It is perhaps too blunt a notion that Andrei Tarkovsky's the Sacrifice bears some comparison with Ingmar Bergman's films. More than a notion, it's right up there on the screen: Erland Josephsson, one of Bergman's great collaborators, as well as Sven Nykvist (probably the best), as well as certain allusions in some of the shots (i.e. the kid in the bed in black and white seems right out of Persona). But it's also the themes being dealt with, the tone in the monologues from the characters (albeit from Josephsson and usually dealing with his faith and memories), and the sense of grief and bewilderment ala Shame. At the same time, with these allusions as well as others to the likes of Nietzche and Dostoyevsky, it's through and through the work of a filmmaker so in touch with his soul as an artist, with so much to pour into a work that has relatively little plot (not that it doesn't have a story), that it floors one.
And, in a sense, it's close to being, despite its darker intonations and its ambiguous, staggering ending of madness and hope, the director's quintessential work. While Stalker will probably stay as the artistic pinnacle of his career, the Sacrifice brings to a head many of the director's chief concerns while not possibly making them too patched together to make sense (i.e. The Mirror, which is nevertheless also great), as well as in a style that is meditative, calm, harsh, surreal, and always with the heart and mind of what leans toward the poetic. Once we get into the premise of the picture, which takes a little while itself to set up- an old man, Alexander, (Josephsson) and his family are at his home to celebrate his birthday when elsewhere a catastrophic war is going on, with the family left to their own devices out in the middle of the countryside- Tarkovsky explores the spaces that are there to see in the consciousness of men (and, to a degree, women) in a crisis of faith.
In reality, there isn't a whole lot that "happens" in the usual plot-driven sense of the Sacrifice, but within the realm of the scenes depicted and acted, there's a lot more than any other filmmaker would meet at. A visit to Maria, a "witch" in a church nearby, takes up a fairly significant chunk out of the picture, but in it is a story told by Alexander about a garden and his mother, and around this and in this scene are the details that Tarkovsky builds with. It goes without saying his genius also lies with whom he works with, and Nykvist creates such a mood for each particular scene (sometimes the light or look of a scene will fade just a little, and everything will change, however subtly, for an instant), and such a delicate, brooding nature with the camera as it tracks along in Tarkovsky's carefully lined long takes, that it ranks up there with his very best pieces with Bergman.
But at the same time, as the director mixes in black and white footage, slow-motion of a character running down a hall, a tilt up some mud and nature, a sense of time and place and horror is depicted, honestly, without the problems with usually pretentious visionaries. And as it was that Tarkovsky knew that he was dying- unlike other filmmakers who fade out after their last picture or die unexpectedly- there's a sense of self-reflection, as it comes out with Alexander and in those around him, that is sad but ultimately poignant to the highest order. Questions are raised that can hardly be answered, but one of the chief ones has the ring of naiveté until it's known that it's this particular instance it's raised: is there no hope for the spirit? What about the boy, however, might also be another sort of question, as we see the final shot starting on the boy and raising up ever so gently up the tree with the music playing on.
All these and more can be raised from the Sacrifice (not to mention, of course, what does it mean to really sacrifice oneself), but it's besides all of that just a truly rich cinematic experience, one that's so rich that it's hard to take it all in all at once. It has the sustainability of its artistic force to not have the danger of growing 'dated'; to make a more leap with some grandeur perhaps, as with a poem or some renaissance painting (not far off from the Leonardo featured in the film), the Sacrifice asks to be revisited, to have the experience of the thoughts and ideas poised, and for the amazing performances and technical work. It's one of the true masterpieces of the 1980s.
And, in a sense, it's close to being, despite its darker intonations and its ambiguous, staggering ending of madness and hope, the director's quintessential work. While Stalker will probably stay as the artistic pinnacle of his career, the Sacrifice brings to a head many of the director's chief concerns while not possibly making them too patched together to make sense (i.e. The Mirror, which is nevertheless also great), as well as in a style that is meditative, calm, harsh, surreal, and always with the heart and mind of what leans toward the poetic. Once we get into the premise of the picture, which takes a little while itself to set up- an old man, Alexander, (Josephsson) and his family are at his home to celebrate his birthday when elsewhere a catastrophic war is going on, with the family left to their own devices out in the middle of the countryside- Tarkovsky explores the spaces that are there to see in the consciousness of men (and, to a degree, women) in a crisis of faith.
In reality, there isn't a whole lot that "happens" in the usual plot-driven sense of the Sacrifice, but within the realm of the scenes depicted and acted, there's a lot more than any other filmmaker would meet at. A visit to Maria, a "witch" in a church nearby, takes up a fairly significant chunk out of the picture, but in it is a story told by Alexander about a garden and his mother, and around this and in this scene are the details that Tarkovsky builds with. It goes without saying his genius also lies with whom he works with, and Nykvist creates such a mood for each particular scene (sometimes the light or look of a scene will fade just a little, and everything will change, however subtly, for an instant), and such a delicate, brooding nature with the camera as it tracks along in Tarkovsky's carefully lined long takes, that it ranks up there with his very best pieces with Bergman.
But at the same time, as the director mixes in black and white footage, slow-motion of a character running down a hall, a tilt up some mud and nature, a sense of time and place and horror is depicted, honestly, without the problems with usually pretentious visionaries. And as it was that Tarkovsky knew that he was dying- unlike other filmmakers who fade out after their last picture or die unexpectedly- there's a sense of self-reflection, as it comes out with Alexander and in those around him, that is sad but ultimately poignant to the highest order. Questions are raised that can hardly be answered, but one of the chief ones has the ring of naiveté until it's known that it's this particular instance it's raised: is there no hope for the spirit? What about the boy, however, might also be another sort of question, as we see the final shot starting on the boy and raising up ever so gently up the tree with the music playing on.
All these and more can be raised from the Sacrifice (not to mention, of course, what does it mean to really sacrifice oneself), but it's besides all of that just a truly rich cinematic experience, one that's so rich that it's hard to take it all in all at once. It has the sustainability of its artistic force to not have the danger of growing 'dated'; to make a more leap with some grandeur perhaps, as with a poem or some renaissance painting (not far off from the Leonardo featured in the film), the Sacrifice asks to be revisited, to have the experience of the thoughts and ideas poised, and for the amazing performances and technical work. It's one of the true masterpieces of the 1980s.