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Whistle Stopper - Solaris
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List Price: $19.98
Our Price: $8.28
Your Save: $ 11.70 ( 59% )
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Manufacturer: Fox Lorber
Starring: Natalya Bondarchuk, Donatas Banionis, Jüri Järvet, Vladislav Dvorzhetsky, Nikolai Grinko
Directed By: Andrei Tarkovsky
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Average Customer Rating:  
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Audience Rating: PG (Parental Guidance Suggested)
Binding: VHS Tape
EAN: 9786302120424
Format: Color
ISBN: 630212042X
Label: Fox Lorber
Manufacturer: Fox Lorber
Number Of Items: 2
Publisher: Fox Lorber
Release Date: 1997-10-16
Running Time: 165
Studio: Fox Lorber
Theatrical Release Date: 1972
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Spotlight customer reviews:
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Customer Rating:
Summary: One of the best movies eve made.
Comment: The director is brilliant, and works with a brilliant cast. Thanks to the great Stanislaw Lem for writing this story.
Customer Rating: 
Summary: Ponderous, dull, pretentious
Comment: Dull, ponderous, pretentious, and visually unappealing to boot.
Read the book. It's shorter than many of the five-star reviews here. Effusive praise can't conceal the fact that Lem was a far better writer than Tarakovski was a director.
Customer Rating:
Summary: NOT YOUR TYPICAL SCI-FI
Comment: Don't expect lots of special effects or action sequences. DO expect a gripping tale full of poetic and philosophic musings about culture and what it means to be human. Tarkovsky's is much better than Soderbergh's 2002 version, but it's also much more demanding. It was an excruciating experience the first time I watched it, but, by the end, I knew I had seen something important. Although Tarkovsky based his movie on a novel by Polish author Stanislaw Lem, it's actually not surprising that Lem disliked the movie since Tarkovsky stood Lem's sensibilities on their head. Whereas for Lem outer space is an exciting--if forbidding-- frontier that is waiting for humans to conquer it, Tarkovsky depicts space as a place where humans, uprooted from Earth, become dehumanized and (no pun intended) alienated from their own nature. All the characters on the space station undergo psychological breakdowns.
Whereas the novel includes no scenes on Earth, the movie begins with a long sequence in which Tarkovsky, using slow tracking shots, immerses us in the beauty of our planet. No director I've come across has filmed nature as lovingly as Tarkovsky, who also brought out its strangeness. We first meet Cosmonaut Kris Kelvin, the main character, as he takes his daily stroll through the woods around his father's house on the morning before Kris is scheduled to leave for the space station orbiting the planet Solaris. The movie, which opens with a haunting close-up of long, flowing, primeval-looking weeds, is introduced by Bach's meditative chorale prelude in F-minor, which imparts a spiritual resonance to the images. We slowly track across the pond to the marshy shore, where Kris stands surrounded by lush vegetation. We immediately get a sense of a man with deep connections to nature (and, later, to family). In any case, messages to the Solaris space station have gone unanswered, and Kris has been tasked with the job of traveling to Solaris and figuring out what's wrong. His report from Solaris will determine the fate of "Solaristics."
Whereas most sci-fi depicts flight technology as something that frees human beings for exploration, for Tarkovsky the leaving of Earth's surface becomes a nightmare scenario (as it does at the beginning of ANDREI RUBLEV). For Tarkovsky, a key myth seems to be the fall of Icarus. It's not surprising, then, that Kris' flight into space leads to tragedy--or at least to one very dark mind-trip. Throughout the movie, Tarkovsky demonstrates a distrust of technology and, in this, he is closer to Martin Heidegger than Stanislaw Lem. In his famous <> interview, Heidegger said, "technology tears men loose from the earth and uproots them. I do not know whether you were frightened, but I at any rate was frightened when I saw pictures coming from the moon to the earth...The uprooting of man has already taken place. The only thing we have left is technological relationships." Heidegger's statement provides a fitting summation of the movie's central theme. It is about the uprooting of man from his natural abode on Earth, and what happens to him as a consequence of this uprooting. On the space station, the men are caged like the parakeets we see in Kris' father's house back on Earth. Kris' separation from Earth is linked to alienation from parents, history, culture, and origins.
