This 1972 science fiction classic, from Russian director Andrei Tarkovsky, is that rare animal in the genre that delivers a really good story with an intelligent core to sink your teeth into. Ultimately, what makes good science fiction work is its ability to use the setting of an imaginary world, without the known boundaries of time, space or convention to access the deepest interior spaces of the human heart, soul and psyche. Tarkovsky's best foray into the realm of sci fi is a perfect excursion to that territory.
Adapted from the 1961 novel by Stanislaw Lem, Solaris is a multi-layered yet lucid tale that reaches far out into the galaxies of space to travel far into the inner space of the conscience. Visually gratifying, emotionally engaging, and intellectually stimulating, it offers a screen experience that engages the mind, the soul, and the brain. I had not seen this complete 167-minute version of the film at the time I saw Steven Soderbergh's 2002 remake. Although I think Soderbergh's version works, Tarkovsky's is the more complete achievement.
Borrowing visually from 2001: A Space Odysseyin its interpretation of the space station and the visual style, the story centers on Kris Kelvin (Donatas Banionis), an astro-psychologist. Since the death of his wife, he's been living with his son and parents in their country home. He has devoted years of effort to "Solaristics," the study of the enigmatic planet Solaris.
The first third of the film takes place on earth. Repeating forms of the life forces of water and wind, the mood created is one that thrives on slow, lingering images allowing a mental process to develop that gets the juices flowing. The pure fluidity of the riverbed where Kelvin walks, or the long tracking shot of a car ride into the city are echoes of his state of mind. He receives a visit from an old friend who had a disturbing encounter over the mysterious ocean of Solaris. It was written off as hallucination and he was relieved of his duties. The group of scientists in charge of the difficult and puzzling project agrees that there is nothing useful to be gained by continuing, and they are about to abandon it when Kelvin is asked to travel to Solaris and assess the situation.
Kelvin arrives to find Dr. Snauth (Juri Jarvet) and Dr. Sartorius (Anatoli Solonitsyn), the only crewmembers remaining on the station. A third, Dr. Gibaryan, an old friend of Kelvin's, is dead, and he has left a distressing message on videotape. Snauth and Sartorius appear profoundly troubled. Neither can say what has happened. The tape suggests the encounter with Solaris has something to do with the conscience. When Kelvin's dead wife, Khari, materializes on the ship, he has his own encounter with conscience over their relationship. Tarkovsky's genius is for visually suggesting all the possibilities that Kelvin and the others struggle with, perhaps as a metaphor for the attempts of humanity to connect with a more powerful being.
The statically charged ocean of Solaris bears a presence that reaches into the most personal memories of the humans and extracts little pieces that then become real. Trapped in the small confines of the ship, the claustrophobic sense is alternately oppressive and liberating. Looking at the processes of the mind under a microscope to explore the very nature of life and death, it is nevertheless not so cryptic that you'll walk out wondering what that was about. Rather, you may find it lingering long after you leave the theater. That said, it works just fine as a straight narrative, albeit a thoughtful one. Some of the blanks that Soderbergh left out are fully filled in by Tarkovsky and it is ultimately the more satisfying film. However, you'll want to go into this movie wide-awake. New prints with new translations and subtitles on this re-release from Kino International make it a far more accessible piece to English speaking audiences than many prints that circulated previously.
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