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In Reply to: 201 A Space Odyssey. You get from this movie what you bring to it posted by Analog Scott on January 4, 2007 at 10:57:08:
I suspect that what we get from anything depends on what we bring to it. I don't think 2001 is a special case in this regard.I bought myself a copy of 2001 last year and saw it for the first time in over 30 years. Just to make Viktor's day, I also bought a copy of Solaris last year and saw it for the first time after a very similar period. My feelings about both after the lengthy gap may be of some interest to some in this debate.
First, what they have in common: both are slow moving and both are set in space. The endings of both are very strong on ambiguity/uncertainty.
Now to the differences. My feeling about 2001 is that there is less to it than I remembered while my feeling about Solaris is that there is more to it than I remembered. Perhaps that's not surprising because I think I saw Solaris maybe 5 or 6 times in the first few years after its release while I probably saw 2001 twice at most. I can remember both making an impression on me but I think it's fair to say Solaris haunted me. That's still the case.
I think 2001 is an influential film rather than a great film. I don't find any great philosophical or psychological issues/questions in it, and I can usually recognise such issues since I have a degree with majors in both of those areas. It really consists of 3 parts, the introduction in the distant past, the scene on the moon, and the space journey. Each has a completely separate set of characters and I find all of them rather flat. There really isn't anything in the way of character development anywhere. I don't regard the change in Dave as character development, and I think it's gilding the lilly to call it 'evolution' or 'transformation' instead, though that is what I think we are supposed to see it as, simply because we have no real idea of what he becomes. Really all we know is that he undergoes radical change. I think it's possible to do a good movie without character development, but then you have to rely on story telling, action, and/or comedy and we don't get much of these.
Having said all of that, I still think 2001 is spellbinding visually and it's superbly put together. It definitely moved the goals for what could be done in sci-fi film in a way that I don't think any other film has.
In contrast, what I find in Solaris is what is missing in 2001: realistic characters with human flaws grappling in different ways with a troubling situation and some genuine moral questions. I'm not certain that there's much of what I'd call character development but Kelvin certainly changes in the process. Solaris is also broken into separate parts: Kelvin on earth and Kelvin on the space station with the first setting the scene for the second in a way that the lack of character continuity in the episodes of 2001 fails to do for me.
And after seeing Solaris again after a long break, I'm surprised by how much more compelling I find both the issues it raises and the film itself.
So that's my take on things. Ultimately I think 2001 is a very influential film which is extremely well made but with few strong resonances for me while I think Solaris is a great film with very strong resonances for me.
Everyone's mileage is definitely going to vary here.
David Aiken
Follow Ups:
The films of Russian director Andrei Tarkovsky are more like environments than entertainments. It's often said they're too long, but that's missing the point: He uses length and depth to slow us down, to edge us out of the velocity of our lives, to enter a zone of reverie and meditation. When he allows a sequence to continue for what seems like an unreasonable length, we have a choice. We can be bored, or we can use the interlude as an opportunity to consolidate what has gone before, and process it in terms of our own reflections.At Telluride in 1982, when Tarkovsky (1932-1986) was honored and his "Nostalgia" had its North American premiere, there were long talks afterwards under the stars. We argued about a sequence in which the film's hero stands in an abandoned swimming pool and lights a candle and attempts to walk back and forth without the candle going out. When he fails, he tries again. During the movie there was audible restlessness in the audience, and some found the scene merely silly. Others found themselves thinking of times in their own lives where some arbitrary action, endlessly repeated, was like a bet with fate: If I can do this, it means I will get my wish.
Tarkovsky at that festival was given the Telluride Medal and then stalked to the edge of the stage, a fierce mustached figure in jeans and cowboy boots, to angrily say (in words translated by the gentle Polish director Zanussi): "The cinema, she is a whore. First she charge a nickel, now she charge five dollars. When she learns to give it away, she will be free," (The next night, the actor 1231"> Richard Widmark, also honored, replied: "I want to name you some pimps. Hitchcock ... Fellini ... Bergman ... Orson Welles ...")
Tarkovsky's brief manifesto was nevertheless of value as an insight into his approach to filmmaking. His later films are uncompromised meditations on human nature and the purpose of existence, and they have a profound undercurrent of spirituality--enough to get him into trouble with the Soviet authorities, who cut, criticized and embargoed his films, and eventually drove him into exile. He consciously embodied the idea of a Great Filmmaker, making works that were uncompromisingly serious and ambitious, with no regard whatever for audience tastes or box office success.
