In one of his most caustic attacks on American film-making, Andrei Tarkovsky characterized Hollywood and American film audiences as follows: “a sea of glamorized triviality where human relationships have been reduced to sexual intrigue and sloppy sentimentality.” Tarkovsky died in 1986, but at the present time his works are more highly regarded in the U.S. than in Russia despite his contempt for Western culture. It comes as a crowning irony, then, that one of Tarkovksy’s masterpieces, “Solaris,” has now found its way to tinsel town where it has been “remade” as a tale of sexuality, intrigue and tension aboard a Russian satellite (see Hunter Pope’s reviewof the new film on this page). I’m sure that Tarkovsky is spinning like a blender in his grave.

The original film, based on a novel by Stanislaw Lem, might be characterized as a “psychological thriller.” However, its dark, moody and slow-paced reflections on Man’s spiritual torments combined with its dream-like shifts from color to black and white would undoubtedly confuse and irritate most current holiday audiences who have been conditioned by slick pacing, speed and special effects. Indeed, Solaris, seems a strange choice for an American holiday fest under any circumstances. Of course, there is always the possibility that the George Clooney version has been shucked, gutted and liposuctioned into a grotesque mutant. I haven’t seen it and probably won’t until it emerges some three months hence in a video format, properly captioned for the hearing impaired.

Tartovsky’s film opens with psychologist Dr. Kris Kelvin (Banionis) preparing to travel to a Russian space station in response to a request from the ground control. Messages from the Solaris station have become erratic and disturbing. In addition, Kelvin learns that the Solaris project is at a crossroads — the large crew previously sent to the station has been withdrawn, leaving only three members. Kelvin suspects that the project is about to be discontinued and his job will be to evaluate current conditions. Prior to his departure, Kelvin is visited by a former cosmonaut who had been a part of a “rescue mission” to Solaris many years before. He warns Kelvin that the planet is largely composed of an a turbulent ocean which seems to have an inexplicable influence over the orbiting space station and its crew.

Dr. Kelvin is undisturbed by the cosmonaut’s warning and is confident that he can handle the situation. However, his confidence begins to erode with his arrival at the space station. One of the remaining crew, a former friend of Kelvin’s, has committed suicide. The note he leaves advises Kelvin that when he encounters inexplicable events, he should not interpret them as insanity. Dr. Snouth (Yuri Karvet) is distracted and has a “guest” — a gnome-like creature that skitters furtively about Snouth’s living quarters. Dr. Sartorius (Anatoli Solonitsyn) spends most of his time locked in his own quarters. The interior of the station appears neglected. Litter is scattered through the corridors and the remaining crew drifts aimlessly about without purpose. Shadowy figures move through the space station ... Then Hari arrives.

Hari (Natalya Bondarchuk) is Kelvin’s deceased wife who committed suicide 10 years ago by injecting poison into her blood stream. The effect of this “visit” on Kelvin is devastating. Finding his wife alive and vibrant in his bed (the needle mark is still visible on her arm) reduces this practical man to near-hysteria. Perceiving her as a evil force, Kelvin tricks her into a space shuttle and sends her off into space. Dr. Snouth informs him that this desperate maneuver will fail. She will simply return ... and she does. Snouth also notes that Kelvin is fortunate to have someone from his past as a “guest.” He and Sartorius are less fortunate since they are visited by creatures “created by their own minds.”

Discovering that he cannot escape Hari Two or destroy her, Kelvin reverses his strategy and establishes a relationship with her — spending endless hours in his quarters in a kind of prolonged honeymoon. He becomes like his fellow crewmen, totally preoccupied with this reunion. At times, he, Snouth and Sartorius debate what is happening to them. Is the ocean benign or evil? Is it perhaps God? Snouth suggests that Solaris is that long-sought “contact” with a universal intelligence, yet all three men are reluctant to “surrender” to the ocean. “Man does not truly want contact with a superior intelligence,” says Smouth. “He merely wants to recreate the Earth over and over.”

Bit by bit, aspects of Kelvin’s former life are recreated on the space station. His favorite dog appears. But, gradually, he comes to realize that Hari is an idealized creation of his own mind, and as she evolves, it becomes obvious that she is superior to him. She is capable of greater love, displays greater compassion, and finally — greater wisdom. It is a doomed relationship since Kelvin is unchanging. In a sense, Keri represents what Sartorius and Snouth call “Faust’s dream.” She is an immortal, perfect woman. Yet, she chooses to die since her relationship with Kelvin cannot progress. With the assistance of Snouth and Sarotorius, she devises a way to terminate her own existence. “She simply vanished in a burst of light,” says Smouth. Kelvin is distressed, but comes to accept Hari’s self-annihilation as necessary.

The final scene in Solaris is puzzling because it is “open-ended.” In other words, it has multiple meanings. We see Kelvin return to his home in Russia where he is reunited with his father. It is a touching reunion, and the viewer is left with a sense that an alienation that has darkened most of Kelvin’s life is finally ended. It is all there — a bucolic setting, his favorite dog, his father’s presence and a lush, natural world. The happy ending. But, there is another possibility. As the camera moves back and we see Kelvin’s world diminish to a pin-point, we see it is a small island in a great ocean. As the perspective continues there is the suggestion of an immense, ever-changing sea. So, it is possible that Kelvin never came home at all — at least, not in the sense that would have required travel from Solaris to Earth. Perhaps he is still there, as is Smouth and Sartorius, each a minute particle of the shifting waters of Solarius. Is that a “happy ending” also?

Judging from the advance promotion I see on TV and the internet, I can safely conclude that the Solaris that moviegoers will see this holiday season has become something quite different form Tartovsky’s original film. One promotion blurb noted that the new Solaris is a blend of “2001 Space Odyssey” and “Last Tango in Paris.” Another promised “a science-fiction thriller in which aliens are murdering Russian cosmonauts” and George Clooney is sent to investigate. Either the pundits have not seen the movie or it has been remarkably altered in concept and method. However, I suspect that something of the original has been left intact since many reviewers are cautioning audiences that this is “an intellectual experience.” “Don’t eat a big meal before you go,” chirruped one CNN announcer. “You’ll just go to sleep.” Another confessed, “I just didn’t get it.”

So, there may be hope after all. Something to think about ... ideas, instead of morphing, sailing broomsticks, spectacular sets and thunderous musical scores. Let’s wait and see.