With a George Clooney/Steven Soderbergh Solaris set to open this Thanksgiving, let’s take a look back at the first version, with special attention to the book behind them both. It’ll be interesting to see which the new version will owe the most to, and whether it turns out to be any good at all.
Premise
In the indistinct future, humanity has discovered a planet that seems to show signs of sentience. Yes, the planet itself. A space station is erected and scientists posted to try and establish communication. Things seem to go awry. So, back on Earth, Kris Kelvin is recruited to go to the station and figure out what the problem is.
Kris arrives to learn that one of the scientists is dead, apparently a suicide, and the remaining two are paranoid and secretive. The mystery of this situation is soon superceded by a greater mystery. Kris wakes one day to find his long-dead wife Khari in his bedroom. It soon becomes clear that this is not the original Khari, but that the ocean planet has somehow recreated her from Kris’s memories. Similar things have been happening to the other scientists, and Kris soon comes to understand their emotional distress.
The body of the movie is structured around two tensions and Kris’s wavering between them: the scientists’ deliberations and attempts to rid themselves of their ‘fantasies’, and Khari’s ontological identity crisis. And always the planet looms in the background. Just what is it and can contact be established?
Acting
Donatas Banionis, the relatively prolific Lithuanian, plays Kris. Word on the street is he was a prima donna. In any case, his is the most hambone performance of the movie—very restrained by Hollywood standards. His inner anguish is delicate, yet it’s clear he struggles with the question of whether Khari should be destroyed as a dangerous phantasm, or loved.
Natalya Bondarchuk is Khari, and she too has an impressive resume. Her portrayal is very sympathetic, and we’re unsupportive of Kris’s first inclination to destroy her. The crisis of knowing she’s just a copy of Kris’s dead wife, not a real person, rends her deeply, and her suicide attempts are wrenching. Interspersed, she delivers some of the greatest insights the film has to offer. Ironically, she’s the most human, certainly the most sympathetic, character in the movie. This reminds me of Data’s role in Star Trek: TNG, only very serious.
Juri Jarvet and Anatoli Solonitsyn are Snauth and Sartorius, the other scientists on the station. They’re suitably demented, while at times retaining the imperious arrogance of scientists. If memory serves, both are veterans of Tarkovsky films.
Behind the camera
The great Andrei Tarkovsky is a dreaded name in many circles. Usually because his are the kind of films some people love to hate: both ‘artsy’ and foreign. Solaris is not his best work. It’s unfortunate that it has received the widest attention in America. He himself didn’t favor it, feeling he compromised too much to Lem’s novel. He thought there was too much science fiction in it. Being a SF fan, let me unqualifiedly state that this film is very light in the SF department. Tarkovsky couldn’t help but make it his own, and the result is humanist through and through.
While not as darkly touching as his first important work, My Name is Ivan, nor as impenetrable as his final film, The Sacrifice, and certainly not as masterful as Andrei Rublyov (the best introduction to Tarkovsky), 1972’s Solaris is nevertheless a Tarkovsky. And that means certain things. Water and horses enjoy special, if abstruse, visual importance. A ride in a taxi cab can last fifteen or twenty minutes on screen with only the noises of the street to pass the time. Every movement the camera makes is deliberate, laden with intentions. Subtle zooming calls attention to profundity. Nothing is done by accident. Nothing is given to the audience for free. Watching Tarkovsky is hard work, and if you’re unwilling to do it you’ll find yourself bored. And even if you are willing, this movie won’t get your blood pumping. Brace yourself for long silences. Be prepared to understand more through less dialogue.
If Tarkovsky was hard to work with, the performances he coaxed out of his cast are remarkable. And, this being a SF story, mention must be made of the effects and sets, which were both of high quality for the time, especially considering the film being made in the USSR. Of particular note are the weightless and ‘frozen’ scenes (there are some things you just shouldn’t drink!).
The film from the novel
The film is based on Stanislav Lem’s landmark novel of the same name. It is my opinion that both are great works in their respective mediums, though neither are among my favorites. But they’re very different, and the different visions caused some strife between Tarkovsky and Lem. The differences aren’t just in scenes being changed or left out, but in the entire nature and focus of the tale.