I saw his 1972 film "Solaris" at the Chicago Film Festival that year. It was my first experience of Tarkovsky, and at first I balked. It was long and slow and the dialogue seemed deliberately dry. But then the overall shape of the film floated into view, there were images of startling beauty, then developments that questioned the fundamental being of the characters themselves, and finally an ending that teasingly suggested that everything in the film needed to be seen in a new light. There was so much to think about afterwards, and so much that remained in my memory. With other Tarkovsky films--"Andrei Rublev," "Nostalgia,"The Sacrifice"--I had the same experience.
"Solaris" is routinely called Tarkovsky's reply to Kubrick's "2001," and indeed Tarkovsky could have seen the Kubrick film at the 1969 Moscow Film Festival, but the film is based on a 1961 novel by the Polish science fiction writer Stanislaw Lem. Both films involve human space journeys and encounters with a transforming alien intelligence, which creates places ("2001") or people ("Solaris") from clues apparently obtained by reading minds. But Kubrick's film is outward, charting man's next step in the universe, while Tarkovsky's is inward, asking about the nature and reality of the human personality.
"Solaris" begins with a long conversation between the psychologist Kelvin (Donatas Banionis) and the cosmonaut Burton (Vladislav Dvorzhetsky), at the country home of Kelvin's father. This home will be seen again at the end of a film in a transformed context. Burton tells him about a Soviet space station circling the planet Solaris, and of deaths and mysteries on board. Eventually Kelvin arrives at the station (his journey is not shown) and finds one crew member dead and two more deeply disturbed by events on the station. The planet, we learn, is entirely covered by a sea, and when X-ray probes were used to investigate it, the planet apparently replied with probes of its own, entering the minds of the cosmonauts and making some of their memories real. Within a day, Kelvin is presented with one of the Guests that the planet can create: A duplicate of his late wife Khari (Natalya Bondarchuk), exact in every detail, but lacking her memories.
This Guest is not simply a physical manifestation, however. She has intelligence, self-consciousness, memory, and lack of memories. She does not know that the original Khari committed suicide. She questions Kelvin, wants to know more about herself, eventually grows despondent when she realizes she cannot be who she appears to be. To some extent her being is limited by how much Kelvin knows about her, since Solaris cannot know more than Kelvin does; this theme is made clearer in Steven Soderbergh and George Clooney's 2002 remake of the film.
When we love someone, who do we love? That person, or our idea of that person? Some years before virtual reality became a byword, Tarkovsky was exploring its implications. Although other persons no doubt exist in independent physical space, our entire relationship with them exists in our minds. When we touch them, it is not the touch we experience, but our consciousness of the touch. To some extent, then, the second Khari is as "real" as the first, although different.
The relationship between Kelvin and the new Khari plays out against the nature of reality on the space station. He glimpses other Guests. He views a taped message from the dead cosmonaut, filled with information and warning. Khari, it develops, cannot be killed, although that is tried, because she can simply be replaced. Physical pain is meaningless to her, as we see when she attempts to rip through a steel bulkhead door because she does not know how to open it. Gentle feelings are accessible to her, as seen in a scene that everybody agrees is the magic center of "1231"> Solaris," when the space station enters a stage of zero gravity and Kelvin, Khari and lighted candles float in the air.
The last sequence of the film, which I will not reveal, invites us to reconsider the opening sequence, and to toy with the notion that there may be more Guests in the film than we first thought. It is a crucial fact that this final shot is seen by us, the viewers, and not by those on the space station. "The arc of discovery is on the part of the audience, not the characters.," writes the critic N. Medlicott. That they may be trapped within a box of consciousness that deceives them about reality is only appropriate, since the film argues that we all are.
The 2002 Soderbergh version was a good film, attentive to the vision and ideas of Tarkovsky, but much shorter (99 minutes to 165 minutes). Its shorter running time did not prevent audiences from rejecting it decisively; there was an enormous gap between the overwhelmingly favorable reviews and audience members who said in exit surveys that they hated it. The problem obviously was that the film attracted the wrong audience, drawing people who were seeking a George Clooney science fiction film, not a philosophical meditation, and had no knowledge or interest in Tarkovsky. If they thought Soderbergh's smart, seductive rhythms were boring, they would have been catatonic after the Tarkovsky version.
It may be, indeed, that Tarkovsky's work could have benefited from trimming. A producer with the scissors of a Harvey Weinstein could have deleted hours from his oeuvre, sometimes no doubt for the better. No director makes greater demands on our patience. Yet his admirers are passionate and they have reason for their feelings: Tarkovsky consciously tried to create art that was great and deep. He held to a romantic view of the individual able to transform reality through his own spiritual and philosophical strength. Consider the remarkable sequence in "Andrei Rublev" (1966) set in medieval times, when a young boy claims he knows the secret of recasting a broken bell, and commands a team of workers in a process about which, in fact, he knows nothing. When the bell peals, what we are hearing is the sound of Tarkovsky's faith.
films are more visual: 2001 is the ultimate visual journey.
