User reviews

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.

Everybody who has seen some Tarkovsky movies knows that a thrilling plot is not to be expected. However with "Nostalgia" Tarkovsky seems to outperform himself in this respect. Maybe this is the reason that "Nostalgia" is the least viewed and least reviewed film of the Tarkovsky oeuvre. I saw some clips with an interpretation of the movie that had a longer running time than the film itself!

The only thing that is petty clear is that "Nostalgia" is a film about homesickness. The film presents this in three layers. The main character Andrei (played by Oleg Yankovsky) is a Russian writer who does research in Italy about the 18th century Russian composer Pavel Sosnovksy (framed after the real composer Maksim Berezovsky) who was studying opera in Italy. Sosnovsky was homesick, as is Andrei a couple of century's later. The third layer is Tarkovsky himself. "Nostalgia" was his first film shot outside Russia, and he would not return to his home country. In this respect "Nostalgia" has a strong autobiographical element.

The film has two other main characters, the translater Eugenia (Domiziana Giordana) and the eccentric Domenico (Erland Josephson). The clips I refered to above had al sorts of profound thoughts about their meaning, but for me it was not obvious at all. At one point in the dreams of Andrei Eugenia met with his Russian wife. This reminded me very much of "Persona" (1966, Ingmar Bergman). Domenico is the fool of the village, but is he real a fool? His character has some resemblance with the character of Johannes Borgen in "Ordet" (1955, Carl Theodor Dreyer). In general the function of the character of Johannes was more clear to me than that of Domenico. Nevertheless there is one wonderful scene with Domenico. Domenico has kept his family inside his house for seven years because he is expecting the end of the World. After they are freed by local police his young son runs away and Domenico runs after him. In the beginning of the scene it is obvious that Domenico is trying to catch the boy. After a while this hunt gradually evolves in accompanying the boy in his voyage of discovery. A very beautiful scene indeed.

The way to appreciate "Nostalgia" may be to give up explaining and to start enjoying the beauty of the images. Images often with a lot of fog and certainly not the images you would find in a tourist travel guide of Tuscany, but beautiful all the same. Perhaps the most well known image is the one at the end of the film in which a wooden house Russian style turns out te be enclosed by the ruins of an Italian cathedral. An image also summing up the main theme of the film.

There are very few people worthy of the accolade of "Genius" but the late Russian film-maker Andrei Tarkovsky was definitely one of them. In his film-making career he is responsible for some of the most beautiful images ever to be put on a cinema screen.

"Nostalghia" deals with a Russian poet who is in Italy to research the life of a Russian composer, who died there. Accompanied only by his female, Italian, interpretor, who is attracted to him, the poet feels strong feelings of home-sickness for Russia and he strongly misses his wife and child who stayed behind.

This was Tarkovsky's first film made outside the Soviet Union (and his first in a language other than Russian), but it is still very obviously a Tarkovsky film, complete with many haunting images of water and fire. in fact, instead of the beautiful, sun-drenched Italy we are used to seeing on film, here the country is grey, wet and shrouded in mist. As usual in Tarkovsky's films there are many changes between colour footage and black-and-white (or sepia). Here, the poet's memories of Russia are presented in monochrome.

As with all Tarkovsky films, "Nostalghia" demands a great deal from the viewer. It is very slow moving and requires a great deal of patience and concentration. Also, be warned that Tarkovsky did not see cinema as "entertainment" but as an art form. I would advise anyone to make the effort and stick with it, though. It is a great work of art.

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...

Great cinema like Tarkovsky's almost always bewilders people for all the wrong reasons - they think there's plenty of hidden clues and symbols that are hidden, and one must decipher them. So their viewing process is always intensely cerebral. In other words, people mistake visceral art with intellectual art. The key to Tarkovsky and visceral filmmakers alike is simple - turn your brain off, turn your soul on(by being patient and shutting off the intrusions of the mind). With this film in particular it's very important to catch that contemplative rhytm Tarkovsky conducts. If you can do that, if you can unlock that part of yourself that's been locked for so long, you will open up an entire world, an additional dimension to existence. And you will also understand why Nostalgia in particular and Tarkovsky in general deem all other films and filmmakers, with the exception of very few, insignificant.

