*** Official "SOLARIS" Discussion Thread (1 Viewer)

[Robert Crawford]

This thread is now designated the Official Discussion Thread for "Solaris". Please, post all comments, links to outside reviews, film and box office discussion items to this thread.
All HTF member film reviews of "Solaris" should be posted to the Official Review Thread.
Thank you for your consideration in this matter.
Crawdaddy

 

[Seth Paxton]

I went to check out the general reviews at Rotten Tomatoes after writing mine. I have to say that many of them said the same things I did, so I guess I wasn't crazy (or stupid ) after all.
However, I do think Owen Gleiberman totally missed the point. The film is subtle about it's themes, but I kept noticing very certain lines that clearly brought forth one philosophical view on the subject matter or another. The film asks many questions in this manner, but it doesn't go back and repeat itself (which is nice).
There are questions like how any "real" humans define themselves as real. And the metaphorical aspects between Solaris and god were very strongly played within the film.
To find that in any way comparable to Ghost of all films is ridiculuous IMO. As I said in my review, the questions being asked here are much more akin to those asked by 2001 rather than Ghost. If you get Ghost out of this film, then you are focusing way too much on the "primary" storyline (it really isn't but on the surface it is).
And it also means you totally skipped the end of the film.

 

[Robert Crawford]

I'll be checking this film out in a couple of days, but first up is Standing in the Shadows of Motown.
Edit: The original "Solaris" is being shown on Turner Classic Movies this Friday @ 9:30 p.m. ET.
Crawdaddy

 

[Patrick Sun]

There's quite an existential bent to the film. Can we trust not only our senses for what is real or not, but can we trust our feelings and affinity for another being, regardless of what makes up that persona. I'd almost akin it to some form of internet romance where the only form of communication is letters typed on a computer screen. The words and sentences embody ideas and emotions that somehow find a way to the other person's head and heart, their core of existence. But with no physical-ness to contribute to the connection, the connection is made nonetheless. Why? What sparks that euphoric feeling when that connection is made? What gives it meaning to both parties? You can't quantify it, but it exists nonetheless. Why? Who knows, but it happens. It is real? Is it only within our consciousness? At what point do we dare to venture out of our sphere of influence?

 

[Jack Briggs]

Better than Tarkovsky's?
Wow, Jason, once I see the new one we are going to revisit that comment.

 

[Rich Malloy]

Solaris purports to have a deeper meaning beyond its cool exterior but underneath its surface is nothing more than elementary school philosophical ideas and theology that is very rudimentary at best. It is all smoke and mirrors or should I say an endless amount of dreams and flashbacks that plods along and really doesn’t amount to anything.

Is this the standard boilerplate, Edwin? I seem to recall something like...
"Waking Life purports to have a deeper meaning beyond its cool exterior but underneath its surface is nothing more than elementary school philosophical ideas and theology that is very rudimentary at best. It is all smoke and mirrors or should I say an endless amount of dreams and flashbacks that plods along and really doesn’t amount to anything."
"Last Year at Marienbad purports to have a deeper meaning beyond its cool exterior but underneath its surface is nothing more than elementary school philosophical ideas and theology that is very rudimentary at best. It is all smoke and mirrors or should I say an endless amount of dreams and flashbacks that plods along and really doesn’t amount to anything."
Well, those may not have been your exact words.
I may make it out to the theater for "SOLARIS" today. As a Tarkovsky-phile and lover of sci-fi generally, I have very high hopes for it, but also very high standards against which it will be measured. However, even if it fails to do justice to its direct forbears -- Lem's novel and Tarkovsky's film -- what I'll not do is criticize it for addressing philosophical/psychological themes and attempting to go deep with them. It seems that there are those of us - and I include myself in that group, at least in the past - who reserve the harshest criticism for those films that shoot the highest, but which may fail to soar to the loftiest heights of cinematic success.
There will always be kiddie-stuff, the latest rip roaring "Star Wars" or Star Wars clone, or pandering sentimental tripe that somehow manages the label "adult fare". But rare are those films that actually address the ultimate questions of existence and attempt something unique in cinematic form/grammar. To dismiss them too easily, to not acknowledge their unique merits in a universe pegged to the lowest common denominator, is to banish yourself to a world where McG and Guy Ritchie are considered true cinematic artistes of the latest and hippest incarnation, and "Big Fat Greek Wedding" is considered "edgy, indie fare" for those "brave enough to venture beyond the multiplexes".
I may not like this version of "SOLARIS", and you'll be sure to hear all about why if I don't. But it won't be an offhand dismissal... it can't be. There are important things at stake here, in my opinion, not the least of which being how bold the studios may or may not be when it comes to films with no apparent, built-in market, and which address themes that are, shall we say, difficult. And just because Soderbergh's crappiest movies are the ones that win the awards and line his pockets doesn't mean he's not an artist worth our reckoning when he does try something more. Indeed, if only more directors of his stature and influence would do the same.
Which I guess is the crux of this rambling, possibly pointless rant. It seems that most movies I suffer through wobble along on "elementary" and "rudimentary" ideas of whatever origin, perhaps even flaunting their lack of depth like some kind of virtue (the bliss of the ignorant, perhaps). But I have a hard time accepting that a movie based on this novel and made by this director is wallowing in the same, submental mire as something like "The Wedding Planner" or "Sweet Home Alabama". Perhaps it doesn't escape that mire, perhaps it doesn't achieve its highest aspirations, but at least it tried for something more than whatever focus-grouped, audience-tested piffle to next numb your consciousness and blunt your sense of humanity's possibility. I mean, doesn't it deserve more than the standard boilerplate?
I guess we'll see... :b

