Poetic and philosophical, but ponderous.
The theme of the transplanted Russian longing to return home was obviously deeply personal to Tarkovsky, and there is a great heaviness to this film, shot in drab surroundings and craggy ruins. It's also the work of a man at a certain age in life when parents and friends are beginning to pass away, looking at life nostalgically but also with somber perspective. Throughout the film there are many doors and gateways, seeming to symbolize transitions in life, and there are also several mirrors, with the main characters sometimes surprised at the image they see reflected. Many of these shots are beautifully composed, which is not a surprise given the filmmaker's immense talent.
Spoilers from here on.
In the moments that stirred me most in the film, it seemed to ask, what can we do with this fragile life of ours, and symbolized it with fire. The man deemed insane has great insight when he says humanity must come together ("We must listen to the voices that seem useless"), chastises those who are well off ("It is the healthy who have brought the world to the verge of ruin"), and advocates for a simpler life ("Just look at nature and you'll see that life is simple. We must go back to where we were, to the point where you took the wrong turn"). He says all that, but then out of despair or perhaps as a way of trying to wake people up from their disinterest, incinerates himself.
Meanwhile, the poet tries to keep his capering candlelight alive while crossing the water in the ruins of the old baths. You can see both great perseverance and ultimately great futility in this small task, attempted again and again, and there is something both triumphant and sad about it (something I also felt in the film's final image). Earlier on the poetry of Tarkovsky's father is quoted and we hear:
"I am a candle. I burned at the feast. Gather my wax when morning arrives so that this page will remind you how to be proud and how to weep, how to give away the last third of happiness, and how to die with ease - and beneath a temporary roof to burn posthumously, like a word."
There is some really profound stuff here, and it's a film that oozes melancholy at a time that struck an emotional chord with me. It's interesting though - as in other Tarkovsky films, Pushkin is mentioned, and I only wish the director had some of that poet's talent for concision. Several scenes go on interminably, and while they're meant to increase the emotional weight, for me it had the opposite effect. I'm not sure about the translator character either; maybe she was meant to provide momentary lightness to offset all of the other heaviness, but I thought she could have been more effectively incorporated. It's a film that I'm glad I watched, but it's not one I would reach for again.
The theme of the transplanted Russian longing to return home was obviously deeply personal to Tarkovsky, and there is a great heaviness to this film, shot in drab surroundings and craggy ruins. It's also the work of a man at a certain age in life when parents and friends are beginning to pass away, looking at life nostalgically but also with somber perspective. Throughout the film there are many doors and gateways, seeming to symbolize transitions in life, and there are also several mirrors, with the main characters sometimes surprised at the image they see reflected. Many of these shots are beautifully composed, which is not a surprise given the filmmaker's immense talent.
Spoilers from here on.
In the moments that stirred me most in the film, it seemed to ask, what can we do with this fragile life of ours, and symbolized it with fire. The man deemed insane has great insight when he says humanity must come together ("We must listen to the voices that seem useless"), chastises those who are well off ("It is the healthy who have brought the world to the verge of ruin"), and advocates for a simpler life ("Just look at nature and you'll see that life is simple. We must go back to where we were, to the point where you took the wrong turn"). He says all that, but then out of despair or perhaps as a way of trying to wake people up from their disinterest, incinerates himself.
Meanwhile, the poet tries to keep his capering candlelight alive while crossing the water in the ruins of the old baths. You can see both great perseverance and ultimately great futility in this small task, attempted again and again, and there is something both triumphant and sad about it (something I also felt in the film's final image). Earlier on the poetry of Tarkovsky's father is quoted and we hear:
"I am a candle. I burned at the feast. Gather my wax when morning arrives so that this page will remind you how to be proud and how to weep, how to give away the last third of happiness, and how to die with ease - and beneath a temporary roof to burn posthumously, like a word."
There is some really profound stuff here, and it's a film that oozes melancholy at a time that struck an emotional chord with me. It's interesting though - as in other Tarkovsky films, Pushkin is mentioned, and I only wish the director had some of that poet's talent for concision. Several scenes go on interminably, and while they're meant to increase the emotional weight, for me it had the opposite effect. I'm not sure about the translator character either; maybe she was meant to provide momentary lightness to offset all of the other heaviness, but I thought she could have been more effectively incorporated. It's a film that I'm glad I watched, but it's not one I would reach for again.