Before leaving Earth, Kris receives a warning from a retired Cosmonaut named Burton, who used to be stationed on Solaris. Burton warns Kris about strange apparitions. The planet's surface is covered by a bizarre, swirling ocean that is, at times, blanketed by impenetrable fog. This ocean takes on shapes that are familiar only to those who see them. Indeed, it turns out that the planet is a giant brain that reads people's dreams and manifests their psychological obsessions by externalizing them.
Kris travels to Solaris as a cold-eyed pragmatist, but almost as soon as he gets there his emotions take over. He finds two inhabitants alive; the third has committed suicide. The station is in a state of disrepair. The nature sequence at the beginning provides a stark contrast to the interior of the space station, which, with the exception of the library, offers a completely synthetic and sterile living environment. Tarkovsky makes it clear that the dementia suffered by the men on the space station is caused by their extended separation from Earth and by their quixotic dream of conquering space.
At first, it seems like the two survivors are plagued by hallucinations. However, it turns out that these "hallucinations" are real. It's not long before Solaris sends Kris his own "guest," a replica of his dead wife, Hari, who committed suicide ten years prior. In an interview (included as a bonus by Criterion), Natalya Bondarchuk, the actress who plays Hari, explains that Hari, who is really Solaris, represents "life after life. Each of us will have an encounter like that with our conscience, which no amount of earthly prayer can ever expiate or extinguish. When we leave, each of us will meet his own `guest.' It's something we are guilty of and which it's too late to correct because these people are no longer alive. And friends will tell you, `Hari's suicide was not your fault. You had nothing to do with it. It was an accident.' But it wasn't an accident, and the heart knows it. You did not love her enough, or you mortally wounded her, and she departed--for nonexistence. But it only seems that she departed, for in fact she draws closer and closer to you. The older you get, the heavier this sin weighs on your conscience, and sooner or later you have to confront it...We love only what we can lose. Home, homeland, woman." Bondarchuck's explanation goes a long way in clarifying what is, at first, an enigmatic relationship between Kris and Hari. Since Kris had never come to terms with his wife's death--or his mother's-Solaris sends him replicas of both. Kris is forced to face the guilt he feels over their deaths, a guilt that he hadn't even admitted to himself. I think many people eventually experience something like this, a feeling that you didn't appreciate someone fully when they were alive, that you didn't spend enough time with them, express how much you loved them, or were otherwise distant or unfair. This is what Kris is expiating. Of course, metaphorically, the wife/mother represents Earth. This is suggested by Hari's earth-toned Native American garb. The fact that Kris has severed the umbilicus that connects him to Earth is something for which he must atone psychologically.
At first, Kris tries to destroy this replica of Hari, but eventually falls in love with her as if she were really his wife come back from the grave and he were being given a second chance. When he can no longer tell this pseudo-wife apart from the real one, his mind begins to crack. He vows never to leave this new Hari, who desperately clings to him and can't stand being away from him even for a moment. But, in a fit of delirium, he tells her, "Remember I told you I wouldn't return to Earth, that we would live here? It was all a lie." Kris is admitting that, no matter how connected he is to this pseudo-Hari, he feels a maddening nostalgia for Earth.
But it's too late; Solaris has claimed him. Just as it reconstructed Hari for him, the protean planet has picked details out of Kris' waking memory in order to recreate Earth. (Hoping to make contact, the cosmonauts had beamed Kris' waking thoughts down to the planet, which had caused mysterious "islands of memory" to begin forming.) But the planet gets things wrong, jumbling details up so that, when Kris returns to what he thinks is Earth, things are not quite right. For instance, it rains indoors instead of out. Earlier, Hari/Solaris had carefully studied a Brueghel painting of a winter scene that hangs in the space station's library. In Solaris' recreation of Earth, the trees are bare just like they are in the painting (whereas they had been lushly green when we saw them at the beginning of the film). The water in the pond no longer ripples, but is completely still, as if made of plastic. Mysteriously, the bonfire Kris started the day before he left Earth still smolders as if it had been kindled recently. These clues make sense only when an aerial shot shows us that Kris is actually trapped on an island which has emerged on Solaris. The planet is mimicking Earth, but this imitation can never replace the real thing. This might be Tarkovsky's commentary on terraforming. In science-fiction, alien planets are "terraformed" by human colonists, who attempt to make the new planet look like Earth. Tarkovsky seems to be saying that no matter how much we might try to reshape alien landscapes in Earth's likeness, we can never truly replace it.