 

[Rex Bachmann]

A question for those who have seen Solaris.
I'm debating whether to actually spend the time and money to see this in theater (something I don't do trivially). The advertising campaigns have done a "Jekyll and Hyde", presenting it as a romance on one network or other (such as NBC), or as "science fiction" elsewhere (such as the SciFi Network).
Good sf can, indeed, be "existential", but, frankly, if 60% or 70% of the movie is full of earthbound flashbacks of lovers ogling each other and exchanging "sweet nothings", I'll pass.
I know Mr. Clooney has made some disparaging remarks about the ad-campaign (to the effect that the movie won't be successfully sold on the sex/romance angle).
How "science-fictional" is this movie? By that, I'm asking: does it give the "feel" throughout the majority of the story that we're really somewhere else (not Earth)? Does the planet Solaris actually play a part in this story as if it were a "character", as I understand is the case in the novel (which I, unfortunately, haven't had a chance to read)? Or, is it just "there" as background? In other words, how "subtle" is "subtle"?

 

[Seth Paxton]

While there are flashbacks to the "romance", it is primarily because they are essential to the story. The film never plays hardline romance (in terms of music, style), though you will catch 1 scene that should strongly remind you of the main romantic scene in Out of Sight.

But most of the time the film is playing pretty hard at SF from the 70's - that disjointed emotional feeling, not unlike Running Silent or something.

Solaris itself is the primary backdrop and is constantly being visually referred to which helps maintain the other world experience.

But at the same time Soderbergh is not shoving future tech in your face. Even when they build a device it is DISCUSSED with good science terms, but none of its construction nor use is actually shown.


I would say that in the end you should find the flashbacks to be much more about the underlying SF rather than about character estblishment, though it plays it like it might be a character thing. I don't want to say more because it could spoil the film a bit for you, but give consideration to the memories, the flashback scenes, and what they mean to the present.


SPOILERS past this point Rex


I thought the most interesting subject breached was the idea of communication with your creater. Rheya has the speech referring to her desire to interact with Solaris since it created her, her need to understand what purpose it had in mind for her. Obviously Solaris is her god for all practical purposes.

 

[Jason Seaver]

How "science-fictional" is this movie? By that, I'm asking: does it give the "feel" throughout the majority of the story that we're really somewhere else (not Earth)?

It's pretty good science fiction. It's clearly set aboard a space station, and even if it doesn't have a Fifth Element-esque sci-fi veneer (the design is understated), they aren't just using what was lying around, either. And it is concerned with ideas, and the unknown, just as much as it is with character.

 

[Patrick Sun]

If you are on the fence about seeing this film in the theaters, don't dawdle.

There were exactly 5 people in the theater when I saw it at the 5 p.m. Wedneday showing. It will not do well at the box office, so it might last 1-2 weeks before getting pulled for the rest of the holiday films opening in December.

 

[Guy_K]

I haven't gotten a chance to see this yet, but whether I like it or not, I applaud Hollywood's decision to take a risk and back an intelligent science fiction film.

 

[Alex Spindler]

I thought it was rather good, but I'm still on the fence as to how good.
The movie has some very good hard SF in it, but is far from a technical film. More focus is given to the philosophical content, to the point that it could be earth bound (such as on an island) and still be serviceable.
The technical elements are presented in a very logical and useable way, to include the earthbound tech, which feels updated, but not far disconnected with current technology. I could see myself living in their environment.
A good movie that moved briskly (I didn't feel three hours, which is a good sign). Just not sure if it's really good or not.

