It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon at the Wisconsin Film Festival yet many folks spent their time at the Majestic Theatre watching a film whose title promised a less-than happy ending. Having seen the film, however, I can honestly say don't let the title fool you - Pora umierać wasn't quite the terminal experience that it lets on. It revolves around Aniela as played by Danuta Szaflarska, who is apparently an icon of Polish cinema. In the opening scene, Aniela is at the hospital and sheepishly pokes her head into a nurse's office. The nurse could have starred in a Macintosh commercial back in 1984 with her cold demeanor and mechanical directive for Aniela to come in and undress. Frustrated, she tells the nurse to kiss her ass and storms off.

The gorgeous black & white cinematography steps into its own as the scene moves to Aniela's beautiful old house nestled amongst trees. From hereon out, the action would take place in her home. There are visitors such as the rich next-door neighbor who wants to buy the place to tear it down as well as Aniela's good-for-nothing son and her whiny granddaughter. However, the remarkable thing is that Szaflarska mostly interacts with her co-star who can only whine, whimper, and bark - a Collie named Phila. To my knowledge, an old woman and a dog haven't been the stars of a buddy film before but it works very well here. The feisty Aniela complains to the pooch like a DVD commentary track about the children next door who wander onto her property while Phila can only look wide-eyed at her.

Although the film almost wholly takes place in Aniela's home, the filmmakers do a great job of dispelling an overly cramped atmosphere from settling in. Bob Richardson and Oliver Stone did this in Talk Radio by keep the camera in constant motion. Here, cinematographer Artur Reinhart and director Dorota Kedzierzawska accomplish this through judicious cutting between medium shots and close-ups and, while we never really leave the house, we do get glimpses of the outside world as Aniela peers out her windows. Indeed, they put as much glass as they possibly could in the mise en scène. We see Aniela looking out her window with the camera in the room as well as just outside. Other times she grabs her binoculars and voyeuristically gazes into her neighbor's windows. When we get a POV shot, there is a pane of glass in front of us, so old that it has dripped down and distorts our view.

While the title gives away the ending, we see Aniela pass away as happy as one can. She has given her house to the neighboring music school for kids. As the young students run in, the house seems much larger as empty rooms are filled with their instruments and is suddenly alive with laughter.