film

Meeting Andrei Tarkovsky

By Al ⋅ May 12, 2009 ⋅ ⋅ commentellen

Meeting Andrei Tarkovksy, 2008
written, edited, directed by Dmitry Trakovsky
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In 2006 a UC Santa Cruz film student chose to jump at loose inspiration. Loose, because perhaps the most profound Tarkovsky-related influence on Dmitry Trakovsky (D.T. for convenience, given the similarity in surnames) was the very existence of certain movies within his father’s film collection. Pulling together whatever cash he could, D.T. traveled to wherever a story could be unearthed, to Britain, Brazil, Italy, Sweden, and Russia. It was a bold move, and we’re even suspicious of whimsy as the film gets on its way. You might ask, is this an overdue exploration of Tarkovsky, or a documentarian’s personal journey?

In The Sacrifice (Tarkovsky, 1986), the terminal Alexander remarks, “There is no death, only the fear of death.” While The Sacrifice would be his last film, the themes of death and mortality can be found throughout Andrei Tarkovsky’s filmography, beginning with his spurious challenge to nihilism, Ivan’s Childhood, (1962). Tarkovsky himself declared on numerous occasions that death does not exist, and this idea is D.T.’s alluded thesis.

To the observer, death is perhaps only what the battlefield tells us. Tarkovsky engaged the concept and implications of death throughout his life, and D.T.’s film attempts to reveal something on the subject which may have eluded the director in all his pictures. In doing so, D.T. and his viewers find only life, and are instead confronted by the passion Tarkovsky was able to inspire in so many.

The documentary is comprised of interviews with Tarkovsky’s friends, family members, and independent filmmakers who have been influenced by the director’s work. The musings are many and they are welcome, particularly from those who had become close to Tarkovsky through film. Italian director Manuele Cecconello makes clear an idea we may already understand, that “Tarkovsky’s perspective is almost that of a layperson, searching to decipher the divine mystery”. Yet it’s the affirmation of those near-surreal sensibilities imparted upon us by Tarkovsky’s work that makes the documentary so enjoyable.

Structurally, it’s a work that doesn’t distract in attempts to break new ground with camera angles or dramatic music fused with manipulated lighting. Where music is used it is pulled from soundtracks of Tarkovsky’s films and done in such a way that the commentary is effectively married with the essence of the related narrative.

D.T.’s film doesn’t always trot smoothly. The opening fifteen minutes — via the comments of several subjects, and through the director’s own voice-over — can’t seem to make fully clear the objective of the project, rather than loose statements regarding a personal journey. Excepting the singular hiccup in Polish filmmaker Krzystztof Zanussi’s self-aware pronouncements of Tarkovsky’s spirituality and acute imagery, the documentary then begins to move gracefully on its own steam, settling into a comfortable momentum, the narrative built exclusively from impressions Tarkovsky has left on others.

Given the subject matter, the interviewees can’t help themselves ruminating on love, God, hidden essence. Filmmaking-as-art and Tarkovsky-as-influence are common topics, too, but nearing the end of the documentary, we begin to recognize some of the more subliminal aspects that D.T. might rather us realize from the git.

Michal Leszczylowski (editor of The Sacrifice) referred to himself and Tarkovsky as “servants of the material that was created”. Tarkovsky wrote in his Sculpting in Time that he felt his material to be a gift, as if “given to him by a miracle.” Resulting from a profound relationship with the director, Leszczylowski suggests that Tarkovsky’s mortality was something he couldn’t begin to consider, even had he learned of his friend’s terminal condition. Death continues to surface, yet never blatantly, as the path of least resistance for any Tarkovsky buff or confidant would be the sheer impact of his work.

The interviewees uniformly revere the human elements of Tarkovsky’s films, and this is perhaps where the documentary succeeds the most: in the repetition of the emotional themes found throughout the director’s work. Among fans and critics, there is nary a debate about Tarkovsky’s ability to capture stunningly profound imagery; in this regard many have drawn comparison from his films to visual artists, such as painters and photographers. But what of the complexity of Solaris‘ Kris Kelvin, who dreams of embracing his departed father? Cecconello identifies Tarkovsky’s divine search through a fusion of ideas and characters with the stunning backdrop of imagery.

Given the paranoid tenor of Russian response to Tarkovsky’s films in their own time — which accounts for much of his pictures’ early fame — D.T.’s interview with Russian filmmaker Ilya Khrzhanovsky is most enlightening for its account of areas of tolerance of certain films and subjects of artistry inside Russia, 20 years after Tarkovsky’s death.

I’ve found in repeated viewings that the film works well as an extended capture of Tarkovsky and his work, and, on occasion, as a metaphysical case study. But it’s best unaffected by over-pondering. Dmitry Trakovsky simply followed a passion, grabbed a camera, and filmed. His findings came after the fact. The product is a fine documentary that would do well in the hands of all Tarkovsky enthusiasts.
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As of today, Meeting Andrei Tarkovsky has yet to premiere anywhere in the US, but has featured in numerous overseas film festivals, earning strong recognition in Brazil’s São Paulo International Film Festival. This morning it was announced that the film will feature on its first occasion within these shores in July, at New York’s Lincoln Center.

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~Alan Jones