Criterion's bonus features include commentary by two Tarkovsky scholars, with whom I occasionally disagreed. For instance, they consider Burton's drive through the city (shot in Tokyo) the weakest part of the film because it doesn't seem futuristic enough. However, the way I see it, what's important isn't that the sequence look futuristic (the future is always already both present and past in this movie), but that it contrast with the scenes shot in the country. Tarkovsky disliked the city, loved the county. He's saying that the modern technological city alienates people from nature; we don't have to travel into space for this uprooting to happen. The feeling of alienation is underscored by the bizarre electronic score that contrasts with the meditative Bach music and nature sounds that we heard previously. (By the way, the music, most of it composed specifically for the film, is amazing, but subtle.) Anyhow, the car scene is brilliant because of its strange, hypnotic quality. I see an influence on Chris Marker's SAN SOLEIL and Wim Wenders' TOKYO-GA.
Some of the vicissitudes depicted in the movie parallel Soviet attempts to explore the surface of Venus. At the time, Venus, with its thick, nearly impenetrable atmosphere, was a huge mystery and caused the Russians a great deal of heartache.
Customer Rating:
Summary: Sci Fi with a Heart
Comment: Andrei Tarkovsky received an award from the Vatican for "respect for humanity" for this film...a fact that highly annoyed Soviet officials...due to its treatment of the conflict between cosmonauts on a space station and the scentient beings who seem to have been created from the cosmonauts' own memories. Tarkovsky was inspired by 2001 A Space Odyssey "Stanley Kubrick's", but not because he wanted to re-do the Western film. In fact, he has been quoted saying he was horrified by how cold and inhuman Kubrick's film was. He wanted, instead, to make a film infused with emotion and relational bonds, in contrast to the Arthur C. Clarke tale of stone monoliths and a homicidal computer. Solarisprovided exactly the material he needed.
In "Solaris", a cosmonaut leaves earth to investigate trouble at a far off space station, to find that the ship has become a haven not only for what's left of the crew, but for people who seem to have arisen from fantasies and memories the other crewmen have had. Enter his wife, who killed herself years earlier, the film suggesting loneliness and quarrels leading up to the suicide.
Naturally, the protagonist and his "wife" fall in love again. But problems arise almost immediately. She knows herself only from the mirror and his memories...she can feel pain, think, and cry tears, but is she only a reflection, she wonders?. A crew member plots her demise for a variety of reasons. And is it even possible for the cosmonaut and his wife to return to earth together?
Interspersed are beautiful shots of Russian countryside, a dacha where the cosmonauts parents age while he spends time at mach speed in space. With a simple soundtrack featuring Bach, as opposed to a bombastic symphonic track, and very little dialogue, one has time to concentrate along with the characters as they encounter ethical dilemmas no one has before.
The DVD extras include interviews with the actress who plays the cosmonaut's wife, a teenager when the movie was filmed. She provides interesting insights into Tarkovsky's intent and his personality. (This is the source of the information above concerning the Vatican award and Mr. Tarkovsky's thoughts about 2001 A Space Odyssey "Stanley Kubrick's" There is also an interview with the author of the original book. I have been pleased with all Criterion Collection DVD purchases I have made, and this is no exception. But "Solaris" is a great film in any form...Shakespeare, or perhaps Pushkin, set in an unknown future in an unknown part of the galaxy.
