Solaris (The Criterion Collection) - clip Art

Back in 2002, something rare happened. Steven Soderbergh, for whatever reason, remade Andrei Tarkovsky’s Solaris with George Clooney in the lead, and didn’t try to dumb it down to make it more accessible to a general audience. one could reasonably suspect that Soderbergh, hot off his populist Ocean’s 11 remake with the same star, would try to make the story more accessibly “sci-fi.” true to his romantic identity as a filmmaker, Soderbergh’s version is far more sentimental and straight-forward, but it tries to explore largely the same mood and thematic verve, which of course only invite comparisons of his storytelling chops to that of Tarkovsky’s—not a good idea.

Solaris (the original, which is the one on this Criterion Blu-ray disc) is the complete antithesis of the American science-fiction, perhaps the very image one conjures when thinking about a three-hour long Russian science-fiction. it neglects spectacle and special effects in favor of a long, dense exploration of the mental rather than the physical danger. it also takes its time, the camera patiently rolling in long takes as the characters ruminate over every exceptional thing that happens. put it this way: Soderbergh’s version is half as long, but has a couple of extra subplots.

Based on a 1961 novel by Polish writer Stanislaw Lem, Solaris is named after a new planet that humans are observing in the movie. Psychologist Kris Kelvin (Donatas Banionis) is sent to a space station orbiting the planet to check up on a group of scientists who have stopped their mission on account of an unknown psychological breakdowns. Upon arriving at the space station, he finds himself going a little mad himself, as a strange clone of his dead wife Hari (Natalya Bondarchuk) keeps appearing; presumed to be the doing of Solaris.

Lem famously rejected the film version, as Tarkovsky took the plot but ignored Lem’s exploration of the human race’s encounter with the unknown and how that places us in the vastness of existence. instead, Tarkovsky is more interested in Kris’ connection to his wife that made her a specter in the story. It’s understandable that Lem was not too enthused about Tarkovsky’s vision. As a writer working in the genre of science-fiction, the whole point is to probe current reality or subjects pertaining it using concepts beyond it. That description fits 2001, the movie Solaris is often compared to in cinema history, but not Solaris.

Dismissing Kris’ attachment to Hari’s apparitions, one of the station’s mad cosmonauts warns him, “Don’t turn a scientific problem into a common love story!” Yet the problem appeared precisely because the love story could not be denied, and so warns Tarkovsky, who sees human interaction as a delicate but lasting bond, while space exploration as a toll on the psyche and ultimately unnecessary. He is more concerned with the metaphysical and the spiritual, emphasizing the beauty of what we already have rather than our potential. the scientists are punished and abandoned while Kris—through the power of memory and surrender to inward introspection—finds some sort of solace.

In hindsight, this is an absurd stance; but Tarkovsky imbues so much passion in Kris and our humanity in general that his stance comes through the screen admirably. Long after Solaris’ release, in his later years, the director admitted that he believes the film failed in transcending the confines of sci-fi (as if that should be a goal) and regretted having to kowtow to the genre’s look and lingo. in other words, he found technobabble and things you can’t find in the real world to be a nuisance. It’s important then to note that in Tarkovsky’s first draft, two of the three-hour runtime supposedly take place before Kris left Earth and focus simply on his marriage life with Hari—to which half the people involved in the production balked at. it should be obvious, really, just from the difference in the way Tarkovsky shoots the lushness of nature and the striking faces of his actors, versus the grim way he shoots the space station. Enclosed metal spaces that cut you as you try to escape, people burned by a launch bay… the environment is not actively aggressive, but it’s claustrophobic, volatile and antagonistic.

Describing the film a slow burn is accurate, more so for the burn than the slow part. Yes, its glacial pace asks quite a bit of the viewer’s patience, but in doing so, it ensures a burning of its haunting images into the mind. Revisiting the film on this set, having been years since the previous viewing, it’s clear that even when the context and nuance of the scenes have faded from memory, the haunting images, actions and ideas are persistent things that echo familiarity throughout. they are what keep this from being an overlong, kooky art film about anti-progress and anti-sci-fi set in space.

Blu-ray Bonus Features

This excellent Criterion release comes with a picture booklet that contains an essay on the film by film critic Phillip Lopate, as well as a piece penned by Akira Kurosawa in 1977 talking about both Solaris and Tarkovsky himself.

On the disc, a helpful timeline bar lets you keep track of where you are in the film, divided into points on the line that indicate the name of the scene playing at that point in the movie, as well as the topic being discussed on the commentary track. the latter is truly appreciated for repeat viewings, and they can do this because the commentary track isn’t just reminiscences and thoughts on the scene at play. Scholars Vida Johnson and Graham Petric take turn discussing the film in-depth by seemingly doing a cold reading of a prepared written essay.

The other features are brief, static video interviews with star and crew, as well as a clip from a TV documentary that’s specifically about how much Stanislaw Lem disliked the film.

“Solaris (The Criterion Collection)” is on sale may 24, 2011 and is rated PG. Drama, Sci-Fi. Directed by Andrei Tarkovsky. Written by Stanislaw Lem (novel), Fridrikh Gorenshtein & Andrei Tarkovsky (screenplay). Starring Donatas Banionis, Natalya Bondarchuk, Juri Jarvet.