Mirror

Mirror is a difficult film to review. You can't really give it an objective, detached assessment, as I so often try to do, because it is a film based purely on eliciting emotions. It is an experience, not a story. And this idea of subjective, emotive filmmaking extends to how it is shot and edited, the sound design, and most notably, the narrative flow and structure. Regardless, I do intend to try and review Mirror as I do every film, for I believe art above analysis is not art. To qualify as art, there must be a substance which can be picked up by and interpreted by the viewer. The only thing that differentiates this substance in Mirror's case, is the fact that this substance is a result, not of a plot, but of an experience. I have made Mirror sound like a supremely daunting film, plot-less and devoid of comprehension, yet I will make it abundantly clear that not only is Mirror comprehensible, but it also has a narrative, even if said narrative does not contain traditional story beats. And to really get to the core of Mirror, we must simply boil it down to it's simplest form: what is it? A faceless man, Alexei, reflects on his life, and confesses to himself his lamentations. And that really is it in the long run. It is told in a non-linear structure, intertwining a series of events in this man's life, as he ambles through his thoughts and desires, aimlessly, every new scene only being relevant to the prior scene. Mirror really is just a series of aimless thoughts, and memories and dreams. The film opens boldly, with a scene shown on a television of a psychic supposedly curing a young man's speech impediment. The film really starts with the bold proclamation from the patient that 'I can speak'. Tarkvosky asserts his conviction in his confidence. And from here, the main character is the faceless man's head-strong mother, Maria, who is waiting for her husband to return from the war. She is conservative, and her distance is 'mirrored' further on throughout the film in her children. She is shown to be hurting, yet wills on in her defiantly distanced manner. She observes from afar, and is observed from afar. She passively watches a neighbour's house burn down, she stays aloof to a passing traveller, she speaks little in words, yet says so much more in her nothingness. She cannot experience relief, and despite the warmth and nostalgia presented in Alexei's childhood, he simply cannot unlock his mother's soul, and suffers later in life for it. She is the main character, because she is the subject for Alexei's reflection, as he comes to dream of her presence and empathise with her. And the mirror comes into play here, for her struggles are mirrored in her children. Alexei is unable to meaningfully connect with other women, seeing them only as a motherly figure. He cannot satisfy, nor be satisfied by his wife. This divorce is further relayed on their child, Ignat, who can also be observed as a mirror of his father. This story, or dream, or whatever it is, is told with such subtle intentness and beauty. The monologues of Tarkvosky's legendary poet father, Arseny, are read throughout, translating what a picture cannot tell into sheer substantial beauty. Nature, throughout the film, is present. It is alive. It is another presence, a godly presence perhaps, or a spiritual one at least. There is a life amongst all in Mirror, which the characters simply cannot catch. It is only on his sombre, revelationary reflection, that Alexei may recognise this presence. And this isn't simply abstract ideas; the doctor expresses the idea of unknown life, dismissed silently by Maria. And yet, throughout the entire film, there is other life, perhaps not literal, but to some extent at least. Mirror is almost like a poetic tragedy. It is lamentative, yet nostalgic and dream-like. Mirror is not a beautiful story. It is a beautiful contemplation. A contemplation of how we are mirrors and are mirrored, and yet we remain ignorant of essence itself. Mirror is a personal story, but it carries epic proportions. Not conventional epic proportions in the literal sense, but in the the human sense; in the universal sense. Naturally, as this is arguably the most 'Tarkovskyan' film, there is little dialogue in Mirror. But dialogue is replaced with wordless poetry. And when the dialogue spoken, whether it be the diegetic conversations themselves, or Arseny's monologues, it carries a great weight. In fact, the narration in general is some of the very best in the history of cinema. The structure and narrative style of this film, despite the immediate prejudices an audience may have towards them, still makes sense - both narratively and artistically. It is a deeply personal, almost autobiographical contemplation, and the screenwriting accommodates it, not estranges it. There are, however, some things that send Mirror out of 5* territory. And though I have described the genuine greatness of the screenplay, and how it makes sense, I'm afraid that at individual intervals, some of it just doesn't make sense. Either that, or the sense it does make is too vague and abstract. Some of the most famous imagery from the film, I find too on-the-nose. The opening scene, for instance, feels just too estranged from the rest of the film. In Rublev, presenting a separate event had an effect. I'm not sure about that in this case. The washing hair and crumbling house, the footage of Soviet soldiers building a bridge and the Chinese people waving their Little Red Books. It does come off as I believe Tarkvosky intended, but at a sacrifice; a sacrifice to coherence or consistency. Sometimes, the imagery simply feels too shallow, not spontaneous. A floating Maria, Alexei not being able to open the door: they