One line could not sum up a film like Solaris, certainly not even one of the quotes from the characters who sometimes dip into the philosophical. But that line does still speak to me after now having seen the film twice, and still feeling as if I haven't really SEEN it altogether. Or at least maybe felt, or taken in. Andrei Tarkovsky considered this his least favorite film, and perhaps as a filmmaker myself I could understand. With a pace that never once breaks from the consistency of its focus on the differences between Nature and Earth and technology and science, as well as love, loss, memory, etc, it can be tricky for the director not to find something to critique of himself. And as it was, according to an interview on the DVD, Tarkovsky was obsessed with his work to the point of perfectionism. But, as has been put forward more times than need be to count from reading reviews and comments, this is the Russian equivalent of Kubrick's 2001 really only on two fronts, the pushing forward of boundaries in experiencing visions of what can truly never be known, and letting its characters find out what it means to be without Earth so far out in space (and equally what can stick around).
But Tarkovsky is not interested in the same obsessions that had Kubrick and Clarke, and so the comparisons can only go so far before it's really just time to take the film on its own terms, or at least in relation to other science fiction films. It's not about true discovery into the unknown and reaching for mysteries rooted in us as apes. The discoveries of Solaris are known pretty well to anyone who's lived and loved and lost and not been able to connect once lost. The character of Kris Kelvin (Donatas Banionis, one of the two really stirring performances of the film) starts off on Earth surrounded by natures plenty, and as a mostly stone-faced widower its almost until halfway through the film that we finally see what can be tapped into in his empirically based mind. The exposition- handled through a testimony of a scarred spaceman- tells of an Ocean, being studied by the Solarists, that has started to have a life-force of its own, creating what may or may not be there for those close to it. When Kelvin arrives at the Solaris station, around two weary and worn scientists for the cause, he gets the effect of a resurrected person- his deceased wife Hari (Natalya Bondarchuk, the other one)- who's own ambiguities and connections as real or copy start to bring the real psychological panic to the film.
All of this is done in such a way that is easy to assume as boring. But if you give yourself to the style of the film, stay with the pacing, it is rewarding on its own level, perhaps too in its way comparable to 2001, as it leaves enough to interpret. Tarkovsky is not after anything conventional, which can be seen as a draw back for some. Solaris asks its viewer to take a more emotional journey than one that might find a little creature or lots of real 'action'. Kelvin's time with his new Hari is contrasted against the near empty space station, as he has formed out his wife from somewhere inside of him. In fact it's probably so much connected with philosophical overtones- with at least some time given to talking about the whats and whys of really seeking out something outside of Earth that can only be understood in logic beyond simplicity. At the same time a love story is also worked in, or rather a love constricted within boundaries of perception and the surreal. Why can't Hari be killed or disappear? What happens when Kelvin has his fever late in the film? And can Hari ever really feel at peace with him? What's love when reflected upon? The questions raised, which may or may not be answered by the end of the film (though it had an ending that had me saying out loud "oh wow", in part surprise and in part seeing how the factor of the 'Guests' made perfect sense), are put to a backdrop of something that can really be described as something of great art. It might leave little parts that are imperfect, but overall like some big epic poem Tarkovsky's film sinks deep into its subject matter that for those who can grasp enough of it in one or two viewings can take that in tow with the style.
And, as mentioned before, at almost three hours it carries as much weight on the side of capturing the visuals as it does of expressing the characters. There's a beauty to nature, and it's seen with just as clear and undiscriminating an eye as the long scene on the road driving (my personal favorite), the oceans in space, and the corridors of the ship are seen as enclosing and impersonal. Some of these images on their own had me re-watching them on their own, just to see how he and his crew did it. It's got that desire to raise questions that marks the most interesting science fiction, in this case to terrify us by the nature of the people affected by realized abstractions, and to conjure some thought as to what's in us as much as what might be out there. An extraordinary movie that is, to be expected, going to draw its audience as take it or leave it. If you do take it, it marks as one of those movies that asks for your patience and then delivers as much once its over as it did when it was on.
But Tarkovsky is not interested in the same obsessions that had Kubrick and Clarke, and so the comparisons can only go so far before it's really just time to take the film on its own terms, or at least in relation to other science fiction films. It's not about true discovery into the unknown and reaching for mysteries rooted in us as apes. The discoveries of Solaris are known pretty well to anyone who's lived and loved and lost and not been able to connect once lost. The character of Kris Kelvin (Donatas Banionis, one of the two really stirring performances of the film) starts off on Earth surrounded by natures plenty, and as a mostly stone-faced widower its almost until halfway through the film that we finally see what can be tapped into in his empirically based mind. The exposition- handled through a testimony of a scarred spaceman- tells of an Ocean, being studied by the Solarists, that has started to have a life-force of its own, creating what may or may not be there for those close to it. When Kelvin arrives at the Solaris station, around two weary and worn scientists for the cause, he gets the effect of a resurrected person- his deceased wife Hari (Natalya Bondarchuk, the other one)- who's own ambiguities and connections as real or copy start to bring the real psychological panic to the film.
All of this is done in such a way that is easy to assume as boring. But if you give yourself to the style of the film, stay with the pacing, it is rewarding on its own level, perhaps too in its way comparable to 2001, as it leaves enough to interpret. Tarkovsky is not after anything conventional, which can be seen as a draw back for some. Solaris asks its viewer to take a more emotional journey than one that might find a little creature or lots of real 'action'. Kelvin's time with his new Hari is contrasted against the near empty space station, as he has formed out his wife from somewhere inside of him. In fact it's probably so much connected with philosophical overtones- with at least some time given to talking about the whats and whys of really seeking out something outside of Earth that can only be understood in logic beyond simplicity. At the same time a love story is also worked in, or rather a love constricted within boundaries of perception and the surreal. Why can't Hari be killed or disappear? What happens when Kelvin has his fever late in the film? And can Hari ever really feel at peace with him? What's love when reflected upon? The questions raised, which may or may not be answered by the end of the film (though it had an ending that had me saying out loud "oh wow", in part surprise and in part seeing how the factor of the 'Guests' made perfect sense), are put to a backdrop of something that can really be described as something of great art. It might leave little parts that are imperfect, but overall like some big epic poem Tarkovsky's film sinks deep into its subject matter that for those who can grasp enough of it in one or two viewings can take that in tow with the style.
And, as mentioned before, at almost three hours it carries as much weight on the side of capturing the visuals as it does of expressing the characters. There's a beauty to nature, and it's seen with just as clear and undiscriminating an eye as the long scene on the road driving (my personal favorite), the oceans in space, and the corridors of the ship are seen as enclosing and impersonal. Some of these images on their own had me re-watching them on their own, just to see how he and his crew did it. It's got that desire to raise questions that marks the most interesting science fiction, in this case to terrify us by the nature of the people affected by realized abstractions, and to conjure some thought as to what's in us as much as what might be out there. An extraordinary movie that is, to be expected, going to draw its audience as take it or leave it. If you do take it, it marks as one of those movies that asks for your patience and then delivers as much once its over as it did when it was on.