After a tumultuous début between Julie Delpy and Krzysztof Kieslowski (see her interview with Ryan Gilbey), the former finally decided in 1992 to accept the role of Dominique in the middle film of the famous trilogy, Three colors: Blue, White and Red - the colors of the French flag in relation with the motto of the French republic: liberty, equality, fraternity.

A quick résumé of the story is to be found at reelviews:

White begins in a Parisian courtroom with the arrival of a lonely, dejected Karol Karol (Zamachowski), clutching a summons and looking downtrodden. Shortly thereafter, his marriage has been dissolved by the court because of his inability to consummate the union, and his beautiful young wife Dominique (Delpy) has claimed that she no longer loves him. Karol is devastated, and
decides to quit Paris for his native Poland.

To make matters worse, he has no passport and no money to obtain one, and after Dominique sets fire to a beauty shop that he and she owned together, the police want him for arson. Fate, however, is not entirely working against Karol, and he finds a friend in his fellow countryman Mikolaj (Janusz Gajos), who helps him back to Warsaw, where he begins rebuilding his life and planning revenge against the woman he still loves.

Interesting analysis include Roger Ebert's one at Chicago Sun-times:

Kieslowski allows a great deal of apparent chance in his stories. They do not move from A to B, but wander dazedly through the lives of their characters. That lends a certain suspense; since we do not know the plot, there is no way for us to anticipate what will happen next. He takes a quiet delight in producing one
rabbit after another from his hat, hinting much, but revealing facts about his characters only when they must be known.

In all of his films, there are sequences that are interesting simply for their documentary content: We're not sure what they have to do with the story, if anything, but we are interested to see them unfolding for their own sake. In "Blue," the heroine's pragmatic reaction to her husband's death gave hints of greater secrets still to come. In "Red," there are two lives that never quite seem to interlock, but always seem about to. In "White," there is the marvelous indirection of Karol's comeback in Poland, the way in which he becomes successful almost by intuition.

The colors blue, white and red in the French flag stand for liberty, equality and fraternity. One of the small puzzles Kieslowski sets up is how these concepts apply to his plot. As Karol deviously sets a snare for thewife he loves and hates - as he gains control of the relationship, in a way - it is hard to see how "equality" could be involved in such a struggle for supremacy. Afterwards, thinking about the film, beginning to see what Kieslowski might have been thinking, we see even richer ironies in his story.

Hal Hinson of The Washington Post also wonders about the "equality" that White is supposed to represent:

The stated subject of Krzysztof Kieslowski's "White," the second film in the Polish director's trilogy based on the colors of the French flag, is equality. But you'd have to stretch the definition of the word to its breaking point to make it fit this tortured love story.

Kieslowski is arguably the most gifted filmmaker working in Europe, and in movies like "Blue" and "The Double Life of Veronique," he has invented a poetic language for exploring the most enigmatic states of the mind and heart. In "White," which details the agonies of obsessive love, his story is more realistic, and his style more prosaic, but the results are no less inscrutable -- and no less engaging.(...)

Kieslowski's style here isn't overtly funny, and about the closest thing to an
outright joke is a sputtering neon sign above the front door of Karol's shabby
hair salon. But slowly, as Karol changes from loser to smooth operator, the film builds up a steady comic momentum. Zamachowski's performance is restrained, but no less hilarious because of it. Surprisingly, his Karol is never funnier than when he is a bigwig. With his hair slicked back and dressed in designer duds, he looks more like a silent-comedy clown than ever.

The film ends with Karol's last-ditch effort to recapture his lost love, and the spin Kieslowski (with writing partner Krzysztof Piesiewicz) puts on his story carries us into sublimely unexpected terrain. In an instant, the film is transformed into a poetic mystery. The denouement -- far too delicious to give away even if I could explain it -- brings us back to the issue of equality. Ultimately, "White" is a love story with a happy ending, and maybe the only one I've ever seen that's both touching and perverse at the same time.

About the mysteries of the film, from Desson Howe:

This all may read like a thriller, but "White" is more of a dramatic conundrum -- a tragicomedy full of explicit questions but only implicit answers. Why do these characters do what they do? What are the meanings of certain gestures? Why was Karol impotent in Paris? As for the finale, it is affecting and baffling: Something is being communicated between Dominique and Karol, but what?

These mysteries are not frustrating. They are intriguing. Kieslowski's films, which include "The Double Life of Veronique" and his 10-part work, "The Decalogue," are made to be watched instinctively. You use the same, appreciative reflex when you listen to music. Only this time, just listen with your eyes.

Fortunately, we have some kind of an answer to the question of Dominique's gestures to Karol at the end of the film (warning: SPOILERS ahead):