Wednesday, September 23, 2009
It resembles Hitchcocks Vertigo in some ways. First, in being about love for a woman who does not, in a sense, exist. Like Hitchcock it has slow ,brooding, meditative rhythms.
The car winds it's way through the roads and subways of Tokyo, endlessly, smoothly purring through a seemingly endless journey, and then aerial views of the metropolis, the day fading into the nocturnal patterns of traffic lights and neon signs. It captures the long, uneventfulness of the space journey as the psychologist Chris travels on his mission to the space station orbiting Solaris where the psycho-drama is to be enacted. There is no gimmickry and the space station might easily have been a drawing room except for the backdrop of a sea of stirring broth swirling slowly which we are reminded of periodically. The poetry is powerful but always restrained, imitating natural rhythms like weeds and river plants undulating in water. This image of the undulating finger like plants is perhaps the bridge between the two worlds of the movie.