 

[Alex Spindler]

Also, Solaris is getting clobbered ($500 per screen average on opening day). It's not an easy sell, as either a philosophical movie or a science fiction movie, but the romance angle is a total failure. Too vague to be compelling and too little of the actual story to be credible.

 

[Walter Kittel]

I'm still digesting the film, but my initial impression is that I wish the film had spent more time exploring its themes, or had delved deeper into the questions that it had raised. Perhaps the filmmakers felt that American audiences don't have the patience to warrant a longer film with little in the way of action. (??) Despite that criticism, I'll give the film credit for actually attempting to be a thinking piece that has the ambition to raise questions.
I enjoyed all of the performances, but especially Natascha McElhone - who perhaps had the most difficult role in the film. The film's visual style is reminiscent of some of director Soderbergh's earlier efforts and was very effective. I really admired the film's look and I expect that Solaris will receive an Academy Award nomination for cinematography, and perhaps editing. Also worth noting is the score by Cliff Martinez which did an admirable job of setting the mood of the various scenes in the film.
The references to 2001: A Space Odyssey were kind of fun to spot, but a little distracting. There were a number of them in the film.
Some of the questions raised by the film were quite interesting, particularly how our perceptions and memories of others influence their identity or behavior. My favorite line in the film, which neatly summed up Kelvin's dilemma was -
"There are no answers. Only choices."
- Walter.

 

[Edwin Pereyra]

From here on out, when I talk about “material”, I am not referring to the original source novel by Stanislaw Lem but the end product as it appears on this new film. And, more importantly, these are my views.

Quote:

I was hoping he too would post one of his longer essays on the film expanding on his problems with the film (hopefully, he is still working on one). But from his comments above, which amounts to no more than a 4-sentence review, he couldn’t be more succinct.
~Edwin

 

[Edwin Pereyra]

Well, God bless him. Rosenbaum just posted his longer review and he is even more unkind to Solaris than I am. He rewarded it one star (out of four), while I gave it two.
His comments:

