Workaholism and sleep deprivation. The films of Barbara Sass

Festival Newspaper Published on 25.09.2026

Barbara Sass na planie filmu "Pajęczarki"

The women in Sass’s films are workaholics, people who struggle to maintain their careers at the expense of sleep and their private lives. They sense the ruthlessness of the free market, which shows no mercy for weakness.

Alicja Nowacka

A young boy wanders through the gloomy streets with an empty Coca-Cola can on a string. When he finds an Italian coin on the ground, he picks it up and immediately tries to buy the things he has so far only been able to look at through the shop window. Toys, desserts in a cup, chocolate bars or a ticket to the American film Little Fugitive. However, the coin does not grant him access to any of the things he craves, and the saddened boy walks away without it – this is the sequence of events in Moneta (1958), a school film by Barbara Sass. Although her most important films are analysed primarily from the perspective of feminist theory, scholars writing about them also note that it is impossible to discuss Sass’s cinema without considering the economic situation – and, by extension, the labour market – in Poland during the 1980s and 1990s. For the female protagonists of her films from this period, an empty Coke can represents their dream of the West, whilst an Italian coin symbolises the ambitions and financial security they will never attain.

The release of Sass’s debut trilogy – Without Love (1980), Debutante (1981) and The Scream (1982) – coincided with a period when the fledgling women’s movement in Poland was overshadowed by social emancipation under the banner of ‘Solidarity’. At a time when the role women were expected to play in private life was being emphasised, the liberation of the heroines in Sass’s films took place through their professional lives. Despite their focus on individual emancipation, they did not lose sight of social resistance. In the background, reports of events reach them via the radio and television, or they address the subject themselves, but from a detached perspective as journalists. These women strike differently, and in such a way as to gain something from it solely for themselves.

Collectivity is not the subject of Sass’s films, but her characters’ struggles express universal desires. Although the director clearly distanced herself from the category of ‘women’s cinema’, it is difficult not to discuss her work in this context. Indeed, almost everyone who has written about her films has done so, including Monika Talarczyk, Ewa Mazierska and Maria Kornatowska. Sass has created a gallery of cinematic heroines who remain a true phenomenon within the context of Polish cinema. She portrayed strong, ambitious women who were not necessarily likeable. They were often shouting, arguing, swearing and lacking patience for anything that stood in their way.

The women in Sass’s films are workaholics – people who struggle to maintain their professional lives at the expense of sleep and their private lives. It is as though, with their above-average productivity, they are anticipating the coming decade of the 1990s and the dawn of capitalism in Poland. They know that only their professional lives will guarantee them independence. They sense the ruthlessness of the free market, which shows no mercy for weakness. Since they must fight for their position, they resort to every tactic at their disposal. Their arsenal includes intelligence, experience, but also their bodies. In Without Love, Ewa, a journalist played by Dorota Stalińska, lectures a young girl on the power of crafting one’s own image. Clothing can express desires and aspirations, and not necessarily one’s actual circumstances. Ewa encourages the girl not to let her outfit reflect her true life situation, including her class background. Instead, it should serve as a form of advancement – even if only superficial – in line with the principle: ‘dress for the job you want, not the one you have’. The aestheticisation undertaken by the female protagonists is not for beauty’s sake, but in the name of professional and financial ambition.

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Sass deliberately used costumes as a means of telling the story of her heroines’ journeys. Ewa’s fashionable clothes in Without Love may well be souvenirs from a trip to Italy; thus, her attire also expresses a Polish longing for the West. Above all, however, they served a practical purpose, helping her to flirt with men who might prove helpful in her professional life. In An Immoral Story (1990), a film that is self-referential for both the director and her leading actress, the protagonist played by Stalińska cannot come to terms with the stagnation of her career. The number of roles is dwindling, and those she does receive are unsatisfying for her, both as an actress and financially. The only way to improve her professional life is to take matters into her own hands. The protagonist reinvents herself by focusing on stage performances. An integral part of these, of course, are the outfits in which she attracts the attention not only of the audience but also of men offstage. She always chooses them herself, regaining at least some control over her own life. Her Mickey Mouse jumper reflects her cosmopolitan ambitions, whilst her dresses and sequins express her desire for star status.

In a masculinised environment, appearance also helps one adopt the opposite strategy – that of conforming to the group rather than ‘conquering’ (pun intended) its members. In The Scream, Marianna plays with gender through her appearance. With her short, tousled hair, leather jacket, constantly chewed gum and swaying gait, she effectively creates a parody of masculinity. However, this is her armour, a means of survival, as, unlike previous heroines, she is struggling with unemployment and life on the streets. In Debutante, on the other hand, her patched jeans spoke both of a time of scarcity and of the title character’s pragmatism. Her short, straight hair, large glasses and limited wardrobe – as if chosen nonchalantly – were meant to mask a femininity that ‘undermines her seriousness’ in a masculinised profession. Just when it seems the protagonist is coming to terms with her status as the chief architect’s assistant, she turns up at a party wearing make-up and with her hair in curls. Her curls, however, are washed away – as if in an act of revival – by the waves of the sea as she rescues a drowning female architect, whose fate she had almost shared. Once she has fled the home of her abusive boss with her hair straightened, she returns not only to Warsaw, but also to herself.