This is probably Andrei Tarkovsky's most autobiographical film, which is saying something because Mirror is about his own childhood. Mirror was really about the environment that led to the creation of Tarkovsky himself, in a way, but Nostalghia seems to be much more about Tarkovsky in the moment. His main character (also named Andrei) is a Russian national in Italy on a project, yearning for home, and the making of this film was when Tarkovsky decided to enter exile away from his motherland, the catalyst being Mosfilm pulling funding for the film right before production while he was in Italy after years and years of dealing with the Soviet bureaucracy. All of Tarkovsky's films were personal to him, but this one just has that extra something there.

Considered a minor work in a filmography of seven movies, Nostalghia tells the story of Andrei Gorchakov (Oleg Yankovsky) who is in Italy researching for a book about the Russian composer Pavel Sosnovsky with his attractive and young Italian translator Eugenia (Domiziana Giordano). They head to Bologna where Sosnovsky stayed for a time. They go to a remote church where a procession of women carry a statue of the Virgin in a ritual designed to pray to her for fertility, something Andrei made them go out of their way to see but doesn't even bother to go in to witness.

Outside their hotel are some famous baths, mainly a large outdoor pool that a handful of people float in for restoration. Along this pool often walks the local crazy, Domenico (Erland Josephson). He locked his family up in his house for seven years, preparing for the Apocalypse which, of course, never came. His family fled after being rescued, and Domenico has quietly led a small life in Bologna ever since. This personality fascinates Andrei, and he wants to get to know him better despite Domenico having nothing to do with his research.

There's an interesting moment before Andrei actually meets Domenico when he asks Eugenia the meaning of the Italian word "fede". It means "faith", but the way it's asked and answered implies Andrei's mental state rather perfectly. He has no faith behind the physical to the point where he doesn't even know what it is. Of course, he literally does know what it is (Eugenia just offers up the Russian word instead of a definition), but the implication is strong.

Andrei meets Domenico at Domenico's home, a remote building that's falling apart with open sections in the roof that allow rain to fall down generously (a repeated image of The Room from Stalker), and Domenico reveals the depth of his faith that the world is in the process of ending. He also reveals that, in order to avert the Apocalypse, he must traverse the baths with a lighted candle, but he is constantly removed from the baths every time he tries. This is crazy talk on a literal level, but that's kind of the point. It doesn't take great faith to believe in something easy to digest. It takes great faith to believe in something outlandish.

The center of Tarkovsky's films are always very small, the trials and tribulations of an individual against a larger context (Russian history in Andrei Rublev and Mirror, a thinking planet in Solaris, a room that grants innermost desires in Stalker, the Second World War in Ivan's Childhood). How much can one person affect the larger context? How can one maintain faith in the face of so much allayed against them? From a man who lived his life in the Soviet Union, it's an understandable point of view.

The main focus of the film ties into the film's title. Nostalgia is rampant in the film as everyone yearns for a different time. Domenico rails against the modern world, the source of his Apocalyptic concerns. These words mean something to Andrei, who also yearns for his wife and children back home while feeling lost in the modern world at the same time. Even Eugenia thinks back to her time in Moscow and the other men she met there who might have made her happier than Andrei (she's frustrated that he won't sleep with her). How can everyone go back to the happier times of their memories?

These ideas, faith in a time of crisis and yearning for a happier time in the past, coalesce in Andrei. Lost in Italy with little belief, he latches onto Domenico slightly. When he returns to Rome to wait for his flight back to Moscow, he discovers that Domenico has gone to Rome as well, standing atop the statue in the Piazza Vittorio Emmanuelle II and delivering long speeches (like Castro, Eugenia describes) about the evils of the modern world. It's obvious, though, that Domenico is being manipulated, and when he self-immolates the man who handed him the gas can mocks his pain.

Faith must manifest in some way for the soul to find any kind of hope, it seems. Without faith, all that there remains is the material, and Andrei can't seem to accept that, so he takes the candle Domenico gave him, goes back to Bologna, and walks across the now empty pool. This scene, all shot in one take as Andrei tries three times before successfully making it across, is the kind of thing that Tarkovsky understood. Hitchcock proved that editing is key to tension in film, but Tarkovsky found a way to pull it off without editing. The single shot is the kind of moment where the audience ends up holding its breath as we see wind knock the tiny flame back and forth as Andrei tries to shield it with his hand, arm, and even his coat.

