Solaris (1972)

The critic hails Tarkovsky’s film as the benchmark for science fiction, praising its exploration of human narcissism, memory and existence through a meditative lens on a remote space station. The piece singles out the film’s visual beauty and philosophical depth, particularly the final shot that opens up questions of reality and belief.

Ebert praises the film as a profound, meditative work that uses length to create an environment for reflection on human nature, memory, and reality rather than conventional entertainment. He singles out the zero-gravity scene with floating candles and characters as a magical centerpiece and highlights the ending's invitation to reconsider the entire narrative.

Tarkovsky views space as an abstract realm of consciousness and treats the story more as a ghost story than conventional sci-fi, with spectacular images of the planet that have a trance-like instability. The film is a challenging, difficult sit even by Tarkovsky standards, but its strange ambience lingers.

Tarkovsky’s mesmerising adaptation of Stanislaw Lem’s novel is still superior to Steven Soderbergh’s remake. It concentrates on the eerie realisation that there’s nothing more terrifying out in space than our own selves.

Olsen sees the re-release of Solaris as an opportunity to appreciate its poetic, metaphysical take on science fiction anew, noting its more graspable story compared to Stalker. He praises its enveloping, overwhelming quality on the big screen and its provocative addition to philosophical sci-fi discussions.

Ross views Solaris as Tarkovsky's attempt at transcendental science fiction focused on haunted memories and unresolved conflicts rather than space mechanics, calling it transfixing despite the director later deeming it his weakest. He highlights the majestic long takes, philosophical dialogues, and Bach soundtrack as hallmarks.

Scott reflects on Tarkovsky's Solaris as a meditation on space, consciousness, memory, and loss, using the sci-fi premise to explore vast human emotions. He appreciates how the film equates individual inner worlds with the universe itself.

The review calls Solaris a strange, slow but absorbing parable on life and love in sci-fi guise, effective in its space effects, intense playing, and moral statements about love, life, and humanity. It notes the sentient planet creating hallucinations or manifestations from the crew's needs.

Tarkovsky favors thematic and metaphorical suggestion over narrative drive, filling the film with charged objects and allusions to art, nature, mythology, and philosophy that create an overwhelming, eternal resonance. The film renders some affecting passages as bright spots in a meandering attack on scientific tampering with the unknown.

The review describes the film as both engrossing and alienating, Tarkovsky’s thoughtful response to 2001: A Space Odyssey that prioritises moral and human concerns over technological spectacle. It praises the wondrous camerawork and solid human enquiry while noting the climax lacks rigour.

The critic calls it arguably Tarkovsky’s most deeply felt story, a simple tale of grief and lost love with sci-fi questions of identity and humanity, highlighting the devastating emotional core and near-transcendent moments like the languid earth-bound opening and stunning zero gravity sequence.

The critic finds the film a chore requiring careful attention but ultimately rewarding beyond almost any other, praising its massive dignity, eerie beauty, moments like a Brueghel painting coming to life and a weightlessness ballet, and especially its haunting, perfect ending on identity and humanity.

The critic celebrates Solaris as a cerebral sci-fi classic and direct response to 2001: A Space Odyssey, praising its focus on fully realized characters, deep emotions, grief, and humanity over visual spectacle. It singles out the planet's manifestation of subconscious desires and the film's lasting influence on later works like The Fountain and Inception.

The critic describes Solaris as an inward-facing meditation on humanity's inability to move past its failings and its tendency to reshape new worlds in its own image rather than seeking transcendence. It singles out the imperfect recreations of memories (like Hari's dress) and the central question of whether we love the person or their shadow.