Mère et fils

Mother & Son is a stunningly perfectionist yet tremendously moving piece of art. The plot as it is revolves around a son tending to his dying mother in a rural Russian setting.

Whilst this situation is itself moving, the primary impact of the film is sensual. Sokurov goes to immense trouble to turn every extended take into a mesmerising image worthy in-itself, using intricate filters and in-camera techniques to create a stunningly original visual landscape. The dolby soundtrack is just as complex, mixing natural ambient recordings, sparse but precise dialog and occasional snippets of classical music mixed in at a nearly inaudible level. The soundtrack itself could stand alone.

More importantly, perhaps, the style fits the subject matter. What Sokurov essentially does is kills the audience - the film has an immense hypnotic power that places the audience directly inside the gaze of the dying woman. Both times I saw this film, the entire audience was left sitting dazed and motionless for a number of minutes after the house lights had come up.

The final triumph is the films short running time of 1 hr 15 minutes. The audience is given no time to lose concentration, and the film achieves all its goals in this time.

Mother & Son must rank as one of the few recent films to qualify as a truly cinematic experience.

After opening with a distorted tableau, Sokurov moves slowly into images of stones, grass; he's a naturalist who's addicted to nature; a humanist who's dedicated to the intimate. (The mother and son in his film are not characters or types or ciphers or "performances.") The camera movements are so beautifully slow that they're hard to describe -- imagine the precision of "Ordet" had it been made in color, those images still and hazy, like pastoral paintings with glowing hues of light. They're some of the purest images I've ever seen, comparable to "Barry Lyndon" and "McCabe & Mrs. Miller." What is so startling is that the color makes the film seem modern -- and such a hazy yet lucid color, Maddin-like in its Expressionism and schemes: fable-like and emotionally incestuous. It exists outside time, its only indicator a train within the film; existential emptiness represented visually. The film passes by quickly, with the perpetual wind that sounds like the ocean. It's as if the film is a progression of the most beautiful visions imaginable, the various images of death.

It is something different -- art should be unique, if we're talking about art in the vein of Picasso, Shakespeare, and Bach, shouldn't it be an experience like no other? In fact, this could easily be compared to Tarkovsky, the most obvious comparison. But for me it feels more like Dreyer without the self-conscious dialogue. It couldn't be said to be complex -- it's two characters talking rather simply. But what it lacks in complexity it makes up for in singularity. (The images are at times so rich that it's almost comical -- is this a film set or not?) It's the kind of film that's easy to make fun of, intruding on the most personal moments of this pathetic-looking mother and her son who constantly speaks in a hushed tone -- you imagine one of those "Seinfeld" Village Voice parodies. It isn't emotional or intellectual; I don't even know if it's profound. But it's a masterpiece, plain and simple. 10/10

This relatively short film is about as far from mainstream cinema as you could get. It was reassuring for me to see that films like it are being produced somewhere, by someone -- especially after the experience of watching `Mission to Mars' on the same evening. An art-house goon like myself will at least have an idea of what he's getting himself into, but it's hard for me to imagine an habitual consumer of mainstream cinema watching it unless by accident or at the urging of others. If such is the case, however, and you find it confusing or uninvolving, please don't jump right into the act of declaring it `boring and pretentious.' At the very least, give it a day or two, try to think a bit about what you saw, and what others have seen in it. I hate to see a work of fine art dumped-on publicly because of a quick impression. While I wouldn't necessarily call `Mother and Son' entertainment, if anything can be called a work of art, I think it can.

Just about every frame of this film is beautifully composed and rendered. It almost looks like a series of living oil paintings. For anyone who has ever drawn or painted, even as a hobby, it gives you an urge to try to make something as beautiful as what you're seeing. But the look, sound, and essential content of the film combine to make a powerful impression, if you're receptive to it. It is an especially strong and significant experience to anyone who has an elderly parent with whom they are still close, but it seems to me elemental to anyone human who cares for another human. I've often thought there is too much dialog in many modern films, making long stretches of them seem like some form of color radio instead of real cinema, which I think of as primarily a visual medium. `Mother and Son' speaks volumes with little talk, in the manner of some of the great silent film artists. Per the DVD, the actors in this film have almost no other film credits, and to me are completely unknown. No matter. I would love to have participated in the creation of a fine work of art like this once in my life.

I wouldn't presume to recommend a film like `Mother and Son' to everyone, but if you've read the comments posted here and think you might be receptive to this film, as I did, see it by all means. You'll probably appreciate its power and beauty, as I did.

The prior commentator went a little overboard. The film is surely not the greatest of all time. It is, perhaps, the greatest LOVE FILM of all time. The beauty of the landscape (note that this is Russia in deep summer -- deep winter would have produced a much different effect - but then the mother is dying, and the contrast between her physical state and the lushness of the fields and forests is necessary to keep one from being overwhelmed by sorrow ) is itself commentary on the beauty between these two. No pretty girl, no surging music, no reasons even for the love. It is just there. Titanic. Not tied to sex or gratitude. JUST EMOTION. The dialog is spare. There is no third person. Though everything moves very sluggishly, this fits perfectly. This is not a movie. It is a poem. Extremely fine too as an essay on what the core of love looks like.

This film is about the relationship between a sick mother and her son. (surprise.) Surely, this isn't for the average viewer: narrative is slow, events nonexistent; the film consists mostly of painting-like "still-lives" with very little dialogue. The mother and son walk along the beautiful sceneries (the film is done on the island of Rügen, by the coast of Germany), approach each other, take contact by embracing and hugging.

Nick Cave, the rock singer, said somewhere that this film is the most beautiful he has ever seen. I agree that it is maybe Sokurov's best: the twisted images of the landscapes, great camera work and almost meditative feeling are something I love to see in the cinema - if nothing else, just as an attempt this is a great film, instead of all the run-of-the-mill "narratives" we come across.

Beautiful. Word.