उपयोगकर्ता समीक्षाएं

I'm just starting out into the vast world of foreign film and having seen this film on many a video store shelf, and knowing that it was considered a sci-fi classic, I thought it would be a good way to spend an evening. Based on the case I was expecting something along the line of typical American sci-fi. Needless to say I was wrong.

I watched Solyaris twice in two days, because the first time I saw it I knew that I hadn't processed even a quarter of what I knew was there. I was taken completely aback. The second viewing was extremely rewarding.

It was unusual for me, raised as I was on the sledgehammer moralizing and we'll make our point so obvious that there's no way you can miss it because we have no respect for your intelligence way of American film. I'm a huge literature buff, and this was one of the very few films I've confronted that is thoughtful and has so many things to say yet does it in a literary or poetic fashion.

You will get out of this film what you bring to it. I've been to so many movies where the audience is not actually participating, it's being attacked. But true art is not domineering; it woos you.

So to sum up, I greatly appreciated Tarkovsky's unwillingness to manipulate the viewer. It showed that he had respect for me as a thinking soul, and it is this love and respect for humanity which makes this a truly great film.

This line from Dr Zhivago says all you have to know about Tarkovsky. He was a thinker and a poet. An artist who's work was at once smart, engaging and aesthetically beautiful! Solaris is a world that materialized thoughts and absorbs creatures into its own consciousness. "Solaris" is an allegory on man's place in the universe, the twisted concept of reality, the meaning of love, grief and - ultimately - life. Psychiatrist Kris Kelvin goes to the station orbiting the planet-entity to assess whether the madness of it's occupants means all exploration should be discontinued. What he finds there are all the demons he has brought with him. You the viewer shall experience the same thing, for Solaris is an inviting and questioning but never manipulative film. What you'll get out of it depends on what you bring with you.

Solaris is often accused of being slow. This is a common misinterpretation: Solaris makes you anxious, and willingly so. Too many segments are like mirrors that invite your mind to venture off into many uncomfortable a place (the traffic scene comes to mind: an allegory for the space voyage but also for fading life and powerlessness). Solaris also makes you fear, with a sense that something isn't quite right and as with the best horror films, what you dread often isn't even on screen. Solaris makes you heart ache on several occasions as well. It makes you miss loved ones and it makes you feel homesick. every additional minute that separates you from the gorgeous opening shots of nature makes you long for Earth.

Solaris is many things but above all it is simply more than entertainment: it is a voyage for the senses, like a favorite song that binds countless disconnected feelings and thoughts. It is a poem.

Two truths drive this film: the inadequacy of human-kind to understand the Universe, and the inadequacy of human-kind to understand the human heart.

As such, using Lem's original idea, Tarkovsky successfully, explores these themes.

We are drawn in, through hauntingly beautiful imagery, to the internal struggles of Kris Kelvin as he attempts to understand feelings of love for his suicided wife, who has been mysteriously resurrected, presumably as an attempt by Solaris to communicate, or torture.

Of course Solaris is probably the most original alien ever concocted, (no phone-homes here) and as must be, utterly enigmatic and beyond communication.

Be warned, this film is very long, and sometimes slow, but for those who consider themselves science fiction addicts, it is a must view.

One of the top 5 sci-fi films of all time.

It's now been some years since I last watched it. Still, I can't get rid of the impressions of emptiness, absurdity and impossibility to understand (the world, and the human mind) that this movie left into me. It can be violent to your mind, without showing a single violent image (by the way, I often see this movie as a counterpart to Clockwork Orange, even more than to 2001). It can stun you, with ten or twenty minutes of incomprehensible silence. It can deprive you of any certainty in the laws of nature - such as, people only die once - and thus leave you vulnerable and naked.

I know that many friends to whom I've shown this move did not understand it. So I'm not saying you'll like it. But this is possibly the best (non-action) sci-fi movie ever made.

Watch it at night, alone, when everything out of your home is dark, silent, and cold.

Like the majority of reviewers here, I rate this film as one of the most profound viewing experiences I can remember. While the IMDb guidelines recommend avoiding reference to specific reviews of Solaris within this section, I strongly believe that there is much to be learnt about this movie by evaluating those reviews as a whole.

This is clearly either a love or a hate movie. Those who love it describe in detail its effect on them, the feelings it evokes, its significance and the depth of its philosophical enquiry. Those who hate it largely describe it as too slow-paced; boring.

What matters to me about this film which I first watched as mesmerised 15 year old is that it is almost entirely the antithesis of Classical Hollywood cinema. It came from behind the Iron Curtain (that dark place whose strange and hidden 'otherness' has, like the plot of any modern movie, now also been laid wide open by capitalist 'democracy'). Its actors were unknown - more like real people than the celebrities the West populates its movies with. Its pace was slow, mesmeric, hypnotic and atmospheric. It was completely free of the kind of 'good triumphs over evil' motif that riddles Hollywood film-making, where 'good' is white-ness, wealth, youth, Westernness and so on.

