Nostalghia

Previous critical comments about Nostalgia include 'the nearest to poetry that cinema can ever aspire'. There is nothing more one can add, this comment sums it up totally. I would say that this film is different every time I watch it, it's more than poetry, it's hypnotic to the state of Tarkovsky casting a spell on the viewer.

The nostalgia, in the film's title, isn't just the physical longing for something in the past, it's the spiritual longing that so many people strive for. This shouldn't surprise an student of Tarkovsky's work since no director, possibly with the exception of Ingmar Bergman, analyzed spirituality as Tarkovsky did.

NOSTALGHIA follows the trekking of a Russian traveling through Italy along with his beautiful interpreter. His purpose for being there does not come to the viewer easily. Most of the scenes in the movie are filled with a lot of silence, and even the action that does take place, is minimal. Eventually, we come to understand that he is there to find some cultural reinforcement for his Russian background. As the film progresses, we seem to take on the role of the main character in the story, as an observer to events. Throughout his travels he becomes a witness to religious processions, theological discussions, and the rituals of a God-fearing lunatic. The lunatic, played masterfully by Erland Josephson, is looked down upon by a lot of local citizens. Apparently, in the past, he locked his family in his house for a long time, anticipating the end of the World. The movie documents his effect on the Russian traveler, and the traveler's longing to recapture his spirituality.

A lot has been said of the ten-minute unbroken sequence where the lead protagonist attempts to carry a lighted candle from one end of a pool to the other. Some see it as utterly boring. Personally, I was fascinated. In it, we see how the protagonist finally attempts to do something in order to recapture his spirituality. For the entire length of the movie he has been an observer, now he is an active participant. To be fair, his action does take the form of a ritual, not the building of a church, or water immersion, but then again, so much of spirituality is ritual. Tarkovsky correctly identifies how it's the continuity that helps us get through life, knowing that some things will never change our strong religious convictions. That's when the protagonist finally comes to realize that action must take place. It's no coincidence that this scene takes place after a demonstration given by the Erland Josephson character. It's an amazing scene. In it he gives an intelligent speech about the desolation of art. It also imparts an important question to the viewer about those who truly make a difference in the world: the observers, or the "insane", who try to take positive action on the behalf of others.

No praise of any Tarkovsky film is complete without talking about the technical angle of his work. In NOSTALGHIA Tarkovsky is proven again to be a master of beauty, carving out beautiful images into the Italian landscape. Even the indoor scenes are beautiful. NOSTALGIA is further evidence of Tarkovsky's desire to elevate film as an art. He paints well...

Like a gallery of someone else's strong memories/obsessions, the luxurious images and painstaking movements attracted me with their clarity and disturbed me with their foreignness through the entire film. The undeniable beauty of his visual compositions pulled me in like any flawless performance. I felt no desire to visit his landmarks because they called to mind my own strong memories of similar grandeur. It did not matter that these were his choices. All that mattered was the complete realization of each spiritual personal epiphany. The dialogues, monologues, and mini-plays, on the other hand, disturbed me by adding layers of interpretation that either had to be accepted and incorporated into a less pleasant solipsistic whole, or separately analyzed and digested for their complexities in search of a grander vision. It was as if a famous artist began talking to you about the single meaning of each work of his as you observed them. Does he intend to deny you the pleasure of finding your own answers, or is he simply adding a new layer to enliven your own search for meaning? Accepting the latter explanation, has kept my mind busily turning for several days now.

Regardless of whether you accept Tarkovsky as philosophically profound or wise, his work is complex and open to multiple interpretations like a well-written haiku. Was Domenico deluded and tragicomic and the poet's torturous journey with the candle a sad joke? Are our memories of the past so intimately woven into our perceptions of ourselves that we cannot avoid irrational acts that imperil our future? Does strangeness or madness have a singular spiritual value all its own like an architectural ruin or a ravaged landscape? Do we take ourselves too seriously or have we over-developed our social, political, and scientific infrastructure to the extent that we are blind to the real world and threaten its existence? Are our poets and mystics spiritual resources or oversensitive fools, and does it matter? Perhaps Tarkovsky would disagree with every one of my questions. I am certain that others will have different questions and answers. However, for those that don't dismiss this film as self-indulgent and ponderous, Tarkovsky offers a rich composition that can support and survive several generations of critics and interpreters.

A more traditional episodic film with a clearly defined story line and a swift movement between scenes would have less to hide behind that a film like "Nostalghia," but there is no law that says a piece of art cannot be obscure. It comes down to a question of faith in the artist and whether it really matters how creative or insightful he was so long as you personally can find meaning in his work.