In Space, No One Can Hear You Sweat
Solaris
Directed and written by
Steven Soderbergh
With
George Clooney, Natascha McElhone, Viola Davis, Jeremy Davies, and Ulrich Tukur.
Rating
*
Has redeeming facet
By Jonathan Rosenbaum
It's easy to scoff at Monarch Notes, but before I quit graduate school in disgust I reached for them every time I thought a professor might be ruining a literary masterpiece for me -- and vowed to read the work later, on my own time, for my own reasons. As a teacher, I also used them when I suspected a student of plagiarism, and they did help me spot an offender or two. But having read the outlines, I rarely read the works -- the crib had robbed me of the desire.
If you haven't seen Andrei Tarkovsky's 1972 SF masterpiece Solaris, can't see it Friday night, November 29, on Turner Movie Classics, and don't want to watch the just-released DVD or wait for the Music Box's rerelease in January, you might find Steven Soderbergh's remake intriguing and compelling, because the story it tells is certainly haunting. If you have seen the Tarkovsky movie and couldn't make heads or tails of it, Soderbergh's synopsis could iron out most of the confusion, though it leaves you with little but the bare bones of the story -- until the end, when it decides to get fancy and offer three enigmatic conclusions instead of Tarkovsky's one.
It's also true that SF art movies -- which offer a thoughtful alternative to the usual action-packed SF romps -- don't come along every day, though back in the 60s and early 70s filmmakers as diverse as John Boorman, Jean-Luc Godard, Stanley Kubrick, Joseph Losey, George Lucas, Tarkovsky, and Francois Truffaut all tried their hands at them. Moreover, Soderbergh's film is deliberately constructed like a dream, with its own peculiar logic and funereal tone -- though he hasn't bothered to ground it enough in everyday life on earth to make the trip into outer space feel like much of a departure. He seems glued to a mood; his notion of reality consists mainly of dank urban rain and gloomy interiors out of Blade Runner, and his sense of outer space is strictly 2001. He starts cribbing from Tarkovsky in earnest only when he gets to the space station that's the film's main location.
The problem is, whichever version of Solaris you encounter first may well spoil the other -- as well as the book. I saw the Tarkovsky film before I read the 1961 Stanislaw Lem novel it's based on, which suffered a lot as a consequence. Soderbergh's Monarch Notes job is several rungs below both. And it doesn't even cite its key source, Tarkovsky's film, in the credits. So if you get to it first you'll probably be cheating yourself; I'd call it "worth seeing" only if you've already seen the Tarkovsky.
Soderbergh has one theoretical advantage over Lem and Tarkovsky -- terseness -- and viewers can have a bit of fun watching him try to squeeze the essence out of Tarkovsky's meditative poetry. Soderbergh's film lasts only 99 minutes -- 90 minutes less than Tarkovsky's and much less than it would take to read Lem's 200-page novel. In Tarkovsky's film more than 40 minutes elapse before Kris Kelvin, the hero, takes off into outer space to investigate and possibly rescue the scientists on a space station circling the planet Solaris. Soderbergh's Kelvin arrives there before we've even had a chance to get acquainted with him. Just about all we know is that he's a troubled shrink (no longer a psychologist) who lives alone, but since this time he's George Clooney -- working up a photogenic sweat at every opportunity and going off the deep end before he's shown us whether he's playing a good shrink or a lousy one -- I guess we aren't supposed to care.
The scientists mysteriously broke off all communication with earth some time earlier; Kelvin has been summoned by a cryptic video transmitted by the commander, an old friend named Gibarian (Ulrich Tukur), suggesting that Kelvin's the only person who can save them. (The video is delivered to Kelvin's kitchen by a couple of "suited professionals," as they're identified in the credits -- presumably executives from the private company we eventually discover NASA sold the space project to, though Soderbergh inexplicably makes them look like hoods.) Once he arrives, Kelvin discovers that two of the scientists, including Gibarian, are dead; one is missing; and the other two -- a confused young stumblebum named Snow (Jeremy Davies) and a relatively focused black woman named Dr. Gordon (Viola Davis, a PC replacement for a white male in the original) -- are in solitary confinement, each wrestling with an unseen personal demon.
Once Kelvin goes to sleep, he's visited by a personal demon of his own -- his late wife, Rheya (Natascha McElhone), whose suicide he feels responsible for. As it turns out, she's a projection of his memories of her, though she has a somewhat independent will, and the remainder of the story, once he realizes that she's neither human nor emotionally expendable, basically consists of his tortured struggle with all that she represents. (We only faintly discern Snow's projected demon, his brother, and the fact that we learn nothing at all about Gordon's is perhaps the film's most original and provocative gesture; in Tarkovsky's version, both demons are barely glimpsed.)
Soderbergh has correctly noted that his biggest departure from the two previous versions lies in the detailed flashbacks about the relationship between Kelvin and Rheya on earth. Unfortunately most of this is closer to a Hollywood wet dream than an encounter between people, and the perverse result is that Rheya's pieced-together replica is much closer to a character. Yet even here McElhone is severely limited by Soderbergh's insistence on directing and framing her like a poster girl. (The replica of Rheya also commits suicide, then jerks back to life in an eerie resurrection, which Soderbergh handles more like a special effect than a performance -- a stark contrast with Natalya Bondarchuk's truly remarkable enactment of that process in Tarkovsky's film, one of the rare moments when he allowed an actress to shine.) Admittedly, all three versions of Solaris include a highly subjective first-person narrative, yet we can't even start to carve out an objective basis for the fantasy projection in Soderbergh's version because false Hollywood details keep creeping in from every side -- demons of another kind. (If it isn't Clooney's bare ass or his glistening sweat, it's the tear rolling strategically down his nose -- all of which seem part of an Oscar bid.)
The story's too strong for Soderbergh to kill -- though he comes close. He tends to place most of the psychological and philosophical material in italics rather than trust an audience's intelligence, and he creates an overall sense of brusqueness -- even Gibarian's video speech encapsulating the story's main theme is reduced to a sound bite ("We don't want other worlds. We want mirrors") and stuck in the background of a transitional shot. But then Soderbergh has asked the four leads to carry the whole show, letting the two guys "act" up a storm and the two ladies pose (though, as Imentioned above, these activities are often made to seem interchangeable).
By contrast, Tarkovsky gets some of his loveliest and most memorable moments from such everyday details as the tremulous swaying of underwater leaves and the endless rush of an anonymous urban freeway -- both poetically shaped to suggest drifting through outer space. The nearest Soderbergh comes to trying for such an effect are close-ups of raindrops hitting a window that are used to frame the action, yet he can't resist lighting and directing the raindrops as if they were little George Clooneys or little beads of sweat on George Clooney. Several months ago Clooney suggested in an interview that people shouldn't worry about Soderbergh ruining a classic because Solaris wasn't one of Tarkovsky's better pictures. I assume all these vivid splats of moisture are his idea of an improvement.

