Solaris

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Day 205 of 365 of my year long challenge Week 30: Comrade Comrade In honour of Vladimir Lenin's 146th birthday. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Often seen as the East's answer to 2001: A Space Odyssey, Andrei Tarkovsky's Solaris is at once superficially similar while equally a very different beast. Ultimately, this is a more human story than Kubrick's but, for now, I'll leave the comparisons alone. Psychologist Kris Kelvin (Donatas Banionis) is tasked with evaluating the usefulness and longevity of a space station orbiting the planet Solaris. His final day on Earth reveals a host of mysteries that haunt the Solaris mission but do little to faze the otherwise indifferent psychologist. Once aboard the station, Kelvin becomes a part of the mystery, swiftly shifting from indifferent observer to key to any understanding. With Kelvin haunted as much by visitations from his long dead wife Hari (Natalya Bondarchuk) as by the questions Solaris forces him to ask, Solaris is the inevitable crumbling of the rational mind in the face of sheer desire as dictated by the human condition. Oh God, that description makes this film feel so very, very heavy. And don't get me wrong, it'll make you work for your answers, but it is surprisingly accessible. From end to end, there is a rather singular through line that holds both you and the film together. It is, in a word, Kelvin. But before I go there, I just want to applaud Tarkovsky for making a film that, despite its evidently low-budget, seventies sci-fi trappings, rises above all that. The meat of this film really lies outside any of the sci-fi elements but what does exist is beautifully crafted and feels plausible.It's a testament then to note that what is most mind-bending really isn't all too sci-fi driven (beyond the initial machinations of the planet Solaris) but come about from our functionally small cast. Now, back to Kelvin. Banionis' psychologist is as "normal" a protagonist as they come. Middle aged, weary and sad, his indifferent approach is the only thing that keeps him from becoming overwhelmingly melancholy. It makes him feel like the legitimate observer he strives to be. Once aboard the station and in the midst of the mystery, the lack of answers and claustrophobic settings slowly take their toll on Kelvin. He falls apart bit by bit, trying to maintain and salvage himself as he goes. Once he gives in, though, there is a shift in Banionis' performance. Ir's subtle but he becomes more human, more possessive and more doubtful. It's a solid performance that grounds this otherwise inaccessible film. Pity, sorrow, doubt and shame highlight the human condition of the men aboard the space station but none so much as Kelvin as he sinks in a matter of days rather than the years the others have had. AS obtuse as Solaris may be, everything about the film feels so very deliberate one can't help but become entranced by scenes and shots that linger long beyond the point of comfort or even utility. The obvious scene to point to is Berton's (Vladislav Dvorzhetsky) car trip through the city. Why we are watching this is never quite clear but the deliberate nature of things makes every shot, every scene and every prolonged moment feel like a vital element to the film. Similarly, the film cuts to scenes awash in blue or grey or red that seem like fantasy amongst the monotony of the space station. All the elements of Solaris eventually culminate in a direction and philosophical examination of what it is to be human, to have knowledge, to have purpose or happiness, and even to simply wonder what our relationship with everything, including ourselves, is. These are not easy questions and the film offers no easy answer but it tries. Certainly, the film will leave you pondering but, and this is just me, the film's only definitive position seems to be that we, as humans, are set to always ask but never know. Solaris is a film that demands multiple viewings. Solaris is a film that demands the audience work to get the answers they want. And yet, Solaris is also a film that demands so very little. This is a refined and restrained effort that does enough to suggest it had a bigger budget than it did but not so much as to overwhelm. Maybe, when I have three hours spare again, I will endeavour to revisit this masterpiece but for now, I'm left to ponder the terrors of my own mortality.