Tarkovsky
is first and foremost a film poet. He can construct shots that
seem to have an endless depth of meaning. And it is in the
individual shot that he excels. Like all of Tarkovsky's films,
Solaris seems to depict primarily its characters' emotional,
or spiritual, states.
I¡¯ve now seen four and a half
of Andrei Tarkovsky¡¯s seven films (Andrei Rublev, Solaris, Stalker, Nostalgia, and the first half of
The Sacrifice)
and I have to admit that I¡¯m still as mystified by each of them as I was on that
Saturday afternoon I initially attempted to decipher the first of his film¡¯s I
had seen, Andrei Rublev. Each of these films are painfully slow and usually feel just beyond my
grasp. After watching them (several
times in the case of Andrei Rublev and Solaris), I always come
away wondering just what it is that I have seen. What precisely are these films
about? I can offer general
statements about each film, but I find it impossible to pin down anything
concrete to Tarkovsky¡¯s vision. Immediately after struggling through his films, I think of this
elusiveness as a failing. My
Hollywood trained eye wants to crack the film, to know its meaning, to
understand what it is Tarkovsky has to say. Then, a day or two later, I will be
walking home from work and one of Tarkovsky¡¯s images will come to me. I¡¯ll remember something I was thinking
during the film. Although I was
unable to grasp hold of the film, it becomes clear to me that it has embedded
its hooks in me. My brain is
processing the themes, working through questions and obscurities, trying to come
into contact with the complexities of what Tarkovsky has offered. I cannot honestly say that I ever get to
a point when I can articulate what is happening or even what I¡¯ve
discovered. However, in watching
his films again, things come back to me. I feel more at home, like the images on the screen are not so foreign to
me but are recognizable in the way that family members can be both mystifying
but familiar all at once.
I saw Solaris last night, so my initial reaction of
incomprehension has begun to fade as this other way of knowing has started to
form. Rather than allow the film to
remain in some neverland of vague mysticism, I do want to think through some of
what the film is working out. My
guess is that the film is less concerned with presenting a message than with
exploring an approach to the world, in the same way that Tolstoy¡¯s War and
Peace (which is mentioned several times in the film) is not about war and
peace but is about an approach to life which remains open to truth. [Note:
in order to explore some of these
meanings, I will have to go into some of the plot details, so check out here if
you want to see the film first with an unblemished eye.]
* * * * *
So, what do we know about the
film and what seems so out of reach? Most obviously, this is the story of a psychologist, Chris Kelvin
(Donatas Banionis), who is trying to reconcile with his past. The first we see of him, he is isolated
and alone in the Russian countryside. It becomes clear very quickly that he feels somewhat estranged from his
father (Nikolai Grinko), made worse by the fact that he is about to embark on a
journey to the Solaris space station as his father is getting ready to die.
This is the last chance for them to see
each other and they are unable to maintain any shred of intimacy. (Most of us do not have the luxury of
knowing when we will see our parents for the final time. Here, Kelvin and his father know that
this is it, but squander any chance at revealing their feelings for each
other. We can see that this is one
of Kelvin¡¯s main characteristics as he is described by a fellow astronaut,
Burton, as a ¡°number cruncher¡± and as he himself admits that emotionality has no
place in his mission to Solaris.)
Once at the space station, he begins to receive visits from his dead
wife, Hari (Natalya Bondarchuk), who it becomes clear is a physical
manifestation of Kelvin¡¯s dreams brought on by the planet which is at the root
of his investigation. Kelvin¡¯s
first reaction to these visits is to rid himself of Hari by forcing her into a
rocket which he then shoots into space. But, she returns after his next sleep and he begins to reconcile himself
to her presence and even, eventually, to rely on her companionship. Rather than maintain strict rationality,
he begins to give in to his emotions to the extent that his companions on the
station, Sartorius (Anatoli Solonitsyn) and Snouth (J¨¹ri Järvet), become
concerned that he is no longer dedicated to the mission of determining whether
they should continue their experiments or should destroy the planet. Eventually, we learn that Kelvin¡¯s
relationship to his now-dead wife, like his relationship with his father, was
characterized by an emotional distance. In fact, she had killed herself because of his distance.
He left her after an argument and she
took some poison he left behind.
This apparition which at first does not know what it means to be human
but eventually learns how to love and regret, to have connections and emotions,
is a second-chance for Kelvin, an opportunity for him to right his wrongs, to
undo the damage he has wrought. As
he learns to accept Hari and all of the feelings she has brought up in him, he
also begins to make amends with the other failed connections in his life. Near the end of the film, while he is
sick and on the edge of consciousness, he finds himself at home with his mother
who had died before he met Hari. We
see Kelvin return to the comfort of home, to the freely given emotion of his
mother¡¯s bosom, as she kisses him and makes him feel secure. He has now allowed himself to feel as we
see him return to what must have been the very traumatic experience of his
mother¡¯s death¡ªthe first in a long line of failed relationships. By returning to this scene of trauma, he
is able to understand what it is that has caused all of the distance and
isolation he has felt. He is able
to revisit his mother, allowing himself to feel about her absence rather than
continue to repress all of the hurt he has avoided for years.