Customer Rating:
Summary: Excellent
Comment: I first saw the 2002 Steven Soderbergh version of Solaris, starring George Clooney, then read Stansislaw Lem's novel, then watched this- Andrei Tarkovsky's 1972 169 minute film version of the book, Solaris (Solyaris), which won the Grand Jury Prize at the Cannes Film Festival that year, and each successive interpretation I've seen of the work is better than the last, even though Lem publicly disavowed Tarkovsky's film, which was scripted by Fridrikh Gorenshtein. The book is a good piece of sci fi, but it's not great, not that long, its philosophizing not nearly as deep as that which Tarkovsky explores, and is told in the first person, unlike the two film versions, which sometimes gives away too much of the dramatic arc of the tale. Still, Tarkovsky hews closer to the Lem novel than Soderbergh, and Lem apparently forced him to do so, by contract. The film (really both) does make a bit more sense if you've read the book, but the parts that are left inexplicable are fine in a film like this, one that is not about details, but the `big picture'.
The Russian film version has some problems- mainly the ineffective use of black and white scenes interspersed with the color at moments that do nothing to justify the dreamier feel of black and white- although there are a few standout colorless scenes; and scenes of a `futuristic city'- seemingly shot in the Far East, which just looks like any metropolitan city of the 1970s, and was dated even upon the film's release. Another visual flaw is an early scene on earth where a rainstorm is clearly not occurring, for the raindrops are seen only in the foreground of the screen- there is no realistic visual `depth' to the storm. All of these are minor, and given this film's limited budget, not really something to worry over. Aside from those flaws, however, the film has rightfully earned its comparisons to Stanley Kubrick's great 1968 film, 2001: A Space Odyssey, despite a recent spate of critics who have tried to point out the differences between the two films. While these exist, as in any films, the similarities are far greater and deeper than any handful of differences. Yet, this film also has as much in common with another Russian film, from a decade earlier, and also reputedly adapted from a Lem novel- 1962's black and white Planeta Burg (Planet Of Storms), which was later bought by Roger Corman for American release, and recut first into Journey To The Prehistoric Planet, and later the Mamie Van Doren schlock film Journey to the Planet Of Prehistoric Women. While Lem never acknowledged the similarities between those two versions of two of his works, he publicly disdained Kubrick's approach. But his claim that 2001 was inhuman says far more of Tarkovsky's limits as an artist than Kubrick's.... Yes, there are elements of suggesting that a state of happiness obviates the human desire for questioning, but we can also see the final scene as that not of a human submission to a higher power, but of a human conquest. This is also in league with interpretations of 2001's ending, which similarly has been seen as a human submission to a higher race of beings, rather than a human triumph over mystery, for the Solaris Ocean- with a deeper knowledge of Kelvin and humanity, may now be tamed, perhaps lulled or narcotized, and willing to merely serve up fantasies for its human visitors- as a sort of sentient, futuristic, and extraterrestrial Disneyworld. This harkens back to an earlier posit in the film, where the men argue over whether humans really want to conquer the cosmos, as they explore outer space, or only want to extend the earth to its ends, which ties into the motto of William Cameron Menzies pre-World War Two sci fi classic film, Things To Come, and its insistence that man must conquer all that lays before him, lest not really be human. Whether or not this, or any other posits that films make need be true is not the point, for art is not philosophy, which is simply about inert ideas. Art is about ideas in motion, ideas put into the service of communication, and as such, Solaris succeeds about as well as any other film that's ever appeared onscreen. And, if one is not quite sure what the ideas it has are, there's little doubt that how it is served is memorable, and in that regard, art does conquer all, even if the men that create it might falter.
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Editorial Reviews:
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The Russian answer to 2001, and very nearly as memorable a movie. The legendary Russian director Andrei Tarkovsky made this extremely deliberate science-fiction epic, an adaptation of a novel by Stanislaw Lem. The story follows a cosmonaut (Donatas Banionis) on an eerie trip to a planet where haunting memories can take physical form. Its bare outline makes it sound like a routine space-flight picture, an elongated Twilight Zone episode; but the further into its mysteries we travel, the less familiar anything seems. Even though Tarkovsky's meanings and methods are sometimes mystifying, Solaris has a way of crawling inside your head, especially given the slow pace and general lack of forward momentum. By the time the final images cross the screen, Tarkovsky has gone way beyond SF conventions into a moving, unsettling vision of memory and home. Well worthy of cult status, Solaris is both challenging art-house fare and a whacked-out head trip. --Robert Horton
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