The pleasure of Solaris was that I didn't know what I was watching. I didn't know who I was watching. I didn't know the culture it reflected and - most importantly - I didn't know what was going to happen.

Perhaps its only in re-watching the 1971 Solaris that it becomes apparent to me that somewhere along the way we have been stripped of the right to not know; robbed of the true narrative thrill of being led into the dark, magical forest of the unknown.

Andrei Tarkovsky's adaptation of Stanisław Lem's "Solaris" (called "Solyaris" in Russian) seems to be posing the question of our connection to ourselves and other people. We invest so much in trying to understand the universe that we forget about our relationships with each other. A lot of the movie is sure to remind one of Stanley Kubrick's "2001", but it goes much further in the philosophical respect. It's the sort of movie that should give anyone a lot of admiration for the people involved, especially since the Soviet government probably didn't allow them significant resources. But the truth is that the movie doesn't need special effects. It's all about what the characters come to realize about themselves, and it's a real masterpiece. There was a remake, but I have no aim to watch that.

Sometime in the not-too-distant future, psychologist Kris Kelvin is sent to a space station above the oceanic planet Solaris, tasked with determining the viability of its ongoing study. Upon his arrival, he finds the station in a state of disrepair, and learns that one of the scientists there has killed himself. Kelvin discovers a message from the dead man, warning him about strange things happening aboard the station. Alongside the remaining scientists, who seem verging on insanity, Kelvin begins to experience the inexplicable. Will he be able to make it back to Earth and, even if he's able; will he want to go?

Directed by Andrei Tarkovsky and based on the novel of the same name by Stanislaw Lem, 'Solaris' is a fascinating science-fiction drama, both visually striking and thought-provoking. Written alongside Fridrikh Gorenshteyn, Tarkovsky's narrative delves into a multitude of themes, from the labyrinth of regret and grief to the ephemeral nature of memory and perception. Often compared to Stanley Kubrick's '2001 A: Space Odyssey,' it is a film that different viewers will interpret in different ways, inviting one to reflect on one's own experiences and the constructs of reality.

Throughout the film, Tarkovsky poignantly explores the human psyche, confronting his characters with their past actions and unspoken sorrows. The sentient ocean of Solaris acts as a catalyst for this introspection, materializing their innermost regrets into tangible forms. This externalization of grief forces the characters- and, by extension, the audience- to confront the often-painful process of healing on the road to closure.

Moreover, Tarkovsky depicts memory as a malleable and unreliable entity, challenging the very notion of objective reality. The film questions whether one's memories serve as faithful records of one's past or are merely reconstructions subject to our current emotions and desires. Furthermore, Tarkovsky invites viewers to ponder the constructs of reality. Are our experiences genuinely authentic, or are they merely reflections of our deepest fears and wishes? Blurring the lines between the real and the imagined, Tarkovsky creates a film that transcends traditional storytelling: a mirror, reflecting not just the characters' truths but also those of the audience.

Each of Tarkovsky's characters serves as a vessel for exploring these profound themes. Kelvin is our guide through the enigmatic world of the film, a man of science confronted with phenomena that challenge his empirical beliefs. His journey is one of internal conflict, as he grapples with the manifestations of his own psyche, which Solaris brings to life. The character of Hari, meanwhile, is the personification of Kelvin's deepest regrets. Her presence on the station is a constant reminder of a past that he cannot escape, making her a pivotal figure in the narrative's exploration of memory and loss.

The supporting characters of Dr. Snaut and Dr. Sartorius are not just colleagues aboard the station but represent different facets of the human response to the unknown. Snaut reflects the weariness of facing the inexplicable, while Sartorius embodies the struggle between scientific detachment and the undeniable impact of Solaris' influence. Through each of these characters, Tarkovsky crafts a narrative that is as much about the individual's inner space as it is about the outer cosmos, where the boundaries between the mind and the external world are blurred.

The film is not just a feast for the mind; it is also a feast for the eyes. Tarkovsky's mastery of visual storytelling is evident in every frame. He juxtaposes lingering shots of the space station's sterile corridors with the lush, almost dreamlike sequences on Earth, creating a dichotomy that mirrors the inner turmoil of the characters. The starkness of the station, with its endless hallways and cold light, stands in contrast to the vibrancy of Earth, emphasizing the isolation and alienation felt by the crew.

In addition, Tarkovsky's use of symbolism- particularly through shots of water- weaves a thread through the narrative, representing the fluidity of time and memory. Cinematographer Vadim Yusov's camera lingers on scenes of rain, pools and oceans, inviting the audience to contemplate the depths beneath the surface of the characters' minds. Moreover, the use of colour is sparse yet impactful, with the muted palette of the station being punctuated by moments of vivid recollection. The lighting is purposeful, often using shadows and silhouettes to create an atmosphere of mystery and introspection.

Furthermore, Mikhail Romadin's production design, as well as the set design from S. Gavrilov and V. Prokofev, are testaments to the film's meticulous craftsmanship. The space station, with its utilitarian yet broken-down features, creates a palpable sense of claustrophobia and decay, reflecting the psychological state of its inhabitants. The attention to detail in the set decoration, from the technological instruments to the personal artifacts, adds layers of authenticity and depth, making the environment a character in its own right.

