Solaris (2002)

Remaking the towering likes of Tarkovsky is only asking for critical trouble; Steven Soderbergh’s ambitious Solaris received its share of the predictable brickbats, but also surprised many with its richness and rigour. Time Out’s Geoff Andrew called it “probably the finest, certainly the most stylish, sci-fi film in years.” The excellent George Clooney stars as Chris Kelvin, a guilt-ridden psychiatrist sent to investigate a crisis aboard space station Prometheus, in orbit around the distant planet Solaris. He finds the crew in a state of paranoiac breakdown, mumbling about “visitors,” and is soon being traumatized by a visitor of his own: his late wife Rheya (Natascha McElhone), dead many years, but now somehow sharing his bed again. Solaris à la Soderbergh impresses with its exploration of time, use of flashbacks, and overwhelming sense of loss and sadness; this is a brooding, meditative, and deeply serious movie completely of the genus art film, and bravely sans the action-adventure payoffs one expects of the commercial sci-fi genre. “Unexpected and unexpectedly fine ... An almost perfect balance of poetry and pulp — the year’s most elegant, moody, intelligent, sensuous, and sustained studio movie” (J. Hoberman, Village Voice). Colour, DVD. 99 mins.