'A Decent Man'
The Symmetry of Confinement and Moral Decay: A Review of 'A Decent Man'
By
Benjamín Gavarre | cineteatrocritica.blogspot.com
Sometimes, streaming
algorithms hit the mark in mysterious ways. For some reason, Max placed A
Decent Man (Porządny człowiek)—a six-episode Polish miniseries
directed by Aleksandra Terpińska—right in front of me. What might seem like a
conventional crime drama at first glance quickly reveals itself as a
psychological thriller where the true protagonist is the fractured psyche of
its characters, reminding us that contemporary Polish cinema remains a master
at dissecting human harshness.
The story follows the
arc of Paweł Szkotak (Krzysztof Czeczot), a successful upper-middle-class
doctor in Warsaw whose seemingly perfect life and close-knit family are
suddenly derailed by extreme errors. It all begins when a teenager, Kamil
(brilliantly played by Mikołaj Kubacki), brutally beats the doctor’s son. In
his quest for an apology—a pursuit that turns into a bottomless pit—Paweł
chases the boy. Amidst the chaos, a car strikes Kamil. As viewers, logic
dictates the doctor will treat him and rush him to the hospital. Instead, his
tragic mistake leads him to hide the young man in the basement of an abandoned
house. This is where the true collapse begins.
From this point of
confinement, Terpińska’s direction builds a claustrophobic atmosphere, leaning
on tense silences and a notable absence of non-diegetic music. In that
basement, the charismatic teenager forms an almost father-son relationship with
the doctor. There is trickery, manipulation, and an ethical ambiguity that adds
significant depth to the series. Paweł is not a pedophile, though the strange
intimacy between them occasionally makes us wonder; rather, he identifies
deeply with the boy. Through glimpses into the past, we discover that this
identification is the repetition of a cycle of trauma worthy of a Greek
tragedy: Paweł’s own father used to lock him up as a child, justifying it as a
method to forge a "decent man." The basement, then, is not just a
prison for Kamil, but a museum of Paweł’s own trauma. The symmetry of the
confinement is fascinating.
Meanwhile, on the
outside, the doctor’s façade of perfection crumbles, leaving him like a blind
Oedipus facing the truth. His exemplary wife, Marta (the consistently powerful
Agnieszka Żulewska), is cheating on him with his best friend and colleague, Adam
(Michał Czernecki). Paweł also opens his eyes to the rot in his professional
environment, realizing the hospital is a nest of corruption. Everyone around
him notices his total destabilization. The series, widely praised by critics
for demystifying the success of the Warsaw elite, shines because there are no
clear heroes or villains; everyone is a shadow. Even the doctor's assaulted son
turns out to be "bad stock"—a drug dealer who had stolen Kamil's
girlfriend. The boy's biological parents are equally wretched: the mother is a
lawyer who ends up in bed with the doctor, and the father appears only to
mutter and make matters worse.
When the kidnapping is
about to be discovered and Paweł, in desperation, seeks help from ruthless
criminals planning to kill the boy, the plot takes a twist. In a reversal of
roles, the young man strikes the doctor with a shovel, ties him up, and the kidnapper
becomes the kidnapped. The impact is so great that Paweł wets himself out of
fear, and it is his "adoptive son" who, with a twisted tenderness,
changes his pants. The resolution, with the arrival of the police and the end
of the true villains, leaves us with a Kamil who refuses to testify against the
doctor. Paweł confesses, but with no charges filed, he goes free. While this
final twist might be somewhat predictable, it works narratively to provide a
breath of air after such asphyxiating tension.
The epilogue shows us
a Paweł who leaves his wife and rebuilds a strange normalcy with his two
"sons" (the biological one, now redeemed, and Kamil), who now
play-fight like two good, charming Polish brothers.
As an extra
reflection, it is impossible not to connect this television gem with the depth
and decadent complexity of Polish theater. The work inevitably evokes the
aesthetic proposals of Stanisław Ignacy Witkiewicz—the Shakespeare of Polish
drama—where the strange, the deformed, and power dynamics expose the human
truth. Like Witkiewicz, these types of productions sometimes struggle for
universal recognition simply because of their Polish origin. But for those who
appreciate dramatic literature, social dissections, and thrillers that don't
offer easy answers, A Decent Man is an absolute recommendation.
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