allan825

Tarkovsky's adaptation of Lem's novel takes quite a few liberties, jettisoning, for instance, the brilliant satirical elements and re-creating in its own potent terms the story's fascinating strangeness. But Tarkovsky does remain true to the novel's central sci-fi premise: that life elsewhere in the universe may have evolved along lines so different from life on Earth that we could never fathom it. Lem's novel, then, is an extraordinary rebuttal of all the ridiculous, anthropomorphic sci-fi scenarios in which aliens appear as strangely familiar humanoids (often demanding to be taken to some leader, in English). The new Solaris strats from the original in a far more fundamental way than Tarkovsky did, shifting the focus from the mind-bending sci-fi premise to something far more predictable and far less interesting: a rather conventional tale (told largely through flashbacks) of love, regret, and redemption. Instead of Lem's world-wide sentient ocean, we get a few shots of some neon clouds--and virtually no explanation at all of what Solaris is. In fact, Solaris itself becomes so peripheral to the story that one almost wonders why the filmmakers even bothered to use the name. The film will probably come as a major disappointment to fans of the original (or of the earlier film version, with its unique `Tarkovskyan' style and atmosphere). It will also disappoint the casual cineplex viewer who expects that since Cameron's name is linked with the project that it must be some rip-roaring rollercoaster ride rather along the lines of another Aliens or Terminator II. (Thus "miss...miss...") Yes, the film's quite slow, but the slowness is not enigmatic and compelling as in Tarkovsky; it's mostly boring and often unimaginative. And the performances certainly do not redeem the picture. One in particular (the `dude' who plays Snow) is almost fascinating in its sheer badness. The difference between Lem (and Tarkovsky) and the new version is nowhere more apparent (or disappointing) than in the ending. In place of the fathomless ambiguities of the novel's conclusion (`I persisted in the faith that the time of cruel miracles was not past'), we get a rather saccharine, allegorical happy ending. `Cruel miracles': no, there's nothing remotely to compare with that. The shift toward allegory is strongly reinforced by an iconic (and rather pedestrian) visual allusion to Michelangelo. At the same time, I suppose, one could see the scene as an allusion to Kubrick's `Star-Child'. Throughout, the film's visual style and sudden fits of Ligeti-like music owe much more to 2001 than to anything in Tarkovsky--and to say that the invited comparison is not in the newer film's favor is a bit of an understatement. The filmmakers seem to depend on the beautiful stars to carry the viewer's interest, in lieu of the braintwisting thematic substance of the original(s). Yes, I enjoyed watching Natascha McElhone's high-cheekboned face--in fact the main reason I stayed to the end was to find out the actress's name (since there are no opening credits). But that's candy rather than nutrition. I strongly recommend--especially to those who have yet to encounter Lem or Tarkovsky--that you stay home and either read the novel or rent the earlier version. Having done both a couple of times, I still wished I had made that choice.