White is the second of witty Polish director Krzysztof Kieslowki's "three colors" trilogy Blue, White, and Red--the three colors of the French flag, symbolizing liberty, equality, and fraternity. White is an ironic comedy brimming over with the hard laughs of despair, ecstasy, ambition, and longing played in a minor key.
Down-and-out Polish immigrant Karol Karol is desperate to get out of France. He's obsessed with his French soon-to-be ex-wife (Before Sunrise's Julie Delpy), his French bank account is frozen, and he's fed up with the inequality of it all. Penniless, he convinces a fellow Pole to smuggle him home in a suitcase--which then gets stolen from the airport. The unhappy thieves beat him and dump him in a snowy rock pit. Things can only get better, right? The story evolves into a wickedly funny antiromance, an inverse Romeo and Juliet. Because it's in two foreign languages, the dialogue can be occasionally hard to follow, but some of the most genuinely funny and touching moments need no verbal explanation.

The final section of the late Krzysztof Kieslowski's acclaimed Three Colors trilogy (preceded by Blue and White) is the least likely of the three to stand alone, and indeed benefits from a little familiarity with the first two parts. Nevertheless, it's a strong, unique piece that reflects upon the ubiquity of images in the modern world and the parallel subjugation of meaningful communication. Irene Jacob plays a fashion model whose lovely face is hugely enlarged on a red banner no one in Paris can possibly miss seeing. Striking up a relationship with an embittered former judge (Jean-Louis Trintignant), who secretly scans his neighbors' conversations through electronic surveillance, Jacob's character becomes an aural witness to the secret lives of those we think we know. Kieslowski cleverly wraps up the trilogy with a device that brings together the principals of all three films.