Or here.
~Edwin

 

[Kirk Tsai]

Without being an avid sci-fi reader, I've wondered why some supposedly hardcore sci-fi genre films are labeled as such. This is the case with Solaris. The questions it poses--including how we love and feel, subjective perspective versus objective truth, and many more Patrick alluded to--are not uncommon in non-science fiction films. Other films may use the devices of dreams, identity crisis, drugs, alternate universes, and so on to pose these philosophical questions, just as Solaris uses an alien planet/power. The confrontation with the unknown is more of a confrontation with oneself's consciousness than the planet.

While I tend to agree that many of the issues are not developed or presented enough in Solaris, it was effective enough to provoke them from me. In addition to the usual Soderbergh editing style, here he often sets up two-shots that contain only one character in each frame. Chris' actual flashbacks contain many images that have both lovers within the same shot, but his interaction with the Solaris-created Rheya mostly contains reverse shots of them alone; often using direct point of view shots to see the other, too. This directorial decision emphasizes on the image that Chris' mind percieves rather than the actually object. Like this choice, I felt most of the stylistic choices Soderbergh makes was fitting to the story.

 

[Edwin Pereyra]

Still think its “standard boilerplate”?

Like it or not, I just call ‘em as I see ‘em.

~Edwin

 

[Travis Brashear]

Can I please, please, please have my money back? This faux-2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY, I've-seen-more-stirring-and-emotional-romantic-storylines-on-"Beverly-Hills-90210" piece of freshman-film-school-grade, art-house tripe stole it from me...

 

[Rich Malloy]

I appreciate your additional comments, Edwin, as well as your posting of Rosenbaum's, but you've left me at an utter loss as to what to make of this film. I guess I'll have to see it after all!
What perplexes me - and finally encourages me to some extent - is how your take on the film is so fundamentally opposed to Rosenbaum's, and yet unfortunately you both come to the same negative conclusion. I'm surprised that you dislike the source so much (film and book, or just one or the other?), and even more surprised that you'd describe it as "lightweight", and finally flummoxed by your statement that Soderbergh & Co. at least attempt to aim higher than the "lightweight material they have on hand" would allow. Perhaps it's hope alone that allows me to cling to such shreds as Rosenbaum's backhanded, uh, "compliment": "The story's too strong for Soderbergh to kill"!
I guess the first, truly negative detail that set me to doubting the possibilities of Soderbergh's remake is what seems to be an impossibly brief running time. I mean, 99 minutes? I presumed, of course, that all the languid, dreamy evocations of eternal longing, the blissed-out ruminations on the nature of love and humanity, the extended reveries on past memories and persons, all folding in upon themselves, mixing and reorienting in Kelvin's mind... all this would surely be lost, I thought. The requisite measured pacing, the ability for the audience to experience and reflect, to stretch that moment of ephiphany to the point where time seems to stop and revolve about it (given vivid representation in the "weightlessness scene" in Tarkovsky's version)... none of this, I'd imagine, could be evoked in such a short film.
But, again, responses seem to differ. You say, for example "The style and type of narrative they use to tell their story is very unfitting. By using this slow plodding process, they have literally created a different type of film", whereas Rosenbaum backhands Soderbergh once again for doing just the opposite, employing the "theoretical" advantage of "terseness", noting that Soderbergh's film is only about half as long as Tarkovsky's and much shorter than the time it would take to read Lem's brief novel, and then thumps him one last time by turning his heartfelt drama into a game: "Viewers can have a bit of fun watching him try to squeeze the essence out of Tarkovsky's meditative poetry."
Ack!
But, again, what am I to make of this? You criticize it for being "slow plodding", and Rosenbaum reserves his harshest sarcasm for its "terseness", even starting his review by comparing it to Monarch Notes (like "Cliff's Notes" for you young'uns). And to further cloud the waters, Jason prefers Soderbergh's version to Tarkovsky's, noting that he "really felt that extra hour in Tarkovsky's version", whereas Walter felt it should have invested more time in exploring its themes.
OK, no more rank speculation from me! I've been waiting a long time for this film, I've seen Tarkovsky's version twice in the last month (and more times than I can count previously), and I even watched the Soderbergh/Clooney "Out of Sight" last night. I'm primed. I'm excited. My pencils are sharpened and awaiting the opportunity to praise or condemn. No more from me till then! :frowning: