By Adrian Bordeleau

Arguably the greatest Russian filmmaker, Andrei Tarkovsky’s seven films are each a profound internal odyssey. Through these films he explores with great delicacy existential and spiritual conflicts that are at once recognizable as thoroughly Russian, yet universal. Tarkovsky saw film as a relatively new medium and believed in rooting his work in more established art forms. As a result, his films owe more to nineteenth century authors Dostoyevsky and Tolstoy than his Soviet filmmaker forebears. His languid, expressionistic visual style is full of nuanced observation, capturing elements that plumb core human experiences. He shapes and rearranges the images to form an ambitious, often difficult, thesis. Tarkovsky described his unique cinematic language as “sculpting in time.” Russian language scholar, Robert O. Efird further describes it as “a disregard for spatiotemporal consistency.”

Throughout his career, Tarkovsky rejected attempts to assign concrete meaning to his oft-used visual themes such as water, horses, dogs, plant-life, wind, fire, and flight. Though he was coy about discussing these elements, it is impossible to dismiss his visual vocabulary as either hollow or haphazard. His demanding long takes of natural elements, often juxtaposed with a human protagonist, make it impossible to not see through the lens of his personal faith; an eastern orthodox Christianity. The eastern orthodox tradition sees nature as sacred, mystical and unfallen while humans are fallen. And this is exactly how Solaris, Tarkovsky’s third feature film, begins.

“Everything we’ve received so far has been confusing or incomprehensible.”

Solaris opens in an ambiguous city and in an ambiguous timeframe. Lush, beautiful images of nature establish the setting as Earth and nearly overwhelm the introduction of the film’s main character. The protagonist, a humorless, pragmatic psychologist named Kris Kelvin, is visiting the home of his father. The visit is not casual; it is simultaneously a farewell and covert mission briefing.

Kelvin is about to depart for the space station that orbits the mysterious planet Solaris, a project whose research has come into question by state bureaucrats. The crew of the space station seem unstable, and the reports received from the project have become wild and unexplainable. This undermines what knowledge had previously been systematized as Solaristics. The state agency is sending Kris to evaluate the validity of continuing the project.

As Kris sits with his father and a disgraced Solaristics scientist named Burton, they watch footage of an old briefing where a younger Burton is questioned about the unexplainable visions he had while he observed the ocean of the planet Solaris. As he describes his visions, the scientific panel questioning him becomes increasingly agitated, eventually shouting him down for reporting his seemingly impossible experiences.

“The station over Solaris is purely mechanical; clinical, metal, and showing signs of disrepair.”

Kelvin is a man of science and as the opening scene continues we learn that his relationship with his father is strained. His father describes him as clinical and heartless. The meeting with Burton to discuss his experience before Kris departs for Solaris is an attempt by Kris’ father to appeal to Kelvin’s humanity above his rationalism. The appeal falls on deaf ears and Kelvin departs for the Solaris station at odds with his father.

“Our decision should not rely on the observations of a man without scientific qualifications.”

Immediately upon Kelvin’s arrival at the space station, the film’s aesthetic shifts. Gone are the lush woods and pond of his father’s house. The station over Solaris is purely mechanical; clinical, metal, and showing signs of disrepair. Kelvin begins searching for the three remaining scientists on the station and soon finds a sweaty and anxious Dr. Snaut. Snaut is effusive when questioned by Kelvin. The crew has used all scientific methods at their disposal to study and understand the ocean planet Solaris.

The most troubling phenomena on the space station is the planet’s ability to create physical manifestations of each person’s deepest guilt. Described as visitors, these beings are physical and roam the ship, tormenting the individual whose subconscious authored them. This suggests that the planet Solaris is sentient, powerful, and has some interest in the inner workings of the mind.

Kelvin tells his colleague Dr. Snaut that he is convinced that the hallucinations and visions experienced by the crew are a result of psychological trauma caused by their isolation in space. Snaut challenges Kelvin’s rationalism, telling him that he cannot simply dismiss the strange phenomena as the result of mental illness.

Dr. Snaut’s challenge to Kelvin’s rationalism is a reflection of the film’s larger exploration of the limits of human understanding. Tarkovsky suggests that our attempts to explain the world through reason and logic will always fall short, as there are aspects of reality that are beyond our comprehension. The planet Solaris, with its strange and unexplained phenomena, embodies mysteries that are beyond human understanding. One is also faced with the reality that no matter how magnificent the accomplishments of mankind, each man is still faced with and unable to escape his own internal self. When Kelvin’s visitor finally arrives, Snaut acknowledges the anguish of confronting one’s own guilt: “Did you happen to throw the inkwell like Luther?”

Kris’ manifested visitor arrives in the form of Hari, an imperfect version of his estranged and deceased wife. His first reaction to Hari is mortification and he promptly fires her into space. A second Hari arrives, more accurate than the first, and Kris takes a different approach. Instead of rejecting or hiding his visitor as the other scientists have done, Kris accepts Hari, embracing her as a chance at atonement for his regrets. Where the other scientists live in terror of their visitors being discovered, Kelvin introduces Hari to them as his wife.

Kris and Hari’s relationship on the station forms the emotional core of the film as he acknowledges the limitations of empirical observation and embraces what cannot be explained. What Kris and Hari experience is not perfection, as Hari has appeared because of Kris’ guilt over their relationship. Her personality is formed by Kris’ subconscious fears and trauma. But for Kris it is an opportunity to live a life that he had longed to return to. Living with each other on Solaris station offers an opportunity for absolution that would never have come on Earth.

“No matter how magnificent the accomplishments of mankind, each man is still faced with and unable to escape his own internal self.”

As the film reaches its conclusion the Solaris ocean grows unstable. Its mass expands and small islands begin to appear on the surface. Kris decides that he will descend to one of the islands. As he reaches the surface of the planet that seems to know his inner thoughts, Kelvin finds himself in another manifestation of his most profound guilt. Though his father has died, he is back on his father’s estate, approaching his father’s door, then kneeling at his father’s feet to ask for forgiveness.

“We’re in exactly the same situation today. Solaristics is degenerating.”