67.160.130.12
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of the end of the world, made when the director knew he had terminal cancer.
As often with Tarkovsky, we get beautiful cinematographic imagery with many scenes evoking classical painting accompanied by classical music: the result can be intoxicating.
The dialogue is no less sublime, at times you feel you're eavesdropping on the most fascinating group of characters you've ever heard. But, unfortunately, there is also some extraordinarily overacting that almost capsizes the entire effort. When she becomes aware that, indeed, the world may be ending in a nuclear Holocaust, Alexander's wife indulges herself in one of the most difficult to watch scenes ever left in a great film: her exaggerated hysteria is very difficult to watch. Likewise, later on, Alexander's reaction to deep fear are externalized far too dramatically. I can think of similarly poor histrionics only in one other major film: Debra Winger's grief scene in, "The Sheltering Sky." In both cases, the directors needed to force the actors more inside, to have them progress instead of just wailing and thrashing about.
The story? Well, it conflates and confuses several Christian stories and it makes for an interesting, though ultimately unsatisfying, stew.
Why then, is it a great film?
It is so in spite of its stupendous flaws: it faces the issue of death, of war, of parental love in a way very few other films have or could have---- few directors would reach so personally into their own existence.
Time and again, I've sat down to view this film, each and every time it has rewarded me with new insights, new thoughts; I now almost consider it an old friend. That is greatness few films even aspire to.
Edits: 10/14/12Follow Ups:
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