Solaris

Comentarios: victor_m@cimat.mx

Una estación espacial Rusa orbita el planeta Solaris, un

planeta cuya superficie está cubierta con un gran océano.
En el centro de control en la Tierra, se han recibido
transmisiones extrañas de los tres tripulantes de la
estación espacial. La misión Solaris se encuentra en una
encrucijada. El océano del planeta ha mostrado una intensa
actividad y la agencia espacial Rusa decide enviar al
psicólogo Dr. Kris Kelvin (Donatas Banionis) a la estación
espacial para evaluar el estado mental de la tripulación y
recomendar una acción a tomar. Al llegar, Kelvin encuentra
un gran desorden, una extraña apatía de la tripulación y la
noticia del suicido de un tripulante debido a tormentosas
alucinaciones. Muy pronto, el propio Kelvin es testigo de
estas extrañas visiones, cuando una mañana, al despertar,
encuentra a Hari (Natalya Bondarchuk), su esposa quien años
atrás se suicidó. El océano de Solaris parece albergar
cierto tipo de inteligencia, capaz de penetrar el
subconciente de las personas cercanas a el, tal vez como
una forma de comunicación con la especie humana.

Esta cinta, basada en una novela de Stanislaw Lem,

trasciende el género de ciencia ficción para mostrar un
profundo análisis de las relaciones y el subconciente
humano, el amor y la reconciliación. Lo anterior es
perfectamente retratado en Kelvin, el psicólogo que llega a
la estación Solaris con un fuerte espíritu racional (en
algún momento dice que las emociones humanas no tienen
relación con la búsqueda de la verdad) y en cuanto ve
aparecer a su esposa muerta hace años, encuentra una forma
de exorcizar sus demonios internos, de arreglar sus errores
anteriores y reconciliar su vida con su esposa reaparecida.
¿Qué tan racional puede ser el hombre al enfrentar sus más
profundos temores y esperanzas a la vez? La grandeza de
Tarkovsky reside en mostrarnos este permanente conflicto
del hombre.

En una entrevista hecha a Tarkovsky en 1973 respecto a

esta película (y que presentamos completa en el link
+Información de la página web) decía que lo central de esta
cinta es "el hecho de que en el curso de su desarrollo, la
humanidad está luchando constantemente entre lo espiritual,
la entropía moral, la disipación de los principios éticos,
por una parte, y por la otra, la aspiración hacia una moral
ideal. La lucha interna interminable del hombre, que quiere
ser libre de toda restricción moral, pero al mismo tiempo
busca un significado de su propio movimiento, en la forma
de un ideal. Esta es la dicotomía que produce
constantemente un conflicto interno intenso en la vida del
individuo y la sociedad."

Solaris no sería la única película de Tarkovsky donde

abordaría temas de ciencia ficción, pero posee el mismo
aliento artístico y profundidad de sus obras más elevadas
como Andrei Rubliev o El Sacrificio. Como pocos, Tarkovsky
abordó la conciencia humana, sus más profundos deseos y
temores, su necesidad de trascendencia y lo profundo de su
alma. Su sentido poético tiene una trascendencia enorme en
muchos de los mejores cineastas de nuestra época, y la
cinta que presentas hoy, junto con las otras dos que
formaron esta pequeña retrospectiva de su obra, son un
ejemplo claro de todo lo anterior.

Andrei Tarkovksy, es uno de los más grandes artistas de

nuestro tiempo, sin duda.

Solaris (Solyaris, Unión Soviética, 1972)

Dirigida por Andrei Tarkovsky
Escrita por Andrei Tarkovsky y Friedrich Gorenstein,
basado en la novela de Stanislaw Lem.
Con Donatas Banionis (Kris Kelvin), Natalya Bondarchuck
(Hari), Yuri Jarvet (Dr. Snaut), Anatoly Solonitsyn (Dr.
Sartorius), Sos Sargsyan (Dr. Gibarian)
Andrei Tarkovsky on...

