Polish director Krzysztof Zanussi has spent the better part of the last 50 years using movies to wrangle with the deep questions of self. In the process, he's provided a model for a generation of compatriots, including the late Krzysztof Kieslowski. But Kieslowski surpassed his mentor, creating internationally acclaimed films of astonishing resonance and philosophical subtlety, like The Decalogue and the "Three Colors" trilogy. Zanussi is held in less regard by the global cineastes who are aware of him, perhaps because his work is less stylish and nuanced than Kieslowski's. Zanussi's Weekend Stories has been compared to The Decalogue, in that both projects were produced for Polish television, and both present a series of brief narratives in which unrelated characters face spiritual crises, but Zanussi's mini-movies are merely good TV, not good cinema. The eight episodes of Weekend Stories, which aired between 1996 and 2000, take place in post-Cold War Poland, among various city dwellers who often travel to the same country house for recreation and soul-searching. Zanussi's protagonists deal with the embarrassments of their nation's recent past in "A Woman's Business" (in which a woman who lost her passport due to the Communist Party finger-pointing of a successful businessperson confronts her accuser) and "The Dilatory Line" (in which a TV producer, distracted by romantic troubles, slips up and allows a scientist to infiltrate his studio to accuse a talk-show guest of intellectual-property theft). They ponder moral obligations in "The Soul Sings" (in which an aging would-be singer risks his first big break to help a neighbor's dog) and "Little Faith" (in which the parents of a sick child make bargains with God and the medical establishment). Only the latter episode has any real density and complexity, as the worried couple fret silently over whether their lives of neo-capitalist leisure somehow led to their son's mysterious ailment. Otherwise, Weekend Stories engages thorny intellectual debates by having ideologically loaded characters flatly describe their problems. Though there's some provocative discussion of the cruelty and deceit that occurs when a culture embraces money as a core value, the presentation of ideas is largely schematic. Zanussi's dramatic scenarios tend to resolve themselves unambiguously, with an assured expression of right and wrong. Typically, the best thing viewers can do once the credits roll is debate the director's point of view, rather than the characters'. Zanussi may have been collegial with Kieslowski, but when it comes to cinematic skill, they stand on opposite sides of a great divide.