Solaris (1972)If an emotion were given form, what would it look like? What kind of emotions would manifest? Is the realm of dreams a real place, where the most powerful of thoughts are born? These philosophical themes are the deep sonorous tone that runs through Solaris. The film is a science fiction film, set in space on another planet--on a space station upon the planet Solaris' oceanic surface. But where Solaris differs from other science fiction epics--like 2001--is that rather than focus predominantly on the outer space, it focuses on an inner one. But like its counterpart (2001), Solaris provides us with significant human questions not easily answered.
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The story of Solaris would not be out of place in any science fiction medium. A psychologist--Kris Kelvin (Donatas Banionis)--embarks upon an interstellar journey to the planet of Solaris to determine whether research should still continue on the celestial body. But Kris is haunted for over ten years by the death of his late wife, Hari (Natalya Bondarchuk), and still mourns her even as he prepares for this ultimate journey. Prior to departure, he is visited at his parents' cottage by a former pilot named Henri Berton (Vladislav Dvorzhetsky), who had returned from Solaris to report that the place had shown him manifestations of an alien nature. Dismissed by the administrators of the Solaris project, he turns to present this testimony to an incredulous Kris as a cautionary warning. When Kris does arrive at the station, he finds it in total chaos, only two scientists remain alive, and strange events still occurring--not hallucinations, as is reinforced by the inhabitants, but "guests", guests from the planet, projecting the inner thoughts and dreams of the inhabitants in physical form. For Kris, still burdened by his grief, he is visited by an apparition made flesh of Hari. It is no coincidence that the story of Solaris--one of coping through literal projections of one's inner demons--features a "man of the mind" as the protagonist. Kris should be more adept at dealing with the reflections of his late wife and the trauma it stirs up as a professional, which was the reason he took this assignment, but his overwhelming sense of guilt, of remorse, lures him into the siren's song of Solaris.
Solaris is well-regarded for many things--the intricate, multifaceted plot, the challenging philosophical questions raised by the nature of the planet itself, the haunting conclusion, but one element that stands out stylistically from standard sci-fi fare is in its gorgeous and patient vistas of slow-moving liquid, meant to literally resemble the Ocean surface, but metaphorically the hypnotic allure of the alien world and the promises it seems to offer. Although this description of Solaris and its "guests"--which one of the stationed scientists observed are composed of neutrinos as opposed to atoms, giving them a kind of transitory state--suggests a kind of deceptive malice, if Hari (or rather, her duplicate) is any indication, they do not present themselves as a threat, but like some kind of fantasy given flesh, or more interestingly, a kind of psychotherapy taken to the nth degree. The cinematography of Solaris by Vadim Yusov is famed and with good reason; it is evocative of an alien world, but also of the soul, melancholy and contemplative, where long shots are devoted to scenes depicted in art and nature, ripe with color and tone, and pans create a circular world that is both pensive and given to illusion. Again, like 2001, Solaris uses classical music to give outer space a kind of ascendant allure, something beyond ordinary comprehension, something "god-like" even. But where Stanley Kubrick used grandiose selections to convey the magnitude of space, filmmaker Andrei Tarkovsky uses pieces like Ich ruf zu dir, Herr Jesu Christ by Johann Sebastian Bach to focus intently inward on man's journey into the outer reaches. This particular piece is special--translating as "I call to you, Lord Jesus Christ"--for it is filled with sad longing, despair that cries out to God for guidance, for peace. Considering Hari's doppelganger has an undying, consuming love for Kris, one which has brought her back from death in a way to guide him in his unrelenting misery, it could be said that she--and the guests from Solaris--might be "angels", if this is the case. Though this is but one interpretation, the soft and deeply personal odyssey which is Solaris means that no answer is definite--it is the experience of the individual viewer which counts in the end.
Recommended for: Fans of deeply philosophical and psychological science fiction, filled with vistas alien and familiar both, bravura shots and highly intimate ones. It is truly a science fiction film which demands your participation, makes you think...and feel.
Solaris is well-regarded for many things--the intricate, multifaceted plot, the challenging philosophical questions raised by the nature of the planet itself, the haunting conclusion, but one element that stands out stylistically from standard sci-fi fare is in its gorgeous and patient vistas of slow-moving liquid, meant to literally resemble the Ocean surface, but metaphorically the hypnotic allure of the alien world and the promises it seems to offer. Although this description of Solaris and its "guests"--which one of the stationed scientists observed are composed of neutrinos as opposed to atoms, giving them a kind of transitory state--suggests a kind of deceptive malice, if Hari (or rather, her duplicate) is any indication, they do not present themselves as a threat, but like some kind of fantasy given flesh, or more interestingly, a kind of psychotherapy taken to the nth degree. The cinematography of Solaris by Vadim Yusov is famed and with good reason; it is evocative of an alien world, but also of the soul, melancholy and contemplative, where long shots are devoted to scenes depicted in art and nature, ripe with color and tone, and pans create a circular world that is both pensive and given to illusion. Again, like 2001, Solaris uses classical music to give outer space a kind of ascendant allure, something beyond ordinary comprehension, something "god-like" even. But where Stanley Kubrick used grandiose selections to convey the magnitude of space, filmmaker Andrei Tarkovsky uses pieces like Ich ruf zu dir, Herr Jesu Christ by Johann Sebastian Bach to focus intently inward on man's journey into the outer reaches. This particular piece is special--translating as "I call to you, Lord Jesus Christ"--for it is filled with sad longing, despair that cries out to God for guidance, for peace. Considering Hari's doppelganger has an undying, consuming love for Kris, one which has brought her back from death in a way to guide him in his unrelenting misery, it could be said that she--and the guests from Solaris--might be "angels", if this is the case. Though this is but one interpretation, the soft and deeply personal odyssey which is Solaris means that no answer is definite--it is the experience of the individual viewer which counts in the end.
Recommended for: Fans of deeply philosophical and psychological science fiction, filled with vistas alien and familiar both, bravura shots and highly intimate ones. It is truly a science fiction film which demands your participation, makes you think...and feel.