his brother’s child. Verbal explanations for anyone’s behaviour are few; Kosalka favours distance, probably the correct stance for such a terrible story of betrayal.
And so there is no hero, unlike other films about the Second World War such as Schindler’s List or the more recent One Life. Instead, White Courage, named after a toothpaste powder that can help climbers grip more firmly, is about survival whether it’s fought for on the face of mountains or when the Nazis come to town.
Kinoteka Polish Film Festival 2025 takes place in venues across London and the UK 6 March to 25 April. For further information and tickets:https://kinoteka.org.uk/
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Brotherly Betrayal