Solaris, Lem, Fellini, and Polanski

The following is a transcript of an interview with
Tarkovsky, conducted by Zbigniew Podgórzec in 1973. Mr.
Podgórzec also interviewed Tarkovsky in 1972 — fragments of
that interview is found among the excerpts on this page.
Reference: The first English translation of this interview
appeared as an Appendix in Time Within Time: The Diaries
1970-1986, Seagull Books Private Limited, Calcutta, 1991,
pp. 362-366. ISBN 817046083-2. English translation by Kitty
Hunter-Blair. The below constitutes an excerpt of the
original piece.

Why, in a film which could be categorized as science

fiction, are you more concerned with the drama of the
hero's conscience than with the dramatic situation in the
space station?

When I read Lem's novel, what struck me above all were the
moral problems evident in the relationship between Kelvin
and his conscience, as manifested in the form of Hari. In
fact if I understood, and greatly admired, the second half
of the novel — the technology, the atmosphere of the space
station, the scientific questions — it was entirely because
of that situation, which seems to me to be fundamental to
the work. Inner, hidden, human problems, moral problems,
always engage me far more than any questions of technology;
and in any case technology, and how it develops, invariably
relates to moral issues, in the end that is what it rests
upon. My prime sources are always the real state of the
human soul, and the conflicts that are expressed in
spiritual problems. And so I paid more attention to that
side of things in my film, even though I did so
unconsciously. It was an organic process of selection. I
didn't erase the rest, but it somehow became more muted
than the things that interested me most.

What is the central idea of your film?

What is central is the inner problem, which preoccupied me

and which coloured the whole production in a very specific
way: namely the fact that in the course of its development
humanity is constantly struggling between spiritual, moral
entropy, the dissipation of ethical principles, on the one
hand, and on the other — the aspiration towards a moral
ideal. The endless inner struggle of man, who wants to be
freed from all moral restraint, but at the same time seeks
a meaning for his own movement, in the form of an ideal —
that is the dichotomy that constantly produces intense
inner conflict in the life of the individual and of
society. And it seems to me that the conflict, and the
fraught, urgent search for a spiritual ideal, will continue
until humanity has freed itself sufficiently to concern
itself only with the spiritual. As soon as that happens a
new stage will begin in the development of the human soul,
when man will be directed into his inner being as
intensely, deeply, passionately, limitlessly, as he has
directed his efforts up till now to his search for inner
freedom. And Lem's novel, in my own specific understanding
of it, expresses precisely man's inability to concentrate
on himself, and points to the conflict between man's
spiritual life and the objective acquisition of knowledge.
It's a conflict that will never give man any peace until he
has achieved complete outward freedom. We might call this
freedom social, the freedom of the social individual who is
not concerned with bread, food, a roof, or his children's
future. Mankind does not move forward synchronously, it
stops and starts and goes off in different directions. And
only when scientific discoveries occur in the course of
technological development is there a corresponding leap in
man's moral development. There is an extraordinary cohesion
between the two. That was the problem which exercised me
all the time I was working on the film. In simple terms,
the story of Hari's relationship with Kelvin is the story
of the relationship between man and his own conscience.
It's about man's concern with his own spirit, when he has
no possibility of doing anything about it, when he is
constantly drawn into the exploration and development of
technology.

And what is the outcome of the conflict between Kelvin and

his conscience?

In one way Kelvin is the loser, because he tries to relive

his life without repeating the mistake he made on Earth. He
attempts to replay the same situation, because he has a
conscience, because he feels guilty of a crime, and he
tries to change himself in relation to Hari. But it doesn't
work. Their relationship ends as it did on Earth, the
second Hari commits suicide. But if he had been able to
live this stage of his life differently, he would not have
been guilty the first time, either. And he realizes the
reason for his inability to live this second life with
Hari. He realizes it is not possible. If it were, then it
would be possible to press the button of this microphone
that is recording our conversation, replay the tape, wipe
off all that has been recorded, and start afresh as if
nothing had taken place. And then concepts like spiritual
life, conscience, and morality would have no meaning
whatsoever.