The most well-crafted aspect of Lem’s book is the satirical treatment of science. Much is made of the fallibility of science, and of the foibles of humans who treat it with religious fervor. This is great reading, even if Lem’s book is no more exciting than Tarkovsky’s film as far as action goes. Tarkovsky, on the other hand, took Lem’s themes of humanity placing faith in science, and humanity becoming disillusioned with science, and shifted the focus from science to humanity, from humanity to human individuals. He examines the personal side of the characters’ experiences, and follows them through the concepts instead of following the concepts. It’s a subtle shift that makes a great difference: Lem illustrates the shortcomings of the epistemology of science, Tarkovsky portrays the effects those shortcomings have on humans; Lem creates the world, Tarkovsky peoples it.
One other important point to make is that Tarkovsky’s Solaris is faithful to Lem’s in ways one might expect to be problematic in transition. For instance, along with dialogue Lem relies on exposition to delineate the comparison between science and religion. Not having the luxury of written exposition, the filmmaker is often stumped in such a situation. But through set design and mise-en-scene Tarkovsky is able to supplement dialogue and imbue the science of Solaristics with a religious tone. This is a reflection of Tarkovsky’s skill as well as a point at which the two artists’ visions come together.
(What does the title of my review refer to? The other scientists on the station are recipients of the planet’s creations also. These creations seem to be the characters’ darkest fantasies. Khari for Kris. A dwarf for one. A giant negress for another. Tarkovsky includes the dwarf, but drop’s Lem’s negress. Other slight changes include seemingly unnecessary name changes for characters.)
Reactions and Recommendation
I’ve seen most of Tarkovsky’s films, and I’m fairly well-read in SF. So perhaps it’s no surprise that I spent some time in school focused on both these interests, and their union in Solaris. But please don’t take that as a recommendation. Here’s a recommendation:
If you think Star Wars is good SF, then don’t read or watch Solaris. If you think A.I. is artistically stunning, don’t watch Solaris. If you think 2001 was a landmark of thought-provoking and nuanced filmmaking, then you’re on the cusp. You could go one of two ways. You could realize you’ve overestimated it and that Tarkovsky and Lem surpass it, or you could be stubborn.
In any case, 2001 is the film Solaris most often receives comparisons to. Here’s my opinion: Solaris reveals that much of what is deemed visually great about 2001 is the same kind of thing that is considered visibly great about A.I., or Star Wars for that matter. Tarkovsky’s film makes Kubrick’s film seem lifeless and sterile, even if it artfully portrays its themes, just as Lem’s book reflects the work put into it while Clarke’s reflects the haste.
But enough of that. If Solaris is so great, and Tarkovsky such an artiste, why do I only give it three stars. Good question. For me personally I give it four stars. But that’s just because of the history I’ve built up between myself and the movie. When I’m being honest, I know that I’d only go out and rent this movie if a strongly pretentious mood took me. Tarkovsky’s art is immaculate and the most profound of any filmmaker I have seen (though I profess no expertise). The return on your time spent on this movie is rich. But for the effort you spend watching the movie, I don’t think it’s quite worth it. It’s certainly not entertaining in any popular sense, even if great, perhaps spiritual, insight comes from it. Solaris could have used a little A.I., just as 2001 could have used a little Solaris.
It will be interesting to see how the new Solaris will turn out. The simple fact that it’s American makes me trepidant. I’m not particularly impressed with Soderbergh, and even O Brother, Where Art Thou? couldn’t bring me past distaste for Clooney. But I’m curious how they’ll treat the story. Will they follow Lem’s emphasis, or Tarkovsky’s? Or will they follow Hollywood’s emphasis? I’ve seen the preview and can say that the sets are reminiscent of Tarkovsky’s film, with a bit of the stainless steel and sterile white of Hollywood SF thrown in. And Clooney does kind of look like Banionis. But I doubt there’ll be the Earth scenes Tarkovsky added. And probably not any horses either. Too bad.
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