The 1972 film Solaris, directed by Andrey Tarkovsky, is based on the 1961 science fiction novel of the same name by Stanisław Lem.
Tarkovsky’s Solaris follows psychologist Kris Kelvin, who is sent to a space station orbiting the oceanic planet Solaris to investigate the mental breakdowns and strange occurrences affecting the crew. Upon arrival, Kris discovers that one scientist has committed suicide and that the remaining two are exhibiting unsettling behavior. Soon, Kris meets his deceased wife, Hari, who appears as a manifestation created by Solaris, drawn from his memories. As the crew struggle with these visitors – and therefore themselves – Tarkovsky holds a mirror, inviting the viewer to reflect on the human experience: our place in this life and universe, and our capacity to feel and contemplate.
Through these existential themes Andrey Tarkovsky tells us not to intellectualize everything, but to dare to feel in order to deepen your understanding.
In his own words: “Solaris had been about people lost in the Cosmos and obliged, whether they liked it or not, to take one more step up the ladder of knowledge. Man’s unending quest for knowledge, given him gratuitously, is a source of great tension, for it brings with it constant anxiety, hardship, grief and disappointment, as the final truth can never be known”.
This certainly makes Solaris singular within ‘science fiction cinema’, as the director rejected the prevailing approach to science within the West, making the film a direct antithesis to Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey.
The singularity of Solaris, Tarkovsky’s vision, references to classical art (forms) and the ‘laws of music’ will be discussed.
1. Tarkovsky’s vision for Solaris
To understand Tarkovsky’s vision, it is important to revisit his fundamental motivation for filmmaking. In his book Sculpting in Time, Tarkovsky wrote: “I see it as my duty to stimulate reflection on what is essentially human and eternal in each individual soul […] My function is to make whoever sees my films aware of his need to love and to give his love, and aware that beauty is summoning him”. His philosophy is palpable in Solaris, as the film centers more on existential themes—love, yearning, memory, and contemplation—than on space exploration.
Tarkovsky’s dissatisfaction with the film’s emphasis on science fiction reflects this focus. While reflecting on Solaris, he stated: “Unfortunately the science fiction element in Solaris was nonetheless too prominent and became a distraction. The rockets and space stations—required by Lem’s novel—were interesting to construct; but it seems to me now that the idea of the film would have stood out more vividly and boldly had we managed to dispense with these things altogether”.
This makes it clear that his intent was not to explore technological progress or space travel. Instead, the scientific elements – space exploration, Solaris, and the space station – merely serve as a backdrop for the film’s true exploration: “in man, for he contains a universe within himself”.
This abovementioned belief of Tarkovsky that the universe is already within us, is reminiscent of the philosophy of Mevlana, widely known as Rumi, a 13th century Sufi mystic, jurist, scholar and poet. To illustrate this parallel, here are a few verses from Rumi’s works:
In Divan-e Shams, verse 2742:
“I am such a strange universe,
That I can be hidden in a handful of dust.
I am light to every night; spring to every fall.”
In Masnavi, Book II, verse 3575:
“Thou art the sea of knowledge hidden in a dewdrop; thou art the universe hidden in a body three ells long.”
And lastly in Masnavi, Book VI, verse 4540:
“I look on the inmost consciousness, and I see a universe hidden.”
These notions may seem vague and mystical to purist sci-fi enthusiasts and readers whose perspectives and education are primarily shaped by modernist Western philosophy, which tends to focus on logic and empirical science, because Tarkovsky’s views are more closely aligned with Eastern philosophy and metaphysics, exploring deeper spiritual truths rather than physical science and all that is ‘explainable’ (or at least perceivable).
His rejection of the positivist school of thought is further illustrated by the following passage: “Art could be said to be a symbol of the universe, being linked with that absolute spiritual truth which is hidden from us in our positivistic, pragmatic activities”.
In Solaris, Tarkovsky reminds us of his metaphysical views by stating that not everything can be subjected to logic. He illustrates this through Kris’s meditations while simultaneously depicting Solaris – the ocean that manifests what we love and miss.
“Solaris”, 1972, director Andrey Tarkovsky.
I believe this is the key point of the film: at that moment, Kris is completely tormented by his deepest love, which mirrors his soul, and thus, himself. Tarkovsky complicates matters by making Hari a manifestation of Kris’s yearning – she is not real. His torment cannot be fully grasped by rational thought, despite his efforts. This idea is evident not only in Kris’s experience but also in the experiences of the scientists on the space station, most of whom succumbed to the overwhelming nature of the existential questions provoked by the ocean Solaris.
Tarkovsky’s exploration of humanness, the soul, and our place in the cosmos makes that his science fiction film aligns more with Terrence Malick’s contemplative Tree of Life than with 2001: A Space Odyssey. This deep engagement with the human experience is a consistent theme across all his films.
NB: If you like films that explore the soul through science fiction, I recommend I Origins.
2. Classical art (forms)
A recurring element that must not be overlooked is Tarkovsky’s reference to classical art and classical art forms. In Solaris, works by Bach, Pieter Bruegel, Miguel de Cervantes, Leonardo da Vinci and Marc Chagall are heard, shown, or referenced for intriguing functional reasons.