And then, the film ends fittingly with Kelvin revisiting his father in
the countryside. He stands in
isolation by the pond we first found him next to. But, now, he walks to the house, sees
his father inside, and, when his father comes out to greet him, he hugs him and
sinks to his knees. Kelvin is now
able to express all of the regret and longing that he had concealed at the
beginning. We are able to revisit
the earlier scene with all of the hidden meanings revealed, all of the
connections made manifest. Through
Hari¡¯s visitations, Kelvin is able to work through the cause of his isolation so
that he can reconcile with his past.
* * * * *
If that were all this is
about, Solaris would still be a very compelling film. But, there¡¯s that elusive quality which
makes it seem like there¡¯s much more than what¡¯s at the surface. For one, why does the film spend so much
time dwelling on nature? The film¡¯s
first image is a more than several minute shot of reeds flowing under the
surface of Kelvin¡¯s pond. Tarkovsky
directs our attention to the beauty of a black horse which is owned by Kelvin¡¯s
father. We also get an almost
ten-minute sequence of the astronaut, Burton¡¯s, drive back into the city from
Kelvin¡¯s country estate. Although
this isn¡¯t nature, as we normally think of it, the city is the flipside of what
we¡¯ve seen thus far. (In fact, the
sequence¡¯s criss-crossing highways full of cars reminded me of the futuristic
city in Metropolis with its diagonal currents of traffic. Tarkovsky seems to be saying that this
is what nature has become for us.) And what function does the planet, Solaris, play in this film?
Is it just merely a plot device to get
Hari on board the space station? If
so, why do we get so many shots of the planet¡¯s constantly flowing
currents? And why does the film¡¯s
climactic moment of reconciliation¡ªbetween Kelvin and his father¡ªhappen on
Solaris? There does seem to be some
parallel with Earth being set up as we get the shot of the flowing reeds on both
planets.
Here¡¯s my guess. If Kelvin
revisits a primal scene (of his mother before she dies) in order to reconnect
with his emotions, might Solaris be a primal site which is juxtaposed with the
urban distancing of Earth? What is
nature? What does it mean to be
alive, to be human? On the Earth of
this film, it is hard to answer those questions because everything is
familiar. Systems have been set
up. Things occur without reference
to why they occur. Just as a reed
flows with the current of Kelvin¡¯s pond, the traffic now flows along the city¡¯s
highways. Traffic seems as natural
as water currents because it exists alongside the other. It is here and there¡¯s no reason to
doubt its authenticity. In the same
way, the distance between Kelvin and everyone around him seems like his natural
state. He doesn¡¯t question why he
now feels isolated because he thinks he¡¯s always felt that way. For him, emotionality is unnecessary,
not because it actually is, but because he sees no reason to change the way
things are. Once ¡°nature¡± takes a
certain path, we find it difficult to do anything other than continue in its new
direction. We don¡¯t wonder if the
city is indeed the structure by which we should organize our lives
because it just is. We don¡¯t
question why we feel isolated from others because we just do. Systems have been created which have
taken on the aura of ¡°nature¡± and are therefore that much more difficult to
subvert.
Then, we find ourselves on Solaris.
The film indirectly suggests that Solaris is a type of Earth by tricking
us into confusing the two at the end when Kelvin reconciles with his
father. We first get the same shots
of the flowing reeds. We see the
house and horse. We then see
Kelvin¡¯s father. But there is
something much more organic about this setting than appeared at first. When Kelvin looks inside the house, he
sees that rain is falling on his father who is oblivious to it. It is as if nature is unconcerned about
such things as houses and roofs. And then, of course, after Kelvin embraces his father, the camera pans
back and away from the scene until it reveals an island in the midst of
Solaris¡¯s flowing waters. It is as
if the unbridled nature of Solaris allows us once again to see things clearly,
without the rigid systems and highways and houses and roofs of Earth. We can get beyond the impersonality and
isolation of modern-day Earth to see a more natural system where everything
seems to be interconnected and things are not as distinct from one another.
The same can be said for Kelvin at the
end of the film. No longer does he
insist on separating himself from others. He can now allow himself to reach out and make those connections he had
for so long resisted. He finally
remembers what it means to be human.
* * * * *
Solaris is such a
difficult film to characterize because it refuses to give a clear and distinct
message. Like the messy pond scum
floating on the surface of the water at Kelvin¡¯s country estate, or the chaotic
mixing of interior and exterior with the rain falling indoors at the end, this
film tries to present us with a nature which does seem true to life, hard to pin
down, infinite in its complexities, but also deeply familiar to all of us.
The film does not simply try to say
through Kelvin¡¯s particular story that we should all ¡°reach out and hug
someone.¡± By connecting Kelvin¡¯s
journey to a critique of nature gone awry, Tarkovsky suggests a way in which
humanity can be looked at. It¡¯s not
as simple as saying that we should all be ¡°connected¡± since that statement, in
and of itself, relies on insurmountable complexity. What does it mean to be connected to
another? What does it mean to reach
out? What is nature? How have we fallen away from a natural
state and how can we return to it? There are no easy answers but Tarkovsky
at least accomplishes the feat of revealing what¡¯s truly at stake. He tries to dig beneath the concrete of
city streets to find out what once was there.
From SOLARIS
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