Tarkovsky's later films really rely on their endings to wrap everything up. Drawing from the Aristotelian ideal of classical unity, in particular its concept of unity of action, everything in the films was designed to come down to a single idea. Every action, character, and location was meant to further the idea at the core, and endings can end up very important to that concept as they wrap up the action and provide the resolution to everything that had come before it. So it's interesting to watch the film with this in mind, certain that it will all come together, and it does. Andrei's walk across the pool is open to some level of interpretation (Andrei succumbing to madness, finding faith, or perhaps just simply desperate for some meaning in the world), but it gives meaning to the preceding two hours. That effort on his part gives explanation to his early meanderings, solace and completion of Domenico's own madness and faith, while also helping him come to terms with the absence of his own family.

Tarkovsky movies aren't exactly what one would call fun, but they are engrossing if you let them. Nostalghia reminds me a bit of Terrence Malick's To the Wonder, a seemingly smaller film coming after something so much larger (Stalker for Tarkovsky and The Tree of Life for Malick), a supposed letdown of sorts from the previous work. However, I think both are really underappreciated considering their actual artistic merits. Nostlaghia represents a further refinement of Tarkovsky's style after the chaos of the previous production, completely freed from the constraints of the Soviet bureaucracy, and still yearning for meaning.

At one in the morning, I threw in Nostalghia and let myself become inundated with sparseness and visual poetry. People describe this film as poetic; I 'd go further and say its like music too. I sometimes put it on and just do my things, and come back to it. It's a work of immense beauty and transcends normal movie viewing practices. Try it one day and put it on late at night, with a glass of beer. You'll see what I mean.

One of the most difficult movies of all time. Although there is a poetic expression and a philosophical dimension in the story, it was extremely hard to grasp what it tells exactly. I give it 7 because it was very impressive in terms of cinematography.

It is beautifully photographed, and further established Tarkovsky as a genius with natural landscapes and settings. Aside from Orson Welles, Tarkovsky must be the king of atmosphere.

Atmosphere alone does not make a great movie. This movie is unbearably pretentious and slow beyond words. In comparison to Tarkovsky, Ingmar Bergman is an MTV director.

By this stage in his life, Tarkovsky was an acknowledged genius, and apparently nobody on this team ever dared to question his artistic decisions. He simply has no clue of when his point has been made and it's time to move on.

Is he a fine poet? Yes, as great as his father in many ways. I also think he has a marvelous photographer's eye for images. But he really had a complete disdain for communication with the audience, and that aloofness makes this film so hard to watch. Of course, the fact that much of the movie exists in dim remembrances and dreams makes it even less accessible. I don't even know if this film had a script. Some of the actor's dialogue, especially Giordano's, seems unrelated to the scenes they are performing. The actors performed admirably.

I watched it a second time with my fast-forward, and it was much better. He has a way of holding the camera on a still or barely-panning image for many, many seconds - with no sound either, except for his overused running or dripping water cliche. If you fast-forward all of those to the next scene, the movie flows much better.

I consider this movie a disappointment. I always thought Tarkovsky would make a great movie when given Western budgets and technology, but he pretty much just remade his earlier movies on better film stock.

He has a beautiful vision. I wish he had become a photographer instead of a filmmaker.

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.

While I do rank Andrei Rublev(the greatest Soviet film ever made from personal view), Mirror(Tarkovsky's most personal) and Stalker above it, Nostalgia doesn't disappoint in any way; coming from a director who was one of the few who did not make a bad film, even my least favourite Ivan's Childhood was great and contains one of the best child performances ever.

Nostalgia is not for everybody, despite being one of his shortest it is one of Tarkovsky's least accessible along with Solaris. People will be captivated by the photography, the symbolism and direction amongst other things while others will find the slow pacing too much for them, mightn't completely understand what's going on or maybe find it repetitive. As said already, this viewer is one of those people who considers it another Tarkovsky masterpiece. It's not a Tarkovsky film without beautiful visuals and imagery and great directing and Nostalgia absolutely has both. The mix of black and white and colour are truly striking while the photography(the most interesting being the lengthy but hypnotic lighted candle sequence) like all Tarkovsky films is some of the most stunning and arresting seen for any film. Tarkovsky's direction as ever is exemplary even late in his career, despite being his first Non-Soviet film Tarkovsky's unique style is unmistakable. The symbolism is fairly straightforward and still powerful.

