I Only Remember You (Solaris [2002] (DVD))

Member Name: jillmurphy

Product:	Solaris [2002] (DVD)
Date:	10/08/04 (382 review reads)
Rating:

Advantages: It's pretty, It's internalised, It's intelligent

Disadvantages: There's no real plot, It's all images, You might miss the point

The space station is called Prometheus. Prometheus was the Titan who gave fire to man and in doing so, incurred the wrath of Zeus. His punishment was to spend eternity chained to a rock with ravens sent to eat his liver. Each time, his liver would regenerate, leaving Prometheus to endure the same agony day, after day, after day. However, Prometheus knew that one day Zeus would need him. One day, redemption and forgiveness would be his. He needed only to keep faith. The space station Prometheus is studying the planet Solaris. The question is what gift does Solaris represent? What punishment will this Prometheus undergo? And is redemption possible?

Psychiatrist Chris Kelvin (George Clooney) receives a visit from The Company. They bring with them a message from Gibarian, leader of the crew on board Prometheus, begging Kelvin to come to his aid. Once on board, it is immediately apparent to Kelvin that things are not as they should be. Only two crewmembers remain alive: Snow (Jeremy Davies) and Dr Gordon (Viola Davis). Gibarian has committed suicide. Snow is lost in a manic world of his own and Gordon has locked herself in her room. Blood spatters the corridors of Prometheus. Then, Rheya (Natascha McElhone) appears. Rheya is Kelvin's wife. However, Rheya committed suicide three years ago.

"I don't remember anything. I only remember you."

Who is Rheya? Herself? A spirit? A ghost? A Solaris creation?

Solaris has a bit of history. Based on a book by Stanislaw Lem and filmed previously by Andrei Tarkovsky thirty years ago, I have read the book but not seen Tarkovsky's offering. All three differ considerably and I think
that Soderbergh's interpretation deserves an individual review. And so, I shall forget the book, and the comparisons of the films I have read, and just let you know how I felt when I watched this latest version.

There is little new, or groundbreaking here. That is not the point. We have seen monsters conjured from the darker recesses of our minds in much that science fiction has to offer. We have seen and read about angels. We know that we are an imperfect race and we have speculated often that the true power in the universe is an impassive force, uninterested in our hubris, but merely there. Solaris simply takes these various existential musings and offers them up to us for our consideration. It asks us not to look out, but to look in. It does not answer our questions, but rather directs us to the only answers of any use: our own. This is not a plot-linear film. The action sits in the background, behind the impressions. Solaris is beautiful: a pink and mauve electric storm. Yet it is also solemn, magisterial and impassive. Under its aegis, characters move around in a kind of dreamscape: puzzled; afraid; self-aware. Chris Kelvin is being asked to answer his own questions, just as Dr Gordon is being asked and just as you are being asked. Your own answer is the only thing that really matters.

In a dream-piece such as this, I am not sure what there is to say about the actors' performances. Clooney walks around a bit, McElhone looks enigmatic, Davies twitches and stutters, Davis shuts her mind to possibilities and admits only fear and loathing. It's all internalised. The film flits back and forth between earth and Prometheus, between dream-states and true consciousness, between the past and the present. Everything is on hold. Scripts and visuals and score blend together, leaving you with a series o
f impressions, rather than a sense of plot or of resolution. The score seems deeply appropriate ? a percussive, floating, ambient sound of the type I don't generally like. However, it fits the moodiness of the piece perfectly. There are lots of pauses, quite a few words, a deal of soul-searching, and, significantly most of what action there is turns out to be pointless. Solaris is not about deeds; it is about thought. Eventually, Kelvin must make his choice, though, and this choice will be the one action in the film that has any real meaning. Will he choose faith, or reason?

And there, with faith, we have it. For me, Solaris is a film about faith. Not any kind of denominational faith, although its musings on redemption owe a great deal to Christianity, obviously, but the faith in the heart of any human being. As the closing credits rolled, I felt uplifted, yet wistful. I may not believe in a god, but there is plenty in which I do believe. I believe in truth and justice. I believe in forgiveness and redemption and above all, I believe there is a moral purpose to life. And I think, in the end, Solaris celebrated that faith I feel inside. It gave me confidence to trust in my own answers. I cannot say what it would mean to you, for I think it is a piece of work that will mean something different to each person watching. That is its quiet truth. Solaris isn't for the fainthearted, because it is an exploration of your faith, and whether or not you have the courage to trust in it. Not all questions can be answered by the physical. It is not a film for those who like only to spectate. It is for those who wish to take part.

And it really is quite beautiful. I am sure that Prometheus would have liked it. If you need narrative in your films though, don't bother, because Solaris will, go like the beauti
ful Concorde, way over yo' tiny head.

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