«Solaris»: a film in and beyond the water

Cinema Wednesdays - Special edition: The coronarétrospective du cinéma presents Tarkovski - Loris S. Musumeci

Aperture. Still shot of the river. Water swimming on the surface of the water. Silence. Seaweed rustles. A soundtrack composed by nature. The fly flies. Neighs the horse. Barks the dog. Solaris opens up to life. Life is water. But water is so much more. There's the water on earth that hydrates and floods. Water that rains from the sky, water that flows from the forehead, water that flows from the eyes. The water beyond. The water we don't know. Water that holds mysteries. The water of the ocean. The ocean of Solaris.

Solaris is the intriguing planet discovered by cosmonauts. They arrived in numbers, set up an exploration station, but only three are now reported alive. This planet is entirely covered in water. Because this water seems to have psychological effects, if not more, on the scientists on Solaris. The brilliant psychologist Kris is sent to the planet to observe the situation for himself. So that he can report on the insanity of the scientists there, or so that he can understand the real, concrete effects of this water on the human mind.

Solaris, a planet. Solaris, the film. An absolute masterpiece. Because it's directed by Tarkovsky, and because he never fails to incorporate the symbols and reflections that are so dear to him, and that follow him from film to film. It's all there. Breathtaking photography. Even the special effects, which Tarkovsky himself scoffed at, retain their charm to this day. Every sentence, every word has its weight. The script is chiseled, precious and sparing of chatter. Every syllable uttered by the actors is philosophical. A deeply moving feature film. You won't come away unscathed. Too many thoughts, too many questions, too few answers.

The feeling of guilt drives the direction, the incessant return of the past gives rhythm to the direction, and the presence of water reanimates the direction during each main scene. Water is a red thread. It returns at every decisive moment. In all its forms. The water that lets life take its course. The water we drink. The water we sweat. The water that kills. Water that flows abundantly through a house, disconcerting the viewer. The ocean water in Solaris that, whether diabolical or angelic, gives flesh to deceased beings from the past. A water that leaves us perplexed in the film's closing scene. When Kris, as the prodigal son, finds his father, kneels before him, and the camera rises, the water seems to take on the appearance of water beyond. Water, the source of life? The source of illusion?

Watch the film in its original version with French subtitles:

Write to the author: loris.musumeci@leregardlibre.com

Photo credit: © Potemkine Film