Solaris (2002)

"Though lovers be lost love shall not; and death shall have no dominion..."

‘How far will you go for a second chance?’

And now for something different. Although technically a ‘science-fiction’ film, Soderbergh’s Solaris (2002) is, perhaps, as much a psychological drama, even broken love story— which happens to be set partly on Earth and partly in a space station. 2001: A Space Odyssey (2001) meets A Last Tango in Paris (1972). It’s based on Stanislaw Lem’s 1961 novel. Soderbergh took inspiration from the original book, so technically it’s not a re-make of Andrei Tarkovsky’s highly acclaimed— if soporific ponderous— version of 1972 or the two-part Soviet Television play of 1968.

Solaris: a thinking planet’s planet…

And it's sophisticated, philosophical, rather beautiful stuff. This is cinema for grown-ups— stylistically, reminding me, perhaps, of Kubrick's Eyes Wide Shut (1999) or (in a strange way) Lost in Translation (2003), made around the same time, with its rainy streets, electronic music, slick looks and— reflective vibe— although, of course, Lost in Translation is set in the Park Hyatt Tokyo, as opposed to outer space. And, if you're looking for humour, Solaris (2002) ain't exactly a barrel load of laughs. 

George Clooney stars as Dr. Chris Kelvin, a detached, rather self-centred psychologist, persuaded, against his better judgement, by a privately owned space corporation (we’re in SpaceX territory) to investigate rum goings-on in a space station orbiting the mysterious ocean-bound planet Solaris, located God Knows Where in the Universe. A planet emitting fetching, wispy blue-ish flares into its upper atmosphere.

“Death shall hath no dominion…”

We're in the future, folks, although exactly when is not specified. One of the many things I like about Solaris is that the future is still familiar. Nobody's walking around in baco-foil suits or driving flying cars with retro fins. There's rain (the opening shot, raindrops on window pane, reminiscent of Joseph Losey's The Go-Between), and leather-bound books in an antiquarian bookshop; a vaguely Conran-y kitchen where things are chopped with sharp, analogue knives; there are high-speed trains, and dreamy, dark wet city streets and red umbrellas— even if the characters wear slightly weird clothes with a futuristic dash, and dinner party chat includes mention of a female Pope, and there’s a sort of Alexa type computer (unknown back in 2002) inset into a thin glass divide in the kitchen. 

Anyway. Gorgeous George arrives at the space station, nearly deserted apart from a zipped-up dead body or two and an annoying hairy-hippy-scientist-dude-person, not unlike Shaggy in Scooby-Doo, Where are You! (1969-76); plus a strange little boy and his English wife, Rheya, who he wakes up next to the following day, starkers, played by the equally gorgeous She-Who-Can-Do-No-Wrong Natascha McElhone. Which is kinda weird, as she's actually dead— and has been dead for ten years or so, following a tragic abortion, domestic argument and consequent suicide.

‘dark city streets and red umbrellas…’