Nostalgia's music score is hauntingly melancholic and the dialogue is thoughtful and subtle, the desolation of art speech contains some of the most thought-provoking dialogue of any Tarkovsky film. With the story, the slow pacing did not bother me at all. Quite the opposite, because a lot of parts were so dream-like and mystical it was so easy to be captivated by it. The story itself is one of Tarkovsky's most personal(second only to Mirror) and has its fair share of emotional power, if not as much as Andrei Rublev and Solaris. The characters carry the film well and the performances are fine, Oleg Yankovsky is a compelling lead and Erland Josephson is appropriately distinguished and better than he is given credit for here. Overall, not one of Tarkovsky's best but doesn't disappoint at all. 10/10 Bethany Cox

Nostalghia, a film Andrei Tarkovsky directed while he was out of Russia and in Italy, is almost as personal, if not more-so, than his film the Mirror. The main character's first name is Andrei; there's mention of a poet named Tarkovsky (possibly Andrei's own father, if I'm not mistaken); the main character, while trying to do something else with his time (write a biography on a musician) is distracted by his personal turmoil over his family, who are back in his homeland, as was Tarkovsky to a degree (he might have been in exile, I'm not sure). And on top of this, we're given a substantial amount of black and white scenes, often either in slow-motion speed or directed by Tarkovsky to seem like such, from dreams and memories that call for a time and place that is specific but also ethereal, strange and probably symbolic.

So why then does the film not work if the creator's soul was poured entirely into it? I think, perhaps, there is almost *too* much of a reliance on creating a mood of meditation, for there to be total concentration upon the atmosphere that Tarkovsky has created- as he has in all of his movies- upon which is a sort of world unto itself, seen through its filmmaker in a way no other can see it. This may be expected for one already familiar with the director's methods, but even still there's so many silent moments, so many long takes with the most slight of camera movements, so much contemplation in place of dialog (there's only a few scenes where we see characters communicate in that manner), that it takes a lot out of the viewer to stay with the ideal of spiritual redemption that Tarkovsky is after.

Or is it redemption? Is it just simply a quest into oneself? Why does Andrei follow Domenico (brilliantly played in subtle/not-so-subtle form by Erland Josephsson), who cannot be really relied upon as a source of redemption or actual thought provocation? This is a man, after all, who yells out his speeches to bewildered crowds in a town square and then proceeds to go through a very severe act on himself (to Beethoven's 9th no less!) There's a lot of mystery to this character Andrei, and the actor portraying him, Oleg Jankovsky, is so subdued and detached at times that his female translator counterpart (possibly mad as well) can barely get a rise out of him save for the bloody nose. This strange sensation to seek in to a character that Tarkovsky leaves open to much interpretation, plus the procession of shots that seem to last for about as long as imaginable, makes it an uneasy viewing experience.

But at the same time that there's this uneasiness, there's also a wonderment that is going on as well. I couldn't pull myself away even if a part of my mind screamed out "where's the plot?" There's such a strong sense of direction going on, the moods created in certain places (i.e. the fog over the hot springs at the Spa, the darkness in the bedrooms, the chilling sensibility to the flashbacks/dreams), almost in spite of the lack of a really solid story, as it becomes less about what happens than about what is in this character, the nature of this exile in Italy as it makes Andrei pull into his own existential finale of sorts. That finale, as some may have read, is extraordinary, maybe the whole reason, as with Sacrifice's fire finale, that Tarkovsky made the movie in the first place: the poet carries a candle, as suggested by Domenico, across a sacred pool, and when it goes out he goes back, and does this again, and again, until finally he makes it across. Never a cutaway, always intuitively shot by Tarkovsky's cameraman, and it brings on a whole other quality that crosses paths between what is fiction in the film and reality in front of the camera.

While I praise the film, and recommend it, it's not the kind of work that someone who isn't familiar at all with Tarkovsky should see as an introduction. On the contrary, this might be more worthwhile as the final work in his (saddeningly) small body of work, as its pace and modus operandi can be further appreciated. Grade: A-

Tarkovski's Nostalghia is the most stunning film, visually, emotionally, and intellectually that I have seen in recent years. If you care about films as art, then it is a must see. Exploring faith, alienation, and exile, the film is a meditation on the state of modern man. Nostalghia transcends the barriers of cinema and projects itself into our own consciousness and world, in a way that film should, in order for viewers to weigh their actions and relate with the human community.

You know what you're getting with a Tarkovsky movie and this is no exception: an aesthetic experience which really gives the time to just feel the moment and get lost in its hypnotic power as still (as often as cogent) as a painting.

