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An
admirable attempt to sell Solaris as a romance.
Actually, it is about as romantic as a medical
exam
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Both
Soderbergh and producer James Cameron have related
in numerous interviews and preview stories the
love they have for 70s science fiction films which
were about ideas rather than special effects.
This is a laudable observation when the most thoughtful
truly science fiction film in the past
ten years was Gattaca (1997). It's obvious
from the production design of Solaris the
love the filmmakers have for the silent beauty
of space, the antiseptic quality of the environments.
Everything from costumes to the title design is
a tribute (slavish or not) to 2001: A Space
Odyssey and its contemporaries (Phase IV,
THX1138, Silent Running).
George
Clooney is Chris Kelvin, a psychologist mourning
the suicide of his wife sometime in the near future
where everyone lives like the models in the magazine
Wallpaper.
Kelvin's brooding existence is interrupted by
a message from an old friend, a scientist stationed
in an space outpost orbiting a planet called Solaris.
We learn that its crew has lost control of the
space station for unspecified reasons and only
Kelvin can 'negotiate' for its release.
Kelvin arrives at the space station to find it
deserted and his friend in a body bag along with
signs of a bloody struggle. (We learned earlier
that a 'security team' had been sent previously,
but strangely this bit is not followed up on).
Two other members of the crew remain but have
isolated themselves. One scientist (Viola Davis)
is a paranoid physicist. The other is a head case,
played in a mannered Dennis Hopper homage by Jeremy
Davies (Upham from Saving Private Ryan).
From these two survivors Kelvin learns that somehow
Solaris, the planet, is creating physical copies
of people who were important emotionally to the
crewmembers; beings whose function is not clear.
Davis' character has hatched a scheme to blast
the planet Solaris with an energy device. Davies'
headcase is basically a stoner. It's not entirely
clear if he's there as an intended bit of humour
in an otherwise humourless film.
Although
Kelvin is warned that his copy will come
when he's asleep, he's still shocked when his
dead wife (Natascha McElhone) makes an appearance
in his bed. From this point the film's storytelling
ends and the so-called 'meditation' elements take
over. From roughly twenty minutes into the movie
to almost the end, it's non-stop free-form discussions
between characters on the nature of existence
interspersed with flashbacks of Kelvin's life
with his real wife. There is no mystery, no real
story to be told. If you enjoyed The Waking
Life but not the animation, you'll probably
give this film a good shot.
Characters
in Solaris are declarative. Dialogue is
rendered in embarassing exposition dumps. There
are scenes when every cast member asks out loud:
"what does it mean?" "What do you
mean?" No one has an answer. There is no
action, just emoting. It
doesn't help that Solaris, like the original,
is glacially paced, encouraging the audience to
concentrate on details and emotion. Much of this
is set up to give George Clooney as much time
to hang himself with his performance as possible.
To his credit, he doesn't harm his image as a
risk-taker. However, like all the actors in this
rootless exercise, he seems stranded.
What
does it mean? What do you mean?
The
flashbacks, as told in roaming camera inserts,
are distractions. Apparently the audience needs
to be told that Kelvin was very much in
love with his wife just like every castmember
has to spout out what they are feeling. Soderbergh
used flashbacks extensively as part of the core
of The Limey, but then The Limey
had a strong narrative built around it. Here the
flashbacks only remind us how very little movement
there is in the present story.
As
much as Solaris is a brave exercise in
making a science fiction movie that is about emotion,
it really feels like an exercise, something that
could be told in a twenty minute Outer Limits
episode.
In
theatres now.
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"With
his arms between the jaws of the beast and his legs
pedalling helplessly under the huge reptile, Mr Chawinga
decided his only weapon was his teeth."