Does that mean that the film ends on a note of pessimism?

The film ends with what is most precious for a person, and
at the same time the simplest thing of all, and the most
available to everybody: ordinary human relationships, which
are the starting-point of man's endless journey. After all,
that journey began for the sake of preserving intact, and
protecting, feelings which every person experiences: love
of your own earth, love of those close to you, of those who
brought you into the world, love of your past, of what has
always been, and still is, dear to you. The fact that the
ocean brought forth out of its depths the very thing that
was most important to him—his dream of returning to Earth—
that is, the idea of contact. Contact in the sense of
"humane," in the sense of "doing good." For me, the finale
is Kelvin's return to the cradle, to his source, which
cannot ever be forgotten. And it is all the more important
because he had travelled so far along the road of
technological progress, in the process of acquiring
knowledge.

Do you think Lem is going to be pleased with your film?

I should not want to prepare Lem particularly for the film.

He is a person for whose opinion I have great respect, I
admire his talent and his intellect. I am very fond of the
film, and extremely grateful to Lem for allowing me to make
it. However Lem feels about the film, I don't think he will
have any call to be angry or offended by its being badly
done, or insincere, or unprofessional. As far as all that
goes, I don't feel he is going to be disappointed. I am
sure he will like Hari.

You took your film to Cannes. What did you think about the
other films that were shown there?

I was astonished by how low the standard was. I don't

understand. On the one hand everything I saw was highly
professional, on the other it was utterly commercial. For
example, they would treat a subject that was bound to be of
concern to everybody: the problem of the working-class
movement, or the relationship between the working-class and
other sections of the population. And all of it was done
with such an eye to the audience, with such a desire to
please... One really had the impression that all the films
had been edited by one and the same person. But in film the
most important thing of all is to be aware of the inner
rhythm. So, what can only be individual had become
commonplace, hackneyed. It is extraordinary. Even Fellini's
film about Rome, the most interesting film of all — it was
shown outside the festival proper — is a sort of game of
give-away played with the audience, the editorial rhythm is
so slick that one feels offended on behalf of Fellini. I
remember pictures of his where the shots, the length of the
shots, and their rhythm, were tied to the inner state of
the character and the author. But this picture has been
made with an eye for what is going to please the audience.
I find that repugnant. Anyhow, the film tells us nothing
new either about Fellini himself or about Life.

What did you think about Polanski's Macbeth?

I didn't like it. It's very shallow, very superficial. It

completely ignores the moral problem of conscience of the
man who is paying for the evil he has committed. I am
staggered that anyone can put on Shakespeare and completely
bypass the spiritual issues involved. It is a major failure
on Polanski's part. His serious intentions only show in his
urge to be naturalistic. The film is so detailed that it
ceases to be realistic. The director's aim becomes obvious,
and as such, merely a means of achieving an effect. And
once the audience can read that so clearly, the aim ceases
to be one with the weave of the film and becomes just a
patently obvious aim.

What are your plans now?

It's not easy to talk about them, I am always rather

frightened of doing so. If you talk too much then nothing
happens. But anyhow, I have a screenplay all ready. I want
to start filming in the autumn. It will be an
autobiographical film, about my childhood. It will look at
the same events from two sides: the point of view of the
older generation and my own. I think that the use of that
parallel could create an interesting way of seeing things,
an interesting angle, and the intersection will lend a
curious colouring to events that are familiar to everyone
in the course of their lives. I am very excited about the
screenplay. I am very anxious to make the film, because I
am afraid that if any length of time goes by without making
it, I shall never return to the same theme. I thought about
the screenplay for so long before I wrote it, and I have
given so much thought to the production. And if time passes
I am afraid that the idea of the film will live itself out.