I would be lying if I said I really get this movie. A cursory glance at wikipedia tells me that the untranslatabillity of culture is an aspect though was more inclined to say it was about the desperate search for meaning in an ostensibly (and probably) meaningless world. Though that is a much easier interpretation...

I don't hate the mainstream, quite the opposite. But it is often to brilliant to find a movie that really embraces the freedom film can give to an artist. What some people would call an "art film" but I don't like to say this because all movies are art. The carefully composed images, the apparently inconsequential conversations, the switch from color to black and white (I'm a real sucker for that when done well; Schindler's List handled poorly in my opinion), and the stangely stylised vision of the world where people just stand around posing as if for a painting. I also admire the use of long takes. Bare in mind I did watch this is several sittings.

So as is usually the case with this writer-director, what we have is a slow, austere, strange, not particularly cogent but very satisfying experience that Chris Stuckman will probably never talk about.

Tarkovsky breaks new ground in the cinema, using cinematography, sound, and temporal space to transport the viewer to his dream-like state. The result is meted out in stunning cinematography and an aural soundscape that reflects the inner turmoil of the protagonist - Tarkovsky's own persona, more or less, according to his diaries - struggling to integrate a past long gone with a present unfulfilled.

A masterpiece (if you can get through it without falling into your own dream state!)

"Nostalghia" could be considered as Tarkovsky's "8 1/2", just much more cryptic and with a far bleaker outcome. The director uses the main character to show us his own thoughts, memories, and obsessions in a stream of consciousness kind of way. The film is painfully slow and self-indulgently rehashes motifs already glimpsed in Tarkovsky's previous works, yet it is packed with memorable images and breathtakingly beautiful locations. Interesting how spaces are used to express the character's alienation and loneliness - we will rarely see two people in the same shot, and even in those rare times, they will always keep an unnatural distance. While I enjoyed the visuals, the script felt like the weak link in the chain, with bloated monologues and pseudo-intellectual conversations, even though t's also true that the wooden Italian dub didn't really help in that sense.

Very hard movie to watch but it is worth it. Cinematography is so gorgeous like in every film he made. You need to be fully concentrated to watch it and to understand what is all of that supossed to mean. Dialogue is so deep and meaningful. His movies are pure art.

Poetic and philosophical, but ponderous.

The theme of the transplanted Russian longing to return home was obviously deeply personal to Tarkovsky, and there is a great heaviness to this film, shot in drab surroundings and craggy ruins. It's also the work of a man at a certain age in life when parents and friends are beginning to pass away, looking at life nostalgically but also with somber perspective. Throughout the film there are many doors and gateways, seeming to symbolize transitions in life, and there are also several mirrors, with the main characters sometimes surprised at the image they see reflected. Many of these shots are beautifully composed, which is not a surprise given the filmmaker's immense talent.

Spoilers from here on.

In the moments that stirred me most in the film, it seemed to ask, what can we do with this fragile life of ours, and symbolized it with fire. The man deemed insane has great insight when he says humanity must come together ("We must listen to the voices that seem useless"), chastises those who are well off ("It is the healthy who have brought the world to the verge of ruin"), and advocates for a simpler life ("Just look at nature and you'll see that life is simple. We must go back to where we were, to the point where you took the wrong turn"). He says all that, but then out of despair or perhaps as a way of trying to wake people up from their disinterest, incinerates himself.

Meanwhile, the poet tries to keep his capering candlelight alive while crossing the water in the ruins of the old baths. You can see both great perseverance and ultimately great futility in this small task, attempted again and again, and there is something both triumphant and sad about it (something I also felt in the film's final image). Earlier on the poetry of Tarkovsky's father is quoted and we hear:

"I am a candle. I burned at the feast. Gather my wax when morning arrives so that this page will remind you how to be proud and how to weep, how to give away the last third of happiness, and how to die with ease - and beneath a temporary roof to burn posthumously, like a word."

There is some really profound stuff here, and it's a film that oozes melancholy at a time that struck an emotional chord with me. It's interesting though - as in other Tarkovsky films, Pushkin is mentioned, and I only wish the director had some of that poet's talent for concision. Several scenes go on interminably, and while they're meant to increase the emotional weight, for me it had the opposite effect. I'm not sure about the translator character either; maybe she was meant to provide momentary lightness to offset all of the other heaviness, but I thought she could have been more effectively incorporated. It's a film that I'm glad I watched, but it's not one I would reach for again.