work. But the aforesaid imagery, and some other parts scattered throughout, play as a detriment to Mirror's delicate visual poetry. Here, Tarkovsky is unadulterated, and he takes risks. Some such risks just didn't manifest. They work as sheer emotions, but not in context to the rest of the film. In regards to Mirror's style, it is easily the most Tarkvoskyan of all of his films. The cinematography in particular, is some of the very best. That idea of the consciousness of nature and objects, Fortuna breathing through the plants and pots, casting her spell upon those that lie before her wake, and the characters' helpless, ignorant conservatism towards that, is presented expertly through the cinematography. The camera spontaneously glides over the scenery, with a delicacy and subtlety, capturing the presence of life in it's wake. And through Tarkovsky's expert editing, he is able to add a certain temporal pressure to these shots, of which he mentions often in his studies; that being a blatant disregard for Eisenstein's Theory of Montage, in favour of what he called 'time pressure'. He, by landing on an object, and staying on it, gliding over this hidden life, is able to capture this time pressure. Through this style, Tarkovsky creates what may only be described as transcendental. Naturally, in Mirror, mirrors and reflections are present often. They are reflections not only of characters, but of time, and of ideas and ideals. Mirror is the definition of transcendental filmmaking. When you think of a film that washes it's substance over you, you think of Mirror.** ** There are other cinematographical elements of Mirror which contribute to its transcendent nature. It is framed to perfection, subtle compositions being formed in that previously mentioned, spontaneous, transcendental style. One may notice how Maria is framed in such a way that she is either observing passively and coldly, or being observed by Alexei. The camera maintains distance, or looms inwards, with such beautiful intent. The mise en scène too, holds Tarkvoksy's familiar, warm touch. Every single set or location in Mirror holds some significance. The house feels baron, yet warm and loving. Alexei's house in adulthood just feels empty. The ironic beauty of the snowy camp, where boys are trained into killers. Mirror carries a visual atmosphere, which is perhaps the most important overall element in its transcendental beauty. I touched on, previously, the brilliance within Tarkovsky's methodical approach to editing. I noted how he utilised time pressure, to add a certain metric intensity to his picture. And that is what makes Mirror such an experience. The editing is so quietly intense in its inactivity. See the shot of the fading glass stain, or how Tarkvosky refuses to cut to coverage when the children leave the house to inspect the fire. As Lyudmila Feiginovna so often did throughout Tarkovsky's filmography, the picture, and especially the picture in Mirror, has its spontaneous nature accommodated by expert editing. Tarkovsky referred to himself as a sculptor in time, because that's essentially what he aimed to do; to sculpt a metric significance from shot to shot. And of all his work, Mirror is perhaps what best captures this. Again, as per usual, in every Tarkvosky film, the sound is just sheer excellence personified. Tarkovsky simply did not care for consistent logic in sound. He isolated sounds or neglected them, or designed and added non-diegetic sounds relevant only to the character's mind or state of mind, to relay subjective experiences objectively. And just like in every Tarkvosky film, the sound is, in Mirror, a masterclass. There really isn't much else to say on Mirror's sound. It is just perfect. The soundtrack used throughout is good as well. In terms of Mirror's acting, Margarita Terekhova has one of cinema's very best performances. The anguish and pain she endures, yet the stiff upper-lip she maintains, creates what is a meek, yet hard, though ultimately tragic character. Solonistyn returns, if only briefly, yet iconically. The acting overall is just excellent. Certain actors play more than one character, and it is through their performances, that their subtle differences yet ultimately similar nature is mirrored. I'm afraid, in my attempts to review Mirror, that I feel I have entered into a state of rambling. I have so much to say, yet so little words to say it in. This has been easily the hardest film I have had to review so far, because I'm not even sure if I fully get it in the long run. But a film is ultimately a personal experience, and whether universal or not, Mirror by all means creates personal experiences. I haven't even mentioned the richness in the allusions to Dosteovsky, or Soho, or Dante's Divine Comedy, but I'm not sure I have to, because both because of and despite those allusions, Mirror creates it's own substance. It is so personal, yet complex in what it presents. And you will often hear this referred to as 'Tarkovsky's autobiography', but it's a biography of time and life itself. My issues with Mirror and its screenplay, I do consider decently major, and so this film is deprived of the 5* rating it should be. Because, don't get me wrong: Mirror has the material of a 5* film. It is due only to Tarkvovsky's overindulgence in his style, that I find this cannot be. When I first watched Mirror, I watched it in ignorance of its essence, and found myself irritated. Now, I watch Mirror, in knowledge of it's essence, and find myself more captivated than confused. You must put yourself into a willing state of naivety to see Mirror. You must boil it down and understand it frankly, before you may try to understand it wholly. It truly is a film like no other. 92/100