|
Home Pages for
|
Solaris
Solaris êêêê Stars. Rated PG 13.
|
Reviewed by Shelley Cameron
|
 |
Live another day
|
George Clooney: Chris Kelvin
|
Natascha McElhone: Rheya Kelvin
|
Jeremy Davies: Snow
|
Viola Davis: Helen Gordon
|
Directed by: Steven Soderbergh
|
 |
Solaris, the most emotionally and intellectually engaging film from Steven Soderbergh since sex, lies, and videotape, delivers a similar jolt to the psyche. Probing difficult territory about the nature of love, death, and memory, the director adapts Stanislaw Lem's 1961 novel in a remake of Andrei Tarkovsky's powerful 1972 classic, Solaris; a tough act to follow. An intelligent sci fi thriller about a mission to the space station Prometheus, docked off the planet Solaris, the film works brilliantly to explore the depths of emotional fallout as the crew struggles with their own inner demons. George Clooney is Chris Kelvin, a psychologist who gets an urgent and cryptic call for help from an old friend at the space station. A routine mission to report on the potential for commerce has gone horribly amiss. Kelvin arrives to find his friend and another crew member dead, a third has vanished without explanation.
Borrowing heavily from 2001: A Space Odyssey, in its physical interpretation of the space station and the visual style, Soderbergh makes it his own as Kelvin plumbs the depths of his own anguish and guilt over his relationship with his dead wife, Rheya (Natascha McElhone). The two remaining crew members are Snow (Jeremy Davies) and Dr. Gordon (Viola Davis), both showing severe signs of distress. Neither can coherently discuss the fatal incidents. Traumatized by the events, Snow has retreated into himself. He is able to divulge his anguish only through fragmented speech and mannerisms. Gordon looks like she has seen a dreadful ghost, which is, in fact, pretty accurate, and implores Kelvin to help them get home and leave the mysteries of Solaris behind. Kelvin tries to process the very obscure account of what happened and sleeps uneasily. His troubled sleep brings dreams of his wife who materializes on the ship. Her presence and some intriguing images from their marriage string together and begin to make sense. Like most truth, it doesn't come all at once, but in little pieces.
The statically charged atmosphere surrounding Solaris seems to bear a presence whose mysterious nature is somehow influencing the crew of the station. The first reactions to the "visitors" include the impulse to ascribe human motives to their purpose, whatever that is. After giving us some pieces of the enigma, the film makes a smooth segue into an exploration of the mind, death, and what may come after. Seen through flashbacks, the intense tender and erotic love between Kelvin and Rheya is complicated by painful misunderstandings that led to her suicide. When first reunited on the ship, the sculpted physiques of Clooney and McElhone suggest an android-like quality. Is she, or either of them, real? Or is she a non-human "visitor" as Snow and Gordon describe the other interlopers who are, in turn, reflections of their own inner memories and minds?
Going home, in more ways than one, is central to the satisfyingly provocative resolution. Opening and closing scenes on earth are bathed in futuristic but warm yellow tones while space sequences are in cool, other worldly, blues. I was reminded of the very best of Rod Serling's teleplays for Twilight Zone, expanded to fill a larger cerebral landscape. This is a film that begs to be discussed. Clooney, showing barely a whit of his customary playful charm, displays his versatility and range. The charismatic McElhone, with her reptilian eyes, is perfectly cast, bringing depth and credibility to the role of a troubled woman. The score, more sheltering than menacing, floats us along on this discovery of and liberation from some of our darkest fears.
|