Additionally, Nelli Fomina's costume design is equally striking. The functional, uniform-like attire of the characters not only situates the story within the realm of science-fiction but also symbolizes their attempts to maintain order amidst the chaos of the station. The costumes are devoid of excess, aligning with the film's themes of stripping away superficial layers to reveal deeper truths. Combined with the production design and set decoration, a visual narrative is formed, which complements the story and its themes. They are not merely aesthetic choices but are integral to the storytelling, contributing to the film's haunting, timeless and immersive atmosphere.

Moreover, the haunting score and soundtrack are integral to this immersive air. Eduard Artemyev's electronic music composition, interspersed with classical pieces by Bach, creates a soundscape both ethereal and deeply resonant. The music serves as a reflection of the film's exploration of time and memory, while the juxtaposition of futuristic sounds and classical harmony underscores the themes of past and future, science and humanity.

Furthermore, Tarkovsky, Lyudmila Feyginova and Nina Marcushe's editing is another aspect that deserves recognition. Although some critics are quick to call the film slow-moving, each carefully considered cut enhances the narrative's dreamlike quality. The film's purposeful, meditative pace allows the viewer to inhabit the space and time of the story, to become an active participant in the unravelling of its enigmas, whilst ensuring the audience fully absorbs the complex emotional and philosophical layers of the story. The transitions between scenes are seamless, yet carry a weight that prompts contemplation, further drawing the viewer into the depths of the film's enigmatic world.

Donatas Banionis stars as Kelvin, opposite Natalya Bondarchuk as Hari, Jüri Järvet as Dr. Snaut and Anatoliy Solonitsyn as Dr. Sartorius. Banionis, dubbed by Vladimir Zamanskiy, delivers a nuanced portrayal of a man caught between the realms of rationality and the unexplainable, capturing Kelvin's internal struggle subtly- his face often conveying more than words could express. Opposite him, Bondarchuk is nothing short of captivating, bringing a haunting presence to the screen. Embodying the film's themes of love, loss and the desire for connection, her portrayal of Hari is both ethereal and deeply human, a reflection of Kelvin's own conflicted emotions.

Järvet does similarly fine work, providing a weary yet compassionate perspective, offering a glimpse into the toll that Solaris takes on the mind and spirit. His performance is understated but powerful, with moments of vulnerability revealing the character's depth. Solonitsyn, meanwhile, is the embodiment of scientific detachment, his stoic demeanour clashing with the inexplicable events (and more emotionally driven people) aboard the station. His cleverly measured performance is compelling, and he and the rest of the cast work well together.

A thought-provoking, compelling piece of science-fiction, Andrei Tarkovsky's 'Solaris' is much more than a Soviet '2001: A Space Odyssey.' In fact, comparing the films, it is arguably the better of the two. Tarkovsky infuses the narrative with thematic depth, inviting viewers on a journey that is as introspective as it is outwardly explorative. Boasting stunning cinematography and stellar production, set and costume design, as well as a stirring score and powerhouse performances from all in the cast, 'Solaris' is a cosmic symphony resonating far beyond the stars.

Shame on me for not realisng the 2002 film with George Clooney was essentially a remake of a Russian film made 30 years previously. I ought to have known, I am that sort of person.

So comes December 2009, and Film 4 show both Solaris films. I sat transfixed by the Russian film. Visually it is a thing of beauty, and it is a rare thing - a film which requires input from the viewer. This movie requires you to think for yourself...and some people find that difficult.

I enjoy a rip-snorting entertaining action movie as much as most people, but rare films like Solaris leave me feeling so much more fulfilled. There are ambiguities, not so much loose ends untied as dots which the viewer is required to connect for himself.

Try Solaris. If you find yourself twiddling your thumbs after 15 minutes then its probably not for you. If you find yourself glued to the screen then you know how I feel about this film.

When the scientist Fechner disappears in the surface of the mysterious Solaris Ocean, the experienced helicopter pilot Henri Berton (Vladislav Dvorzhetsky) crosses a fog seeking out Fechner and has weird visions. His statement is presented to a commission of scientists that believe he had hallucinations. However, the widowed psychologist Kris Kelvin (Donatas Banionis) is assigned to the space station that orbits Solaris to check the mental health of the three remaining scientists that are still working there. He first meets Dr. Snaut (Jüri Järvet), who tells him that Dr. Gibarian (S. Sarkisyan) committed suicide, and later he meets Dr. Sartorius (Anatoli Solonitsyn) and he realizes that the scientists have strange behaviors. When he encounters his wife Hari (Natalya Bondarchuk), who died ten years ago, in the space station, the scientists explain to Kris that the Solaris Ocean has the ability to materialize the innermost thoughts in neutrons beings. Kris questions whether the appearance of his beloved wife is a curse or a blessing.

