2001: A Space Odyssey may have invented the slow, meditative sci-fi art-piece, but Solaris followed it in its tracks with its own suit and mind. Because of similarities in their style and method, the two films have been pinned together as rival sister movies ever since their releases and have been compared and compressed time over time by film geeks and scholars alike. That Tarkovsky and Kubrick were both such meticulous (and successful) visionaries in their art direction and scene construction connects the two films more than anything. The main difference is that where 2001: A Space Odyssey is an external peer into the unknown unattainable answers of existence, as spacious and cerebral as it is, Solaris is an internal drama at its core and the connection it builds us with its characters drives the mystery it presents.
The film begins with Kris, a researcher/psychologist spending his last day on Earth before embarking on an interstellar mission to the distant and foreign planet Solaris, wandering through the wilderness deep in thought. His troubled mind is reminded of the news that all scientists and personnel who have attempted to examine the planet Solaris have succumbed to psychotic episodes and hallucinations. A friend and former exploratory pilot visits Kris to convince him that his hallucinations were real, and were product or creation of the planet. All this does is further compel Kris to his mission: to assess the current scientists aboard the Solaris space station and determine whether it is reasonable or even possible to continue research. After burning his possessions and keepsakes and having an intimate conversation with his father, Kris closes his life on Earth and departs for space.
Upon arrival at the space station, Kris enters to find that one of the scientists, his liaison and friend, has committed suicide and the remaining two scientists are shadowed by apparitions of people from their former lives (coyly referred to as "guests"). The message left to Kris from his deceased friend is that the planet can read minds and would copy and deliver people out of personal memories to those who were near to it. Soon enough Kris is met with his own guest, a replicate of his dead wife, Hari, who appears and acts like Hari but has no knowledge or memory of what she is; with no other anchors, she is attaches herself to Kris.
Up to this point and through to the end, what little the film is able to cast in its philosophical glare it exceeds with in environment and internal struggle. The contrast between the settings of Earth and the spaceship are frightening in their scope. Shots of Earth show a flowing, natural beauty of familiar comfort: reeds flowing through a river, rain dripping through the trees and wind rustling through the fields, a cozy lived-in home, animals . The ship is like a cold, aesthetic Soviet version of a Jetsons prison with sparse, anarchic hallways and either empty or cluttered rooms. In one scene a remaining crewman shows Kris that he can cut a piece of paper into strips and put it over an air vent so that it can mimic the sound of rustling leaves. A loose, dripping pipe is the closest substitute to rain. Kurosawa, after a private screening with Tarkovsky, turned to him and said "It's very good. It's a frightening movie." I can see where he is coming from with the movie's presentation of space life in and of itself.
Aboard this bleak, exotic space station, Kris must come to terms with his guest, the closest substitute to his wife he can perceive, a product of his mind that cannot leave him and cannot die. If he allows her existence become a reality, what becomes of the memory of his dead wife and how, with this reality, can he differentiate a copied fabrication of someone from who they are truly representing? These are burdensome questions that story cannot answer but the characters continually meditate on. The film's final scene gives an even greater prescience to these questions and meditations.
Tarkovsky's restraint in probing the film's preternatural centerpiece gives the movie a lofty, cerebral air, but holding back its mystery was also likely a necessity to pass the Soviet censors. After the back and forth censoring disputes of Tarkovsky's previous film, Andrei Rublev, causing the film to be suppressed nationally and internationally for years, Soviets footed that Tarkovsky "remove the concept of God" from Solaris entirely. Considering the stakes of a gargantuan production budget it's a wonder that Tarkovsky was even able to pen the script at all without the censor flaring their noses. With careful writing, Tarkovsky avoids the question of creation and being of these strange, familiar human apparitions and instead uses their existence to probe the mind and condition of them and their hosts. In the film we see Kris evolve a relationship with this strange being who for all disbelieving is his wife Hari, and in turn we see Hari, who has no connection to who Kris's wife is, only that she must be her, face the limits of her own identity.
