Andrei Rublev

From just the opening scene, Tarkovsky establishes both an allegorical meaning, and a virtual interpretation of his viewers perception of the film. To fly like the birds was nothing more than a child’s or a madman’s idea, until it wasn’t. We witness the fictional event depicting exactly that: potentially the first ever successful attempt at flying, in the form of an interim hot-air-balloon. As mentioned already, this works on two levels; both as a metaphor and mood-setter for the films main themes: the drive for innovation and the fragility in ambition. We are at the highest form of human development, at the peek of our powers, daring to break very subconscious rule that governs our heads filled with irrational ideas. But up in the sky, our craft become limited, our knowledge disappear, the boarder to the unknown has been reached. We become subordinates yet again, and what happens to the man and the balloon is left to a higher power - they crash, and thus we were allowed to hope and tread, soar high in the sky, out goals an ambition beyond the understanding of our world - our craft, our art become the only thing on our minds. Our obsession, our purpose, our entire existence. Yet we become confined in the crash, humbled, grounded in our rightful place. It all feels meaningless yet again. Back where we began, as if it was all for nothing. And secondly, it’s also an amazing parallel to Tarkovskys brilliance as a filmmaker: most of the people on the ground are oblivious to any of the pioneering science behind- or the sheer amount of work and time put into the concept and construction of the balloon. As are we, the viewer, to Tarkovskys mind and the process to make this film a reality. But we are, as the people on the ground are; still able to understand that what we are witnessing, is something truly beyond us. Something so extraordinary genius, we can’t even begin to comprehend it. But we can feel it, recognise, in one way or another understand, that it’s “this” special - a one of a kind creation and experience. Something we should all consider ourselves lucky not only to have been a part of this once, but to consider ourselves even luckier if we’re ever fortunate enough to be apart of something with this magnitude again. It’s a also a testimony to the films contemporary significance, and a proof to Tarkovskys inability to make anything that would be considered irrelevant today - whether that’s in its politics, themes, characters or something else entirely. Everything here: from the grand battle sequences we’re Tarkovsky seemingly seems to embody the camera itself - operating with an unbelievable precision over the miss-en-scène (continue soon)