When we focus our attention on women, men can disappear from view. In Sass’s films, they are almost obscured. Unlike the female characters, the male protagonists blend into the background in their beige and grey suits. Most of them display hypocrisy towards women by making demands of them, whilst they themselves cheat on their partners and also prioritise their careers. The female protagonists, even if they believe they are entering into an open and honest relationship with men, are often left disappointed. It is therefore difficult for them not to approach these relationships in a transactional manner. Although the idea of advancing one’s career ‘through the bedroom’ has been raised by feminists as a criticism of Without Love, it is one of the real ways in which Sass’s heroines can fight for their place. Since they are objectified anyway, and their femininity is used as an argument against them when they try to advance their careers, they can turn it into a weapon.
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The heroines’ bodies, however, are a double-edged sword. They not only fight with them, but also against their limitations. To advance their careers, they push beyond the limits of their endurance. Maintaining a fast pace and staying on the go comes at the cost of overwork and sleep deprivation. The heroines of Without Love and An Immoral Story combat their fatigue with pills they have begged from doctors. Ewa in Debutante faints from exhaustion at her drawing board. The journalist in the film Nothing But Fear (1993) turns down a longer period of sick leave so as not to lose her job. Women must strive to stay afloat at all costs. They do more than men, only to ultimately receive less.

Sometimes people drown out their body’s signals not with pills, but with stimulants. Alcohol is a constant presence in almost all of Sass’s films. It can be the central theme, as in Nothing But Fear, where it affects both the protagonist’s image and her career. It blurs the line between the stage and the wings, a line so carefully maintained by this and other female characters. The journalist, played by Anna Dymna, clearly tried to separate her professional life from her private life after deciding to stay sober. Her hair tied back, a tailored suit and elegant make-up were meant to demonstrate her professionalism as she spoke to politicians on live television in front of thousands of viewers. At home, she could let her hair down and slip into a pair of baggy pyjamas. Over time, she loses control of her addiction, which she tries to compensate for with intense exercise, yet only brandy is able to soothe her anxieties. A scruffy appearance at work, her hair down and her make-up smudged, foreshadow her inappropriate behaviour on air and the further decline of her career.

In Sass’s other films, alcohol is often hidden in the background, but it is always present. Nor are the female protagonists ever indifferent to it. They may be addicted to it or shun it, but they always have a clear stance on it. Its status within the film also varies. In The Scream, it took the form of beer opened with the teeth under a bus shelter and was associated with the criminal underworld from which the heroine was trying to escape. In Thieves (1993), by contrast, it took the form of expensive toasts raised by businessmen, and for one of the heroines, every sip tasted of a better world.
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The women in Sass’s films are almost entirely detached from the domestic sphere. The careers the heroines choose require mobility. They therefore do not have a home of their own, nor are they attached to one. They treat their flat as a temporary arrangement and often do not seek stability in this regard, even though so many Poles at that time dreamt of at least an M1 flat. Nor can it be said that, in return, work is a source of any value to them. Rather, it is a series of sacrifices: of their bodies, their home life, but also of other people. Ultimately, the moral of Sass’s films is always that harming the individual for the sake of a greater cause brings no benefit. On the other hand, working for an ideal often serves only to feed one’s own ego, as demonstrated, for example, in Debutante. Work is therefore not a way of life, but life itself; and, like life itself, it cannot be morally unambiguous.

It seems that Barbara Sass shared her heroines’ workaholism and lack of sleep. After a long period spent as the second director to Hasa, Skolimowski and Wajda, the premiere of her trilogy of films starring Stalińska took place within the space of three years, as if the director felt that, following her successful debut, she could not stop. This was well reflected, for example, in a headline in ‘Tele Świat’ magazine (no. 39/98): ‘She pops an aspirin and gets on with the shoot’. The short news item recounts work on the set of the film Like a Drug. It reads: ‘Despite having tonsillitis, Ms Barbara did not postpone filming. She pops an aspirin and sucks on throat lozenges. “I didn’t let the doctor put me to bed,” she jokes.’

Her films also tell the story of changes in the film industry: from socialism to the new political system. A telling example is Thieves, in which not only is a toast ‘to capitalism!’ raised alongside the Americans, but the film itself was produced under free-market conditions. It was produced thanks to private sponsors, including British Airways and PZU, and its promotional campaign featured a song by Piotr Rubik and Edyta Górniak written especially for the film. Hollywood had arrived in Poland, but perhaps not quite as it had been imagined.

Sass’s cinema is a record of a work ethic that is now fading away. Today, we can contrast this portrait of nascent capitalism with a critique of the culture of productivity – or, if you prefer, of ‘slave labour’. The scenes from Debutante and tolerance for such behaviour on the part of superiors or artists – and, in particular, superiors who are also artists – are slowly becoming unthinkable. The heroines of Sass’s films, however, must have been left with the same sense of disappointment as the boy in the short film Moneta. In that world, a happy ending was not yet possible for women like them.