Near the beginning of the movie we see the former exploratory pilot ruminating in the back of his private car on a freeway after showing Kris the hearing of his Solaris experience. There is no dialogue, only abstract, minimal sound effects of streets noises and footage of highway to accompany his stark, searching eyes. The scene is approximately 7 minutes long. If you find yourself considering and pondering the positions of these characters and the consequences of their situations, the movie's space is rich and spiritual; however if you find nothing to ruminate on, it's likely that you will find Solaris a lengthy, tedious streak of long shots and sparse dialogue with very little payoff. Luckily the film gives us plenty of nourishment to ruminate on.
The film begins with Kris, a researcher/psychologist spending his last day on Earth before embarking on an interstellar mission to the distant and foreign planet Solaris, wandering through the wilderness deep in thought. His troubled mind is reminded of the news that all scientists and personnel who have attempted to examine the planet Solaris have succumbed to psychotic episodes and hallucinations. A friend and former exploratory pilot visits Kris to convince him that his hallucinations were real, and were product or creation of the planet. All this does is further compel Kris to his mission: to assess the current scientists aboard the Solaris space station and determine whether it is reasonable or even possible to continue research. After burning his possessions and keepsakes and having an intimate conversation with his father, Kris closes his life on Earth and departs for space.
Upon arrival at the space station, Kris enters to find that one of the scientists, his liaison and friend, has committed suicide and the remaining two scientists are shadowed by apparitions of people from their former lives (coyly referred to as "guests"). The message left to Kris from his deceased friend is that the planet can read minds and would copy and deliver people out of personal memories to those who were near to it. Soon enough Kris is met with his own guest, a replicate of his dead wife, Hari, who appears and acts like Hari but has no knowledge or memory of what she is; with no other anchors, she is attaches herself to Kris.
Up to this point and through to the end, what little the film is able to cast in its philosophical glare it exceeds with in environment and internal struggle. The contrast between the settings of Earth and the spaceship are frightening in their scope. Shots of Earth show a flowing, natural beauty of familiar comfort: reeds flowing through a river, rain dripping through the trees and wind rustling through the fields, a cozy lived-in home, animals . The ship is like a cold, aesthetic Soviet version of a Jetsons prison with sparse, anarchic hallways and either empty or cluttered rooms. In one scene a remaining crewman shows Kris that he can cut a piece of paper into strips and put it over an air vent so that it can mimic the sound of rustling leaves. A loose, dripping pipe is the closest substitute to rain. Kurosawa, after a private screening with Tarkovsky, turned to him and said "It's very good. It's a frightening movie." I can see where he is coming from with the movie's presentation of space life in and of itself.
Aboard this bleak, exotic space station, Kris must come to terms with his guest, the closest substitute to his wife he can perceive, a product of his mind that cannot leave him and cannot die. If he allows her existence become a reality, what becomes of the memory of his dead wife and how, with this reality, can he differentiate a copied fabrication of someone from who they are truly representing? These are burdensome questions that story cannot answer but the characters continually meditate on. The film's final scene gives an even greater prescience to these questions and meditations.
Tarkovsky's restraint in probing the film's preternatural centerpiece gives the movie a lofty, cerebral air, but holding back its mystery was also likely a necessity to pass the Soviet censors. After the back and forth censoring disputes of Tarkovsky's previous film, Andrei Rublev, causing the film to be suppressed nationally and internationally for years, Soviets footed that Tarkovsky "remove the concept of God" from Solaris entirely. Considering the stakes of a gargantuan production budget it's a wonder that Tarkovsky was even able to pen the script at all without the censor flaring their noses. With careful writing, Tarkovsky avoids the question of creation and being of these strange, familiar human apparitions and instead uses their existence to probe the mind and condition of them and their hosts. In the film we see Kris evolve a relationship with this strange being who for all disbelieving is his wife Hari, and in turn we see Hari, who has no connection to who Kris's wife is, only that she must be her, face the limits of her own identity.
Near the beginning of the movie we see the former exploratory pilot ruminating in the back of his private car on a freeway after showing Kris the hearing of his Solaris experience. There is no dialogue, only abstract, minimal sound effects of streets noises and footage of highway to accompany his stark, searching eyes. The scene is approximately 7 minutes long. If you find yourself considering and pondering the positions of these characters and the consequences of their situations, the movie's space is rich and spiritual; however if you find nothing to ruminate on, it's likely that you will find Solaris a lengthy, tedious streak of long shots and sparse dialogue with very little payoff. Luckily the film gives us plenty of nourishment to ruminate on.
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