The main reason for referring to the old masters was to give the viewer a sense of deeply rooted art, continuing cinema as a new art form. Tarkovsky’s collaborator, composer Eduard Artemyev, provided us with this insight into Tarkovsky’s approach by sharing their conversation. Artemyev once asked him why they were using old music instead of creating something new: “Andrey [Tarkovsky] said that cinema had no roots. It was too young an art. To give the viewer a deeper sense of roots, it was necessary to create a link with world art and the masters of music, as well as the paintings of the old masters. Subconsciously, Andrey believed, this creates the deep roots essential for art. Thereby eliminating the question of whether cinema is truly art or not. Cinema, Andrey said, is simply a new form of presentation, not a new art”.
However, it is important to note that Tarkovsky referenced the old masters in his films not only to showcase the continuity of art through new forms, but also to highlight the culture and roots of the protagonist and himself.
He wrote the following in his book Sculpting in Time: “In all my pictures the theme of roots was always of great importance: links with family house, childhood, country, Earth. I always felt it important to establish that I myself belong to a particular tradition, culture, circle of people or ideas”.
One prime reference is Pieter Bruegel’s Hunters in the Snow. It is shown in close-up and incorporated into the space station’s decor, reappearing during the levitation scene, called “30 Seconds of Weightlessness”, in which Hari and Kris are floating in the space station. The painting serves as a visual reference to Earth, with a landscape that mirrors the one Kris believes he sees when he thinks he has returned to Earth.
Chagall’s work is referenced in the levitation scene where the two lovers, Hari and Kris, float together. This reflects a recurring theme in Chagall’s paintings, where he often depicted dreamlike visions of himself and his wife floating.
Bach’s Choral prelude in f-minor (Ich ruf’ zu Dir, Herr Jesus Christ, BWV Anh. 73-2.58) is played four times and is the central theme and representation of Earth. The music is notably used during the levitation scene. Tarkovsky believed Bach was the composer and was an avid collector of his music, according to Artemyev. For that scene, see 02:12:19 in the film, freely made available online by the original production company Mosfilm – intellectual public property, in true 70s USSR fashion.
© Mosfilm Cinema Concern
“Solaris”, 1972, director Andrey Tarkovsky.
3. The ‘laws of music’ present in Solaris
“He said, “I don’t need music in my film.” I need a person to orchestrate the sounds of nature. I need a composer’s ear and a composer’s hand… to organize the sounds surrounding us according to the laws of music”.
A nostalgic poetic world Tarkovsky expressed throughout his films. A place between dream and reality. This characteristic tonality was constructed with the aid of music, for which he applied the ‘laws of music’.
The key law of music concerns the definition of music itself. Tarkovsky remarked the following in his book Sculpting in Time: “Properly organized in a film, the resonant world is musical in its essence—and that is the true music of cinema”. “Above all, I feel that the sounds of this world are so beautiful in themselves that if only we could learn to listen to them properly, cinema would have no need of music at all”. Great examples can be found at 00:10:40.
Music was thus not only the melodic combining of sounds orchestrated, organized or created by man himself. Sounds often considered ‘noise’ or environmental sounds – already present as they are, being the sounds of the world – were also regarded as music by Tarkovsky. And that was so because, even “when a train rushes, you hear some music in the rumble of the train – in the rhythmically organized rumble of the wheels”, Artemyev remembered Tarkovsky saying. Artemyev added, “like in a waterfall, if you listen long enough, you begin to pick up some melodic circulation of water”.
Tarkovsky and his collaborator Artemyev used electronic devices to use and organize these ambient sounds. In doing so, they made electronic music for Tarkovsky’s films. At that time, the 70s, electronic music was a relatively new practice, especially in cinema music.
© Dmitry Vikhornov
They used these devices specifically, because instrumental music is inherently autonomous and imposing, which makes it more difficult for the music to seamlessly dissolve into the film. Due to this prominence and intensity, traditional cinema music will always demand a certain degree of compromise, drawing attention to itself rather than supporting the narrative. Whereas, according to Tarkovsky, “electronic music has exactly that capacity for being absorbed into the sound. It can be hidden behind other noises and remain indistinct; like the voice of nature, of vague intimations… It can be like somebody breathing”.
This integrative characteristic of music is another (identifiable) ‘law of music’. Music should not be a separate entity that is easily identifiable. It has to dissolve into the context, according to Tarkovsky.
© Dmitry Vikhornov
The third (identifiable) ‘law of music’ concerns the form and the architecture of the music. “Cluster music”, Artemyev called it, “music spots that come together in no particular pattern … just various masses of sound”. The masses of sound, relating to the construction of the music, often lack any conventional form of structure. Furthermore, there are many diverse elements incorporated in the pieces, such as orchestral music, electronic sounds, ambient sounds and extended tones created by the ANS (see picture), overlapping but maintaining a fluidity.
The importance of fluidity has been underscored by Artemyev himself: “…from nowhere and disappearing into nowhere. It had to be fluid and diverse like nature itself”.
The laws of music display Tarkovsky’s restrained use of music – with the exception of Bach. This was so, because it was Tarkovsky’s dream, according to Artemyev, to make a film without (ordinary film) music. He only wanted to use music if he believed he had failed technically, meaning not exclusively using the language of film to convey the story.
Not only the sound aesthetic but also Tarkovsky’s vision for his films are deeply personal as they are directly shaped by his philosophy, his spiritual beliefs and his sensibilities. This makes Solaris an intriguing film for sci-fi fans, as the essence of the film contradicts with the usual focus of the genre.
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Special thanks to Mosfilm and Dmitry Vikhornov for kindly giving us permission to use these stunning images, and Brian D. McKenna for his efforts.
Cansu Koça
Cansu Koça is a junior lecturer at the University of Amsterdam and also director of shorts.