But I have seen it that way, years ago. Likewise for Solaris which I also saw in the theatre years ago. I've seen them both in the theatre and I've now seen both of them again recently on DVD. The playing field is as level as it could be, given that there's always going to be a time gap between viewings of different films one is comparing.I agree that 2001 is an extremely compelling visual experience. If you re-read my original comments you will see that I said "I still think 2001 is spellbinding visually and it's superbly put together". I don't question your view on that.
For me, however, the visual spectacle of 2001—or of any film—is not the sole criteria that determines my overall opinion of the film. There are other aspects of a movie which receive our critical assessment: plot, acting, pacing, music, technical execution, and no doubt many others.
My assessment is that Solaris is the better film and the things that make the difference for me in this case relate largely to plot and acting. Bear in mind that I'm giving my personal assessment of which film I prefer and I'm not saying that those factors will always outweigh visual effects for me. I'm simply saying that, for these 2 films, on balance I assess Solaris more highly than I do 2001. I also said "Everyone's mileage is definitely going to vary here" and it obviously does. We are different people with different tastes and interests. I'm not surprised that others feel differently about this matter.
And I haven't said that 2001 was a bad film. I actually think it's quite a good film, one I have enjoyed each time I saw it, but I don't think it is a great film. That's my personal opinion. I think Solaris is a great film. That's another of my personal opinions. Feel free to disagree, that's OK. We don't all like the same things to the same degree and it's good that we don't. Variety in what people like is probably the only thing that guarantees that we're going to get variety in what filmmakers/composers/musicians/artists offer and we'd all be poorer without that variety.
David Aiken
meant to be a visual film... you do know Kubrick was a photographer before turning to film?
When I said the playing field was level, I meant that I had watched both films under similar conditions, ie in the theatre years ago and on DVD recently. I do realise that 2001 is a visual film, but then quite a few parts of Solaris are also quite predominantly visual.I don't think I've given one film an advantage over the other by the way in which I've seen it. That is the level playing field. If I could see both of them again in the cinema, I would do so, and I believe that if I did so my opinion would be unchanged.
The simple fact of the matter is that we have different tastes and preferences. Obviously 2001 really floats your boat and Solaris doesn't. That's fine, but for me that situation is reversed. I appreciate 2001, I enjoy it, and I respect it as a film, but I personally think that Solaris is a better film overall.
You aren't going to get total agreement on the respective merits of these 2 films. Some people will prefer one and some will prefer the other. It's not a matter of some people being wrong, just the fact that they have different tastes.
David Aiken
The first time I saw it was in 1968 in one lense Cinerama (AKA Ultra Panavision) on a huge curved Cinerama screen. They had the voice of HAL off to the right in a separate speaker all his own. It was mesmerizing. I saw it there a couple of more times and then followed it around for a year, even seeing it in the rain at a drive in! I of course bought the soundtrack lp, the "making of" book (first of its kind, I believe) and, later, every video version that came out until the current anamorphic 5.1 DVD. I have also seen a remastered film version a couple of times. I look forward to seeing it in high definition. It is my favorite movie of all time.
I kept nodding my head as I read it, I agree almost competely.From my memory I would only add that I though Kelvin's character did develop quite a bit, and also, even from the distance of several years, I get goose bumps remembering the scenes with his wife. Those scenes are truly tortuous and emotionally draining every time I see them.
All that is exactly what I meant when I said I love the sci-fi films that show the "effect" of technology on humans, more than the technology itself.
But you said it so right...
Victor,The reason for my reservation about whether or not Kelvin develops is that I tend to assess character development by changes in behaviour, before and after. We don't get the 'after' with Kelvin, just the before and during the process that we believe will be developmental.
I think one of the strengths of the film is that it leaves us hanging there—we don't know what happens to Kelvin. We don't know whether he really changes as a person or not, or how he changes if in fact he does change. I think if we had been shown an 'after' stage, we would be let off the hook, firstly because the question of whther or not Kelvin changes would be answered and secondly because we would have been presented with a solution to the issues that we could accept or reject.
As it is, we aren't presented with a solution in the form of a changed or unchanged Kelvin. I think one thing is for certain in Solaris: any change or growth that occurs in Kelvin is a direct result of the decisions he makes during the course of what we see in the film. We may not know what the outcome for him is, but I think we each come away with our own idea of what it would be. We just have to live with the fact that we aren't going to be shown whether we're right or wrong. I think that's a very dramatically strong form of ambiguity and it certainly contributes to the film's impact for me.
David Aiken
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