"Solyaris" is an original (or maybe the most original) approach to first contact and alien life-form in the cinema history. The story is disclosed in an extremely low-pace through a flawed screenplay (at least for those like me that have not read the novel) that uses many ellipsis and poor art decoration, but beautifully raises philosophical questions about love, death, understanding, communication, fear for the unknown, origin of life, and Solaris Ocean might be the Paradise or even God. The intriguing story is open to interpretations and not recommended for those viewers that expect to see a conventional sci-fi movie. My vote is seven.

Title (Brazil): "Solaris"

It's tough to come into a film like "Solaris" without tremendous expectations after having heard for so long about its greatness. If you don't immediately feel like it's one of the best movies you've ever seen -- after hearing so many say it is -- you're either tempted to overcompensate and exaggerate how overrated it is out of a sense of defensiveness, or think something's wrong with you for being the only one not to "get it."

As with most movies that have been saddled with the word "greatness," I understand why "Solaris" is considered to be such a watershed movie and so revered by so many, but I have to admit that I didn't personally feel myself responding to it all that much. Maybe I would on a second (or third or fourth) viewing, but I can't say I'm very compelled to watch it again. It's cerebral and philosophical, which I expected, and a bit cold and emotionally uninvolving despite the fact that it's about almost nothing but human emotions and how we react to life's biggest mysteries. I didn't warm much to the characters or ever really think of them as individual human beings so much as necessary conduits for communicating the film's philosophical ruminations. Despite being set in the vast reaches of space, it's a claustrophobic movie, which I think is intentional. We never see space, only the cramped interiors of a spaceship, and that feels right, since the movie is more about the vast universe contained within Man's head than it is about the great physical universe beyond our solar system's borders.

What I liked most about "Solaris" is that it suggests that Man isn't really developed enough to handle breakthroughs in our understanding of the larger universe. Given the chance to explore space and engage with elements beyond our comprehension, the characters in the movie instead spend all of their time ruminating over and regretting the people they left behind on Earth and the mistakes they made there. It's almost like Mankind turns to solving giant huge mysteries as a distraction from the fact that we're not capable of cracking the lesser, more mundane mysteries of everyday life, like love, commitment, and dependence on one another.

"Solaris" does have one chilling and memorable ending, I'll give it that. If we go poking around in what we don't understand, it seems to say, we may very well find ourselves unable to return to what we do.

Grade: A-

Before you watch Solaris, make sure you know what you're getting yourself into. I did not find this film particularly entertaining. It wasn't fun to watch. It's more like a moving painting than a normal science-fiction film. Don't expect to be excited and dazzled by great special effects. Don't expect to be sitting on the edge of your seat at any point during this film. If you're looking for a bit of joyful escapism, you'll definitely do well to give this a miss. Forget about Star Wars.

Frankly, there are long stretches of this film that are rather boring. I also found much of the acting to be unimpressive. The main character seems to have exactly the same facial expression throughout. It is very hard to actually engage with the characters. I realised towards the end that I simply didn't care about how things were going to turn out for them. I was utterly indifferent to their fate.

Despite these drawbacks, there is something strangely captivating and hypnotic about Solaris. It deals with some very interesting philosophical themes such as the nature of love, consciousness, personal identity, and memory. The meaning of life itself is explored. Some of the cinematography is stunning. If you're into that kind of thing, I think this film certainly would benefit from repeated viewings. It stayed in my mind for a long time afterwards, which is always a sign of a good film.

This is obviously an example of a film that many people think they 'ought' to watch and enjoy. Just put all of that baggage out of your mind and give it a go. Treat it like an exercise in meditation and contemplation. It will slow you down and put you in a different frame of mind. Don't beat yourself up if you just find it dull. We all have different tastes!

Has there ever been a slower film? Whatever vision or theme director Andrei Tarkovsky was trying to convey, almost certainly more viewers would have been exposed to it and possibly mesmerized, if the film had been imbued with a modicum of entertainment value. "Solyaris" has got to be one of the most boring, and pretentious, movies ever made.

Ostensibly a sci-fi film, the first 43 minutes take place in a most mundane, earth-like setting, with visuals that do not in any way suggest anything cosmic or other-worldly. Later, the plot shifts to a spacecraft. But even here, the sets are mundane and unimaginative. They look like what one would see in an episode of Star Trek.

None of the film's characters are remotely interesting. Dialogue and acting are both melodramatic. At times, I thought I was watching a soap opera. The film has absolutely no humor. The overall tone is serious and dour. Background music is funereal and gloomy. The film's first Act is confusing and muddled.

The cinematography has very, very long camera "takes", and is mostly color, but shifts to B&W at odd times, for no apparent reason. Five consecutive minutes are consumed by a car traversing a freeway in Japan (and this is a Russian film?); there's no dialogue in this sequence, nothing but a car moving along through a city, first in daylight, then at night. Nor does the sequence advance the plot in any discernible way. Throughout the film, sound effects are amplified, apparently to keep viewers awake.

With a ponderous and painfully slow plot that runs nearly three hours, no humor, melodramatic dialogue and acting, and an abstruse theme, "Solyaris" comes across not only as tedious and utterly lacking in entertainment value, but also extremely pretentious. For most viewers, I would recommend a pillow or a deck of cards. One should at least be able to get in a lengthy nap or several games of solitaire for having to endure this dreary cinematic ordeal.

This has to be one of the best science fiction movies ever produced. Not because it's filled with gee-whiz gizmos or creepy aliens (it isn't) but because it actually gives you something to think about besides "I wonder how much they spent on *that* shot". When I was a kid, I used to love reading sci-fi because it stimulated my imagination, but as I grew up (especially once "Star Wars" came out), I found that it was harder and harder to find anything remotely resembling imagination or mystery in the genre.

Well, this movie has restored my faith in what is possible to achieve under the guise of "sci-fi" (obviously, it's older than "Star Wars", but I didn't see it until years later, when I had basically written off the whole idea of science fiction movies). I saw it 10-15 years ago when it was re-released in the USA and liked it then, but seeing it again recently has convinced me that this is an all-time classic. As I said, it actually stimulates thought (rare enough in most sci-fi movies), but on top of that, it has a real and profound emotional impact that's far beyond what you find in most "dramas", let alone "kid stuff" like sci-fi. If this movie is intended to be an "answer" to "2001" (I'm not convinced that it is), the main contrast is that "Solaris" concerns itself with real human emotions, whereas the most interesting character in "2001" is the computer.

For those who complain that it's boring, just go see something else. You'll obviously never get it. If the opening shot of water and plant life didn't tip you off to the fact that this movie is intentionally paced a little bit more deliberately than, say, "Buckaroo Banzai", then you should go out and try to get some sort of clue before watching this movie. It's not boring... it's SLOW. It's *meant* to be slow. Some of the scenes exist solely to set a mood, not to advance the plot. If you can't handle that, then this isn't the movie or you. But if you're able to sit still for 3 hours without squirming, and if you're able to enjoy a movie without having every idea spelled out in giant neon letters, then you just might like "Solaris", and find that it haunts you for years to come.

If you compare this movie to the Lem's novel there are a lot of differences. But don't compare them. The novel and movie have their own lives. I personally prefer movie. Tarkovsky is going beyond the limits described by Lem. It is not only the problem of Solaris planet and the relationship between main heroes. Tarkovsky reminds everybody that the origin of our problem is us. And all kind of the most important life keys you can find inside yourselves. The great Swedish director Ingemar Bergman said, that Tarkovsky is in the "room" where I just started to knock. You should see this movie if you want to know what is real you and what you really want. The movie is not the answer, but it is the step to your new understanding of your life.

"Solaris" is a stunning film in every sense of the word. Although perhaps more plot- oriented than anything else he ever made, "Solaris" is still unmistakably a Tarkovsky film. The dreamlike way in which the camera moves, the long takes, and the wonderful imagery is all there. So is the symbolism and deeply philosophical dialogue, which asks so many questions to the audience that the film needs multiple viewings to be fully appreciated.

The film, based on the novel by Stanislaw Lem, follows psychologist Kris Kelvin (Donatas Banionis) who is sent to a space station orbiting the planet Solaris to evaluate the mental state of the remaining crew members after mysterious occurrences have caused some members to go insane, in order to determine whether the operation should continue. It's an interesting premise, and makes for a fascinating character study as the planet's recreation of Kris' dead ex-wife, Hari (Natalya Bondarchuk), leads him to question what he wants from his life: to live in a dream with the planet's fabrication of Hari, or to return to his real life on Earth.

As important as the story is the way the film is crafted. Andrei Tarkovsky is the master of creating visual poetry, and from the first frame this is clear. The gorgeous shots of nature and running water establish the importance the concept of nature will have in the film, and juxtaposes the mysterious, foreign ocean of Solaris. The film is drenched in mood, eliciting feelings of melancholy and nostalgia, as Kris re-encounters Hari in Solaris. Also crucial to creating the film's atmosphere is the music. A chorale prelude by Johann Sebastian Bach is featured multiple times throughout the film and mirrors the inner feelings of Kris Kelvin. Meanwhile, the score by Eduard Artemev helps craft the unsettling aura that the mysterious ocean of Solaris emits. The excellent performances by the actors, especially Natalya Bondarchuk, are also crucial to the film's emotional scope.

Ultimately, the virtuosity of Tarkovsky's direction makes "Solaris" a beautiful, spiritual film that resonates in the soul. The film builds up wonderfully towards its haunting conclusion, and lingers on in the mind for days. Its a phenomenal artistic achievement, although the slow pace and philosophical nature of the film means that it definitely will not appeal to the mainstream audience. However, for fans of art-house cinema, "Solaris" takes the viewer on an epic, emotional experience. Its a masterpiece, and one of my favorite films of all time.

One line could not sum up a film like Solaris, certainly not even one of the quotes from the characters who sometimes dip into the philosophical. But that line does still speak to me after now having seen the film twice, and still feeling as if I haven't really SEEN it altogether. Or at least maybe felt, or taken in. Andrei Tarkovsky considered this his least favorite film, and perhaps as a filmmaker myself I could understand. With a pace that never once breaks from the consistency of its focus on the differences between Nature and Earth and technology and science, as well as love, loss, memory, etc, it can be tricky for the director not to find something to critique of himself. And as it was, according to an interview on the DVD, Tarkovsky was obsessed with his work to the point of perfectionism. But, as has been put forward more times than need be to count from reading reviews and comments, this is the Russian equivalent of Kubrick's 2001 really only on two fronts, the pushing forward of boundaries in experiencing visions of what can truly never be known, and letting its characters find out what it means to be without Earth so far out in space (and equally what can stick around).

But Tarkovsky is not interested in the same obsessions that had Kubrick and Clarke, and so the comparisons can only go so far before it's really just time to take the film on its own terms, or at least in relation to other science fiction films. It's not about true discovery into the unknown and reaching for mysteries rooted in us as apes. The discoveries of Solaris are known pretty well to anyone who's lived and loved and lost and not been able to connect once lost. The character of Kris Kelvin (Donatas Banionis, one of the two really stirring performances of the film) starts off on Earth surrounded by natures plenty, and as a mostly stone-faced widower its almost until halfway through the film that we finally see what can be tapped into in his empirically based mind. The exposition- handled through a testimony of a scarred spaceman- tells of an Ocean, being studied by the Solarists, that has started to have a life-force of its own, creating what may or may not be there for those close to it. When Kelvin arrives at the Solaris station, around two weary and worn scientists for the cause, he gets the effect of a resurrected person- his deceased wife Hari (Natalya Bondarchuk, the other one)- who's own ambiguities and connections as real or copy start to bring the real psychological panic to the film.

All of this is done in such a way that is easy to assume as boring. But if you give yourself to the style of the film, stay with the pacing, it is rewarding on its own level, perhaps too in its way comparable to 2001, as it leaves enough to interpret. Tarkovsky is not after anything conventional, which can be seen as a draw back for some. Solaris asks its viewer to take a more emotional journey than one that might find a little creature or lots of real 'action'. Kelvin's time with his new Hari is contrasted against the near empty space station, as he has formed out his wife from somewhere inside of him. In fact it's probably so much connected with philosophical overtones- with at least some time given to talking about the whats and whys of really seeking out something outside of Earth that can only be understood in logic beyond simplicity. At the same time a love story is also worked in, or rather a love constricted within boundaries of perception and the surreal. Why can't Hari be killed or disappear? What happens when Kelvin has his fever late in the film? And can Hari ever really feel at peace with him? What's love when reflected upon? The questions raised, which may or may not be answered by the end of the film (though it had an ending that had me saying out loud "oh wow", in part surprise and in part seeing how the factor of the 'Guests' made perfect sense), are put to a backdrop of something that can really be described as something of great art. It might leave little parts that are imperfect, but overall like some big epic poem Tarkovsky's film sinks deep into its subject matter that for those who can grasp enough of it in one or two viewings can take that in tow with the style.

And, as mentioned before, at almost three hours it carries as much weight on the side of capturing the visuals as it does of expressing the characters. There's a beauty to nature, and it's seen with just as clear and undiscriminating an eye as the long scene on the road driving (my personal favorite), the oceans in space, and the corridors of the ship are seen as enclosing and impersonal. Some of these images on their own had me re-watching them on their own, just to see how he and his crew did it. It's got that desire to raise questions that marks the most interesting science fiction, in this case to terrify us by the nature of the people affected by realized abstractions, and to conjure some thought as to what's in us as much as what might be out there. An extraordinary movie that is, to be expected, going to draw its audience as take it or leave it. If you do take it, it marks as one of those movies that asks for your patience and then delivers as much once its over as it did when it was on.

Not my favourite of Tarkovsky's work(Andrei Rublev) and like I said with Stalker not his most accessible(Ivan's Childhood). It is very long, quite talky and requires a lot of patience, sure almost all of Tarkovsky's film, apart from Ivan's Childhood, are paced very deliberately but Solaris is the only one with a first twenty minutes that puts you off seeing more.

However, Solaris is a fine film indeed from a remarkably consistent director(one of the few who didn't make a bad film) and is an important one by his standards and for the sci-fi genre. Tarkovsky's direction is typically superb and it's visually striking, not as dream-like as say Mirror but it's beautifully shot and has a hypnotic quality that keeps your eyes glued to the screen, providing that you're in the right mood or if it's your thing. The music score is both menacing and melancholic and compliments the mood incredibly effectively, one of the better scores of Tarkovsky's films. As ever with Tarkovsky, the writing is very thoughtful in a philosophical way(the most philosophical Tarkovsky film) and the story is one where it starts off very slow but once you stick with it it's very rewarding. Didn't have any real trouble with following it, though it is understandable it wouldn't work for people as it didn't quite click with me first time watching it(I still appreciated what the film was trying to do though).

Most effective was how amazingly Solaris worked as a mood-piece. It may not be the most powerful(Andrei Rublev) or personal(Mirror) Tarkovsky film, but it was still powerful stuff, almost as suspenseful as Stalker and had a lot of emotional impact. The ending was spine-chilling, even people I know who dislike it said that they were bowled over by the ending. The acting is fine especially with the heart-wrenching performance of Natalya Bondarchuk. Overall, a fine and influential film but it is one of those films that will captivate viewers and frustrate others. 9/10 Bethany Cox

A very original story but a bit confusing at times, as an effect of art and philosophy on the film.

This is, along with Stanley Kubrick's "2001: A Space Odyssey", the closest thing the Si-Fi film genre has ever got to high art. Each frame is painted with loving care and generosity, so the whole movie is always consistently beautiful. Cinematographer Vadim Yusov's delicate compositions are among the most beautiful ever created for the silver screen.

The screenplay by Fridrikh Gorenshtein and Andrei Tarkovsky (the director), based on the novel written by Stanisław Lem, probes all the dilemma's that the situation involves and the final, hauntingly ambiguous image of Solaris making an island for Donatas Banionis fantasies(?) is up there with Kubrick's afore mentioned masterpiece as the greatest ending ever.

Of course, Andrei Tarkovsky directed this astounding film, so he should take the credit for letting the actors and all concerned do the best work they ever did. So I must say thank you to Tarkovsky for creating this awe-inspiring film.

Kris Kelvin is a psychologist ready to launch to Solaris. He's with his family reviewing tapes of the confusing interrogation of pilot Berton about the floundering mission. He arrives at the space station to find it in disrepair. Snaut and Sartorius are in haunted isolation while Gibarian had committed suicide. He is visited by hallucinations of his dead wife Khari.

This is an art-house sci-fi from the Soviet era. The first act goes too slowly. There is a lot of talk. I'm not sure putting it in a Russian dacha is terribly exciting although it's very Russian. Berton's interrogation is strangely disconnected because Kris is not the person doing the interrogation. The actual space station is an odd mix of futurism and a contemporary home office. It's all very art-house. The alien ocean looks beautifully hypnotic. The idea of the story and its treatment is original and intriguing.

Andrei Tarkovsky takes his sweet time, allowing his exigent metaphysical musings to properly sink in. His 1979 film Stalker made us question if it is truly possible to know oneself (one character mentions a man who entered a sort of wish-granting room to try to revive his dead brother; he was instead given a bunch of money and other material joys). With Solaris, the Soviet legend also questions what it means to know anyone at all - as usual, this is communicated through original, delightfully otherworldly science fiction.

Also par for the course is the slow-paced cinematography, which uses cuts sparingly. Remember how Picasso said that art is a lie that tells the truth? I saw someone claim that film editing may be an example of such a lie, even if the rest of what we see in the frame is real (we don't have editing in the real world, ya see). Tarkovsky, I gather, always wanted to use film (by rarely cutting it) to be more honest with how it captures linear time - a feature unique to the art form. That being said, Solaris has a great deal more cuts than, say, Nostalghia and Stalker.

When Tarkovsky made this movie, he reportedly wanted to shift the focus of science fiction back to the exploration of human consciousness and perception. Recall that possibly the biggest sci-fi movie of this era, 2001: A Space Oddysey, looked toward the stars and the potential "next step" for life itself in a decidedly unearthly, mind-bending way. To paraphrase Ebert: Tarkovsky looks inward.

He always seemed to be upset, even as he lived in the pre-smartphone era, that our obsession with technology made us "less human" (which tied into his disdain toward 2001 and its fascination with life beyond ourselves). As I understand it, he seems to think that being human necessarily entails being spiritual and by extension, since faith generally says this is the lifestyle that will be rewarded, being altruistic - see the aforementioned man whose inner desires, despite his conviction to the contrary, involved selfish gain. Must we be spiritual to know ourselves and to know that our souls have been tainted by egoism?

Of course, I'm persuaded by the Randian view of things; that egoism can be rational and that individualism, rather than the emotional reward and unproven afterlife promised by unconditional altruism, is more likely to result in happiness on your part (that is, tangibly; nevermind any sort of higher existence, "accessed" only through lifelong faith or, on the more hedonistic side of not accepting reality, surrendering one's mind to psychedelics). No matter. Best if I leave that can of worms sealed for the time being.

I wouldn't say Tarkovsky's disillusionment is on display in Solaris the same way it arguably was in Stalker (not to mention The Sacrifice, which I read as being about how futile, if not destructive, human faith also can be, even as the movie's final note is hopeful). This one, focusing on a sentient ocean that revives the dead but only as the cosmonauts aboard the orbiting space station remembers them (their "idea" of them), is truly humbling, helping us understand how little we know of those around us. For some, this shall inspire kindness and disincentivize judgmental thinking.

Once again, Tarkovsky seems certain spirituality will help us connect and know each other - one scholar read the film as being about the limits of simple "rationalism" (they may have meant "empiricism", as I've come to comprehend the terms, since rationalism is also about filling in the blanks of reality in ways that might disregard evidence or lack thereof, disincentivizing the pursuit of actual answers). As you know if you know me, or at least the version of me electronic symbols can convey to your mind, I might not wholeheartedly agree with his solution. All the same, I very much admire his films.

The movie doesn't care if you're entertained. It's not something to put on when you wanna "watch some movies" with someone, the way that several unsuspecting viewers have doubtless done with the remake. "Oh look, a George Clooney space movie! He sure is dreamy! Wait, why is it asking me to think?"

This is one of the stranger films I have ever seen and although I have seen several other Russian films and was not entirely put off by the amazingly slow pacing, I was left wondering whether or not I even liked the film! The film starts on Earth. It's supposed to be in the future, but how far in uncertain. What is certain is that the homes and dress look like the 1970s--not a Hollywood or European film view of the 1970s or the future--just the 1970s. At this point, the audience is confused, because although you don't know the year, the entire context for the film is missing--things just ARE and the film moves as if the audience somehow knows what is occurring and what has occurred.

What slowly becomes apparent is that there is an Earth space station in orbit over some planet. Additionally, some mystery surrounds the base and bizarre reports of things happening on the supposedly barren surface alarm some and don't seem to matter to the protagonist in the film, Kris Kelvin. He then goes to Solyaris to investigate but seems to have little emotion or motivation.

Once there, he soon realizes that the two remaining people on the station and himself are subject to bizarre contacts from the planet below. Instead of contacting them by radio or telepathically, a unique person from one's past appears to each of the three--though the only one you really see in more than glimpses is Kelvin's deceased wife, Hari. Now you know and the rest of the audience knows that this can't be Hari. Even if she were alive, she'd be back on Earth but somehow Kelvin is so captivated by her that he refuses to believe she isn't real. While she MAY be real, it is certain she ain't Hari! Despite Kelvin's desire to just lie around and enjoy reminiscing and sleeping with Hari, the other two scientists somehow think this is a bad plan, so one of them comes up with an incomprehensible plan to use Kelvin's EEG pattern to stop the transmissions from the planet. How, exactly, he came up with this plan is really vague, but at the end of the film, the apparitions on the space station stop and Kelvin decides to go back to Earth. But, in an excellent twist, you are left wondering exactly WHAT happened.

Despite my liking the ending very much, the basic premise and some of the lovely cinematography, the end product was a very mixed bag. The film was meant to be an artsy film and often spent WAAAAYYYY too long on scenes that should have been shortened in order to keep the audience awake. Now I do like longer movies and a 3 or 4 hour film isn't daunting to me, but this film should have had at least 1/2 hour taken out of it. Too many scenes show close-ups of weeds moving in the water, cars driving for 5 minutes along a highway in Japan (pointlessly, I might add) and people staring off into space. Now some of these excesses didn't surprise me (heck, I've see the Russian version of WAR AND PEACE twice--and it runs more than 6 1/2 hours in the American version), but that still didn't excuse the overly long shots. Had this not been an "art" film, critics most likely would have torn apart the film for this reason. I truly think that had it been only a 2 hour movie, it would have been better and I would have scored it at least an 8.

This one is like watching a film marathon. A pretty good film marathon, but a marathon nonetheless.

Admit it. 9 out of 10 of you are here because you heard that this movie is better than 2001: A Space Odyssey. Or perhaps there's some jerk who keeps putting you down every time you talk about scifi because you haven't seen Solyaris. Of all the phony name-dropping that goes on in scifi, this tops the list.

Well, I'm here to tell you that you don't have to sumbit. You want obscure Russian scifi that has a subtle yet poignant political/social commentary? Go see a film called KIN-DZA-DZA (1986). You want artistic science fiction which will confound your senses whilst piquing your consciousness? Go see MAN WHO FELL TO EARTH (1976). But for Chrissake, give this overrated flick a rest.

But if you must... well, OK. I'll give you some pointers on how to watch (endure) this picture. Try not to get annoyed by 7 minutes of closeups of pond scum. Resist the temptation to hurl things at the screen after watching 11 minutes of freeway footage. And don't puke when you see a meaningless, 3-minute closeup of a man's ear. Yes, I'm sure these scenes are all wrought with esoteric symbolism. But that doesn't change the fact that they are overindulgent wastes of film.

If, at any time during the picture, you need to get up, use the restroom or fix yourself a peanut butter sandwich, feel free to do so without hitting 'pause'. Chances are the same scene will be on the screen when you return.

The plot itself is interesting but slightly flawed. But perhaps by that point you're too busy pondering the socio-political significance of a man's earlobe to notice the flaws. The ending, yes, is quite memorable. So don't throw this film in the trash without fast forwarding to the ending. But then again, if you're familiar with the old Twilight Zone series, perhaps you'll be able to figure out the ending without wasting your time looking at algae.

The theme--well, here I actually have something positive to say. The theme is quite compelling, thought-provoking and ponderous. I assume that's why this film has warranted such a bloated rating on IMDb. Fair enough. But for all its poetry, this movie still did not give me an enjoyable experience. It was like listening to a very intelligent person speak in monotone, repeating himself ad nauseum. After a while, you just have to say, "Brevity is the soul of wit, my friend. And you? You're just a long-winded bore."