Director: Andrei Tarkovsky
Writers: Stanislaw Lem, Fridrikh Gorenshteyn, Andrei Tarkovsky
Stars: Natalya Bondarchuk, Donatas Banionis, Jüri Järvet
Synopsis: A psychologist is sent to a station orbiting a distant planet in order to discover what has caused the crew to go insane.
This film was viewed as part of the event, “Tarkovsky: 6 Films, Master Works by a Master of Cinema,” at the Kentucky Theatre, accompanied by a Q&A by Raymond De Luca, Assistant Professor of Russian Studies and International Film Studies at the University of Kentucky
In my watch of (hopefully) all of the great works by Andrei Tarkovsky, we come to probably his most well-known film, Solaris. Now don’t assume that this is more approachable due to this fact, it is likely only known due to a remake from some guys named Steven Soderbergh and George Clooney. That film hewed closer to the original source novel, and, as a side note, Tarkovsky definitely does not care about being deferential to source material. Solaris is a prime example, instead focusing on Tarkovsky’s views on humanity and supposed technological progress.
I would argue that this is, so far, the most opaque and confusing Tarkovsky work (but don’t worry, Mirror is just around the corner to blow this out of the water as far as that goes. The plot of Solaris, such as it is, focuses on psychologist Kris Kelvin (Donatas Banionis) who is being shipped to a space station, wherein every member is either perished or undergoing an emotional crisis. Not shockingly, Kelvin endures his own terrifying emotional collapse while onboard.
But, as you may have noticed, plot is not terribly important to Tarkovsky. It is a means to an end. Tarkovsky also seems to desire his audience to feel unmoored and confused throughout the runtime. This is a feature, not a bug. We feel exactly as Kelvin does, unsure of what is real or if anything means anything. One could write an entire feature on his use of light, color, and focus during Solaris, and in my opinion, get no closer to truth or awareness. So, although these visuals are stunning and capture the attention, our focus should be on the internal and not the external.
As with all great science fiction, outer space reflects on our inner space and what it means to be human. I won’t go as far as to say that none of the events in outer space matter, but they force us (and the characters) to reflect on what matters and where we are headed. This is highlighted by the fact that the most important interaction with the “aliens” is when they take the form of Kelvin’s dead wife, Khari (Natalya Bondarchuk).
Although it is unclear why at the outset of Khari’s appearance, there is a deep sadness present in the spaces between their grateful and loving interactions. We, as humans, are constantly poisoned by our deep seeded regret and loss. There are losses that we never recover from. There is ground that we can never make up. It’s another jab to the audience, that Kelvin is a clinical psychologist. This is a man who (we assume) deals with loss, regret, pain, and pathology on a daily basis. And yet, he is unable to let go.
In an early scene in the film, Tarkovky forced us again, to look at ourselves. In a mockery of a space shuttle launch, he shows us Tokyo. At the time, Tokyo had just created a labyrinthine series of highways to show off our modernity and progress. This scene, in a true test of patience, lasts nearly seven minutes, almost challenging you to take a break, at least mentally. These highways, gorgeous to look at, also hide poverty and struggle.
Tarkovsky, in this moment, and throughout the runtime, forces us to face the fact that we are so focused on our great triumphs, that we forget the people we have lost and where our focus should be. Solaris is a success in many ways, but his unwillingness to not leave his audience behind creates a grand challenge. This is not so great for a first time watch, but tends to be more rewarding (and more frustrating) on repeated viewings.
