Solaris

Having read the book before I saw this I though it was a huge disappointment. They completely missed the point of the story, which was philosophical rather than emotional. Basically, the movie took an awe-inspiring "what if" thought experiment - of finding a very advanced non-human intelligence (which, surprise surprise, doesn't have two arms, two legs, a body and a head) and the problems of trying to communicate with such a radically different being, especially when it doesn't seem interested in communication, and how we can relate to it with our own limited human experience, and squeezed out all the juicy intellectual bits. Solaris was supposed to be the real star of the story and the screenplay instead turned it into background wallpaper. All that was left then, was a sappy love story set in space. It is frustrating to think about the potential that was wasted. Mr. Soderbergh could have made a classic sci-fi film here, if only he'd made an honest attempt.

The funny thing is, if I hadn't read the book I would have liked the film, because it is well directed and has a nice atmospheric mood. There's nothing inherently wrong with love stories either. Just.. call it something other than Solaris, give the characters different names, don't do anything to remind me of the original story and I'd say it is a good movie. But as it is, it's an extreme disappointment.

Story Something is wrong on the space station orbiting the mysterious planet Solaris, so Chris Kelvin (Clooney) goes there, all alone, to find out what's going on and to persuade the crew to come home. Turns out, when one is near Solaris, one tends to see dead people--or duplicates thereof. In Kelvin's case, this would be a doppelganger of his deceased wife, Rheya (McElhone), which seems to have Rheya's personality traits and memories.

I had heard that Solaris was excruciatingly slow and, consequently, unbearably boring, but I didn't quite agree. I understood that many shots were included or extended to set the mood, and to illustrate thought and memory, and it was all visually interesting. I could see, for example, where Soderbergh showed his love for Stanley Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey with lingering shots of Clooney in an astronaut's helmet, patterns of light reflected on its glass. However I would have traded the extra hour of atmospherics for a deeper exploration of the intriguing questions the premise raised. When we say we love someone, are we saying we love the sum of the person's characteristics? Were we to lose our loved one, would a twin with the same likes, dislikes, and quirks be a suitable replacement? Would you want to live on in the memories of your friends and family or, as Woody Allen prefers, to live on in your apartment? This film seems less interested in delving into these mysteries than it is in portraying grief and subjective memory. Valid objectives, but Solaris left me wanting to see an episode of the similarly themed Caprica (of which I've only seen the pilot movie).

Why you should see it You never got over that crush you developed on Clooney during his tenure on ER. You're in the mood for a visual poem of love and loss. You enjoy any movie set in outer space. You're the founder of Jeremy Davies/Dr. Faraday Fan Club.

Why you should avoid it Star Trek: The Next Generation was set in outer space too. Pick an episode and it will lead you through a debate of life's big questions, in half the time.

--from my review at www.1man365movies.com

While Soderbergh's Solaris may well be a work of art in its own right, I certainly pity those who haven't read the book or at least seen Tarkovsky's 1972 original adaptation, which is a lot more faithful to Lem's novel in its scope, if not in its vision. Soderbergh has managed to leave out just about everything that could justify the title (as Lem himself put it, if he had set out to write a book about space romance, he would have called it Love in Outer Space, not Solaris). So if you want to know the story, go and read the novel.

That said, I enjoyed Jeremy Davis as Snow, and the score is very good.

Solaris (2002)

Some might find Solaris slow, or slick, or opaque, and I think it is all those things and for a good reason. Unlike Moon (2009), which is like a Tom Waits (and simplified) version of the same core theme, or 2001 (1968), which has something utterly impersonal to distinguish it, Solaris is a love story. And you are meant to float--or better, you are meant to be weightless--in the experience.

The music (evocative dreamy music, by Cliff Martinez) alone makes clear we are in suspension. It's a trip, in the druggy sense and in spiritual sense. We have to figure out what these other beings really are (they look human, and some of them are) and we have to decide what it means to be alive (is it simply self-awareness?). We have to even decide whether the characters should live in the lie of some invented reality that feels utterly real, or to go for the old fashioned real thing and leave love behind.

If it's love at all. After awhile you realize it's a kind a narcissism. And then you wonder why not? Whatever works, right?

The movie is gently confusing. The lead is George Clooney. The whole movie is George Clooney. His love interest (undefined for here) is played by the big-eyed Natascha McElhone. If her staring eyes and gentle loving neediness seem a little overdone, it's for good reason. As you'll see (blame George). And the planet itself, exerting some kind of power over the consciousness of the humans on this floating (large) spaceship, represents something approaching God in its power and mystery. It's an atheist's movie, I'm sure, but filled with spiritual and human optimism.

Most viewers don't know that this is a remake, and hard core film buffs dismiss this American Steven Soderbergh version as Hollywood at its worst (big budget, sentimental, pretty beyond reason). The earlier Soviet version (from 1972) is really interesting, too, and parts of it are even slower. On purpose. Other parts seem dated, to me, and if I think of the effects and the idea as ahead of its time, I remind myself that this earlier one is after, not before, Kubrick's Space Odyssey and so the whole progression is skewed. The Soviet version also seems more sexist, more male dominant, and whatever demeaning qualities exist in this more recent one, they seem more in balance, man to woman, at least in a less male gaze way.

But academic analysis creeps in on a movie that is really much more about experiencing its mood, its tragedy and hope, and its delicate floating beauty, which I seem to enjoy without thinking too hard. There are moments, including the Michelangelo creation scene with the boy (yes!), that push it far too far (and seem Kubrick inspired, without Kubrick's icy sensibility). You might also be able to edit it differently to make it more compact. But these are debates to have once you've seen the movie. A warning: it's depressing to some people. To me, though, it's soothing. And the open ended qualities might make you want to see it again.

There are a number of good things about this movie, but ultimately it felt to me like a lost opportunity. It raised provocative psychological issues but never carried me away or led me to anything like an epiphany. In the latter half, I was in fact a bit bored. It certainly isn't enthralling like Tarkovsky's version. Rheya's character is better developed, particularly her own psychological trauma in being a "creation" (Tarkovsky's Rheya was something of a naif in comparison). But what I missed from Tarkovsky's version is the sense of humor (this one is stiflingly earnest) and the evocative and poignant use of Bach chorales in the soundtrack. The soundtrack to this one is intriguing (a la Brian Eno, Ligeti, and Thomas Newman's scores for The Player and American Beauty), but I eventually found myself desperately longing for a cadence. Lacking the feeling of redemption communicated musically in Tarkovsky's version, this one had to rely on ham-handed statements of fact. And finally, I can't help remarking that neither Tarkovsky nor Soderbergh really convey the element of shame and sexual deviance that played such an important part in Lem's original. Both place the emphasis instead on guilt, which isn't quite the same thing, is it?