Subject: Retrospective: Solaris (1972)

From: "Ted Prigge" <[email-masked]>
Date: 22 May 1998 21:39:07 GMT

SOLARIS (1972)
A Film Review by Ted Prigge
Copyright 1998 Ted Prigge

Director: Andrei Tarkovsky
Writers: Friederich Gorenstein and Andrei Tarkovsky (based on the novel by
Stainislaw Lem)
Starring: Donatas Banionis, Natalya Bondarchuk, Jüri Järvet, Anatoli
Solonitsyn, Nikolai Grinko, Sos Sarkissian, Vladislav Dvorjetzki

Andrei Tarkovsky's "Solaris" was advertised as "Russia's answer to '2001'"
when it first came out in 1972, bringing many people to believe that this
was the film that held the answers to the film, that expanded and made
sense out of it.  This is completely untrue once you see the film, although
one could see that the two films have many things in common: they're both,
what some people call, "cinematic poems;" both deal with space and alien
intelligence in more reserved and complex fashions; and both are leisurely
paced with long periods of silence and little going on in terms of action.

But this is where the films' similarities end.  After all, "2001" dealt
with the dehumanization of man; "Solaris" takes the opposite view, showing
the humanity of man.  Instead of dealing with the way technology has
crippled evolution, and turned us into inhuman droids, "Solaris" takes on
an independent from "2001" theme: the way that memories haunt us, and the
way that human contact is only a form of perception.  The film doesn't try
to be a "Russian '2001'"; it tries to be a completely different film.

"Solaris," based on a science fiction novel by Stainislaw Lem, deals with
what would probably be a trite episode of "Star Trek" (pick a version): a
space station hovers over a planet called Solaris that is filled completely
with an ocean.  It is believed that the ocean is the brain of the planet,
and that the ocean is basically the alien lifeform.  But some people who
have come back from the station claim that they saw visions that
materialized and haunted them, and all but three scientists remain there
when the story begins.

In the film's opening scene, we are introduced to Kris Kelvin (Donatas
Banionis), a psychologist/cosmonaut who has been chosen to go to the space
station to discover what has happened and make a decision to either
continue working at Solaris or leave (which means they may destroy the
planet).  After a 40 minute introduction to Kris, the plot, and to his
family, including his dying father (Nikolai Grinko), Kris gives a
heart-felt goodbye, and he's off to the station.

Upon arriving there, he discovers that his one friend who worked there,
Gibarian (Sos Sarkissian), has committed suicide, and has left him a
bizarre video message that sort of explain his actions.  He also finds the
other two scientists - Snauth and Sartorious (Jüri Järvet and Anatoli
Solonitsyn, respectively) - acting really weird and reclusive.  Soon
enough, Kris sees weird images, such as his wife from years ago, Khari
(Natalya Bondarchuk), who committed suicide years ago, who then
materializes and tries to live life with him like it was before.

Of course, she's not the real Khari as much as it is a materialization
thereof.  The fake Khari is unable to recall any memories that the real
Khari had, and merely looks just like her and perhaps even acts a bit like
her.  However, she is only able to live when she is in his presence, or
else she dies or commits suicide, only to come back to life shortly
afterwards.  She soon becomes Kris' second chance, and he soon begins to
think of her as an entirely different person than the real Khari, given a
chance to love again.

The film deeply explores these themes, and actually goes beyond the realm
of being merely a cool sci-fi flick, becoming an existential exploration of
humanity and the ways that memories can be frightening and painful, but
also can be soothing and warming.  Watching Kris lie with his dead wife's
fake "guest" all day while the other scientists complain that he isn't
doing anything is one of the saddest and unnerving things in cinema because
after all, don't we have a point in our lives we wish we could re-live so
that we could take as much advantage of it?  It's the fact that this film
evokes universal deep emotions and does it without insulting our
intelligence that makes this a truly haunting experience.

Tarkovsky has been called a "cinematic poet" by so many critics that I
won't even try and be original by saying that he is.  But I will say that
he is definitely one of the best directors of mise-en-scene and shot
development that I have ever seen, up there with Kubrick, Welles, Ophuls,
and Bergman.  Shots aren't there to just show the story but are crafted to
evoke deep feelings, and give a sense of hypnotic mysticism.  The opening
shot of the reeds flowing in the water is a gorgeously simple shot, and
it's the simplicity that really makes the shots the most effective.  In
fact, everything else has a very minimalistic yet extremely deep feel to
them, noted as early on in the simple opening credits with Bach's "F Minor
Choral Prelude" playing somberly in the background, giving the film its
unique feel.

Tarkovsky also tells his story at a very leisurely pace, much like, say,
Kurbick.  I imagine that the story by Lem is perhaps 100 pages, if that,
but Tarkovsky turns it into a 167-minute film, filled with long shots,
extremely long scenes of very little going on, and various other techniques
to make everything last longer than a typical director would allow.  Yet
all of these never result in boredom, and the entire film has a hypnotic
feel to it.  You know the kind of long scenes where very little happens,
and the actors speak in long, hushed tones, and you just sit there, staring
at it, afraid to breathe, waiting for the director to screw up and ruin the
experience?  These kinds of shots, filled with all sorts of complex
layering that requires complete audience attention, seem to be Tarkovsky's
forte.

While the science fiction and special effects take a back-seat to the
themes and ideas postulated by the film, this film nevertheless is really
cool to look at.  The space station itself is a pretty atmospheric locale,
and the white background of Kris's chambers creates a cool-looking and
almost lonely feeling for the disturbed character.  We never see much of
the technology though (it works here), and we only get glimpses of the
planet they're on, seeing that everything is a gorgeously wavy ocean.  The
cinematogaphy is absolutely gorgeous, perfectly accenting Tarkovsky's
complex shots, and making this just one of the better-looking films in film
history.

The final shot of "Solaris" is one of the most haunting final shots in film
history, bringing the film's themes and ideas to a dramatic and poignant
close, and also allowing some very heart-felt emotion to pour in.  It's the
fact that we can all (probably, I hope) identify with Kris's connection to
the past that makes "Solaris" a real experience, not only in the cinematic
sense of the word, but also in the emotional one.  We all have done
something that we regretted afterwards, and there's at least one moment we
wish we could live over again with the knowledge we have today.  That's
what "Solaris" is about.  I'm not knocking other sci-fi films that deal
with general fear and horror (like the "Alien" series), but because
"Solaris" dives deep into the questions of humanity, and puts that focus in
the forefront, it is, along with "2001," the best science fiction film ever
made.

MY RATING (out of 4): ****

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