It's sometimes true that the most demanding movies can yield the most lasting rewards, and the penultimate film by the late Andrei Tarkovsky certainly puts the theory to the test. This was the first feature he directed outside the Soviet Union, and its protagonist is (like Tarkovsky himself was) a Russian artist exiled in Italy. But don't expect anything remotely plot-driven; like other Tarkovsky films it's a dense, challenging exploration of faith, madness and memory: beautiful, enigmatic, intellectual, and extremely slow moving. Many of the sequences are a labor to sit through, but the final shot, in which the director transplants a Russian cottage (complete with landscape) inside the massive walls of an ruined Gothic cathedral, is by itself compelling enough to erase the aftertaste of even the most tedious passages.

Nostalgia is essentially a dream play that opens with a hazy, monochromatic vision of tranquil reflection, which, not only establishes the core themes behind the film's title, but also, informs the key emotional sequences that are here revisited by the central character throughout. As a result of this, the film is as much about the feelings of loss and longing as it is about the lead character, the homesick Russian poet Andrei Gortchakov, who is exiled in Italy with his guide and translator Eugenia on a research mission into the life of a long-forgotten, 18th century composer. In the hands of any other filmmaker, this plot would give way to a series of grand adventures and curious revelations, but, as we've seen in other films, like the majestic Mirror and Andrei Rublev, Tarkovsky is a filmmaker unconcerned with the external world of the film, who, instead, turns his attentions inward, to chronicle the internal angst and emotions at the heart of these tortured, complicated souls.

As is always the case with Tarkovsky's work, it could be argued that the film has further shades that somehow draw parallels with the filmmaker's own life and works; with the exiled main character here becoming the (cinematic) voice for Tarkovsky's own feelings of loss and nostalgia during the making of this film. Because of this, the cinematic depiction of the small Italian village where the film takes place is one of the gloomiest and most barren creations ever presented, especially in comparison to the kind of lush, summery vistas that we're used to seeing from this particular, geographic region. The locations used are desolate, dilapidated, over-run with moss and ivy, and swept in a constant haze of fine rain and morning fog, which allows the filmmaker to create a number of slow and haunting visual meditations that further the actual plot... but also help to visualise the inner-turmoil felt by Gortchakov at this difficult crossroad in his life. As is always the case with Tarkovsky, the visual design of the film is meticulously created and deeply hypnotic, with the production design creating an emotional labyrinth for the characters, which is then, rigorously explored by the camera.

The use of cinematography is always an important factor is Tarkovsky's work, because it is so vital in creating and (then distinguishing between) these varying layers of reality, fantasy, memory and premonition - with the filmmaker employing a variety of techniques, from cross cutting between sepia-tone and defused colour, and the juxtaposition between regular speed and slow motion. The use of those slow, mesmerising zooms (bringing to mind Kubrick's masterpiece Barry Lyndon) and those complicated tracking shots only add to the lingering tension and escalating melancholy that is perfectly established throughout the film's lethargic first act. The film is deliberately slow, like the majority of this filmmaker's work, with the camera moving at it's own pace in order to linger and meditate on certain images and moments. The editing too is deliberate in it's pace, with a number of scenes unfolding with a minimum of two to three cuts per scene (Tarkovsky always allowing the slow movement of the camera to do much of the work normally covered by the editing), which can, on occasion (particularly the first viewing), become quite tiresome. It does, nonetheless, ultimately tie in with the inner feelings and emotions so synonymous with the title and, is integral to the inner pain felt by our central characters.

Into the mix of things we also get a dose of the mystical, supplied here by the character of Domenico, another tortured soul who's back-story involves keeping his family hostage for a prolonged number of years under fear that the world would end. Domenico, like Gortchakov (and indeed, Tarkovsky), is another one of those haunted souls, inhabiting an earth they don't really understand, whilst questioning their place in the world and the world within the cosmos. Towards the end of the film, Domenico will rant atop a statue about all manner of deep theoretical issues, before Tarkovsky launches into two of the most astounding sequences he ever created. The first is a brutal and literally jaw-dropping act of emotional and physical catharsis (set to the strains of a distorted Beethoven), whilst the other is a long and slow meditation on fate (and probably the most iconic scene in this film), involving an empty pool, a lighted candle, and a weary, heartbroken Gortchakov.

Nostalgia is a deep and thoughtful film, best suited to those viewers who are interested in spending some time with a film that takes a great deal of time to fully reveal it's self. Like the majority of Tarkovsky's films, it is bleak, dreamlike and hypnotic, in the way in which the images just linger on the screen, waiting to be decoded. Some might be frustrated by the slow pace and the reliance on character over narrative, however, if you are an admirer of Tarkovsky's best films, like Andrei Rublev, Mirror and The Sacrifice, then you'll be sure to find something of interest here.