Showing posts with label
The Films of Andrei Tarkovsky.
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Showing posts with label
The Films of Andrei Tarkovsky.
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Directed By: Andrei Tarkovsky
Starring: Anatoliy Solonitsyn, Ivan Lapikov, Nikolay Grinko
Trivia: For the scene where the cow is on fire, it was covered in asbestos, which protected it from actually being burned
The first version of Andrei Tarkovsky’s 1966 black and white film Andrei Rublev that I ever owned was a low-grade video copy, cropped to full-screen (to “fit my television”), with very poor picture quality and a number of scenes missing.
Yet even in this truncated, sub-par state, the images leapt off the screen. Featuring unforgettable sequences that perfectly complement the film’s sometimes-tragic human drama, Andrei Rublev is a masterpiece in any form.
Based on a real-life historical figure, Andrei Rublev tells the mostly fictitious story - broken into several segments - of a 15th century monk named Andrei Rublev (Anatoliy Solonitsyn), who leaves his monastery so he can study with the famous painter, Theophanes the Greek (Nikolai Sergeyev).mThe movie follows Rublev on his travels, during which he witnesses such disturbing events as a pagan ritual and raids carried out by the invading Tartars. Coming face-to-face with violence and treachery for the first time in his life, Rublev’s faith begins to waver.
There are images in Andrei Rublev you will never forget, including some you’ll wish you could. As was the case with many films from this period, animals don’t fare very well in Andrei Rublev; in one scene, a cow is engulfed in flames, and in another a horse falls down a flight of stairs (rumor has it this horse was obtained from a local slaughter house, and, just before its fall, was shot through the head).
Yet along with the violence and despair, the film features moments of true inspiration. In my favorite sequence, a young boy named Boriska (Nikolai Burlyayev), the son of a deceased bell maker, is commissioned by the Grand Prince (Yuri Navarov) to build a large bell. Boriska was chosen for this important task because he claimed to possess all of his father’s secrets, which he says were passed on to him. Barking out orders to men much older than himself, Boriska constructs a perfect bell.
Shortly after it is completed, however, Boriska breaks down, sobbing as he falls into Rublev’s arms. He says that he lied, confessing his father told him no secrets whatsoever, meaning it was his confidence, and nothing more, that got the job done. This boy’s belief in his own abilities served as a life lesson for Rublev, who at the time was mired in self-doubt, his faith in God hanging by a thread. Spurred on by Boriska’s courage, Rublev is inspired to take up his paintbrush, and in the ensuing years would create a number of masterworks.
Both an intimate portrait of an artist struggling with his inner conflicts and a vivid, often brutal account of the times in which he lived, Andrei Rublev brings us into its world of chaos and violence, then reveals that, even in conditions such as these, there is beauty to be found. A powerful motion picture, Andrei Rublev will leave you speechless.
Directed By: Andrei Tarkovsky
Starring: Natalya Bondarchuk, Donatas Banionis and Jüri Järvetbr />
Trivia: Writer Stanislaw Lem was critical of this adaptation of his novel, complaining that he didn't write about people's "erotic problems in space."
Andrei Tarkovsky’s Solaris, a 1972 sci-fi / mystery set aboard an orbiting space station, is a haunting, dramatic look at what it is that makes us human.
Three scientists on board the Solairs Space Station have been sending bizarre transmissions back to earth, and psychologist Kris Kelvin (Donatis Banionis) is sent to investigate. Upon his arrival, he learns one of the scientists, his good friend Dr. Gabrarian (Sos Sarkisyan), has killed himself, and only Drs. Snauth (Juri Jarvet) and Sartorius (Anatoli Solonitsyn) remain.
They inform Kelvin that the planet Solaris has been active as of late, and may be causing a phenomenon that science cannot explain. At first skeptical, Kelvin himself realizes something strange is afoot when his late wife, Hari (Natalya Bondarchuk), who committed suicide ten year earlier, suddenly appears aboard the station.
Kelvin now must deal not only with the mysterious powers of the planet Solaris, but his own past as well, including the mistakes that led to his wife’s death. Is Hari’s presence just a figment of his own psyche, his own regrets? Or is this finally the chance at redemption he has been longing for?
Andrei Tarkovsky was a meticulous filmmaker, a director who took his time and favored imagery over dialogue. In Solaris, we get many such moments, including Kelvin’s arrival at the station, where we follow along as he tours what has become a run-down, desolate vessel. Emphasizing the loneliness of space, this entire sequence is comprised of long, sustained shots, mostly playing out in silence. Tarkovsky’s camera lingers in this and nearly every other scene of Solaris, taking in all that surrounds it, and setting a tone that is simultaneously observant and ominous.
The Solaris station, which, at first glance, looks like a floating pile of junk, is hiding an astonishing secret that is downright torturous for those left to deal with it. As Kelvin struggles with his past, Hari searches for proof of her own existence. Dr. Sartorius warns Kris not to get emotionally attached to Hari, who, he says, is only a reproduction, an image created by the planet based on Kris’ own memories of his wife. As for Hari, she seems fully aware that she is, indeed, only a copy, yet recalls moments from her's and Kris's history together, and harbors the same feelings, the same emotional trauma as the actual Hari. Are these emotions and memories enough to prove this Hari is, in fact, a living, breathing person? If not, what more is required?
These are the questions Tarkovsky poses throughout Solaris, a motion picture that pushes the concepts of humanity, consciousness, and man’s need for love to the forefront. Wonderfully poetic, Solaris is unlike any science fiction film I have ever seen before.
