Solaris (2002)

Solaris (2002)

Dir. Steven Soderbergh

A thought-provoking work based on Stanisław Lem's 1961 novel of the same name, with a sombre tone that even in its most doleful moments somehow shines with an aura that's supportive of the whole. It explores a great many themes, but its broadest focus is arguably on relationships and the multifaceted nature of detachment and emotional engagement.

It's the human story with telltale foibles and failings laid bare, made all the more poignant by an enveloping unknown; i.e. the titular planet, which functions as a catalyst that seems to exist as something both observable and observing. It appears to create a bubble-reality in which certain feelings are able to think for themselves. In a way it makes the unreal real, which is both a blessing and a curse for the crew of the research station that sits in the swirling planet's orbit.

Upon request of an old friend, brooding psychologist Chris Kelvin (George Clooney) makes the journey there. Unprepared for what he'll find, the already emotionally distant doctor struggles with the choices that get made for him and the ones that he must make himself.

The film's steely-blue and grey aesthetic is typical of the era, just as the muted palette of Dir. Andrei Tarkovsky's acclaimed 1972 version of the same text was recognisably 70s. I feel that the purposeful listlessness works better in the newer version, with a slow-burn that rolls along nicely, as opposed to the creeping pace of before, but I suspect that may be a minority opinion.

(I've not yet read the source novel, so to me, despite Soderbergh's claims to the contrary, it feels very much like a remake of Tarkovsky's film. Although that feeling may change after a reading.)

Clooney is excellent in the role. He keeps the doctor's feelings understated but readable, even when the reservoir they're supposed to be pulled from is itself something immeasurable.

I wasn't sure of Natascha McElhone at first, but as the film gets deeper into self-questioning territory and her character begins to understand her role she proved to be a fine choice.

Quite often Soderbergh eschews traditional film conventions. Using his lens like a writer uses a pen, he shoots select scenes with an atypical POV, reinforcing the disconnect that the story's central character feels. He achieves a similar result with audio by keeping his lens on the person being first addressed, whereas it would be more common to cut back and forth between speaker(s) and listener(s). By having less cuts and fewer changes in POV, he helps the slow-burn feel more deep-seated, introspective and contemplative. It's simple but very effective.

Wikipedia mentions that Soderbergh was not only the film's director, but also its screenwriter, cinematographer, and editor, which may explain why the sense of completeness is common across all of those elements. It must've been quite a challenge to juggle them all successfully, but the result is a striking piece of work, with Kubrick-esque visuals and editing that would probably make even Kurosawa happy-clap. It's a shame the film isn't more widely appreciated.