Andrei Tarkovsky

Andrei Tarkovsky, a Russian filmmaker, is renowned for his profoundly philosophical and poetic style of cinema. Known for films such as Stalker and Solaris, Tarkovsky’s body of work delves into profound metaphysical inquiries, seamlessly interweaving spirituality, memory, and the nature of art. His visually striking films, recognised for their long takes, deliberate pacing, and unique sound design, have significantly influenced the global cinematic landscape.

In 1954 Tarkovsky enrolled in the prestigious VGIK film school, where he developed his filmmaking skills and vision under the tutelage of renowned director Mikhail Romm. His directorial debut, Ivan’s Childhood, received critical acclaim, establishing Tarkovsky as a new voice in Soviet cinema. Despite numerous political challenges throughout his career, he created seven feature films that have impacted global cinema.

Tarkovsky’s films are steeped in philosophy and metaphysical contemplations. Through poetic and symbolic storytelling, he investigated humanity’s profound questions, reflected in films like Stalker and Solaris. These films, through their dreamlike narratives, explore themes of identity, consciousness, and the human condition, affirming Tarkovsky’s commitment to probing the depths of existential quandaries.

The Russian Soul

Long takes and slow pacing characterises Tarkovsky’s cinematic language. His use of extended shots, as seen in the opening scene of The Sacrifice and the iconic candle scene in Nostalghia, craft a meditative space that allows viewers to immerse themselves in the narrative. Tarkovsky’s visual aesthetics also mark his films as his own, with extensive use of natural elements, dreamlike imagery, and symbolic objects that create a metaphysical space for contemplation. Films like Andrei Rublev demonstrate this artistic vision, contributing to the film’s meditative tone.

Tarkovsky blurred the lines between dreams, memory, and reality, often weaving these elements together to present a subjective interpretation of reality. This is particularly evident in Mirror, a film that merges fragments of dreams, memory, and historical footage into a nonlinear narrative. His films also frequently delve into spiritual and religious themes, largely influenced by his Russian Orthodox background. The title character’s journey in Andrei Rublev presents a profound exploration of faith, reflecting Tarkovsky’s interest in his characters’ moral and existential struggles.

Despite his untimely death and a limited body of work, Tarkovsky’s influence on cinema is undeniable. Filmmakers worldwide, such as Lars von Trier, Alejandro Jodorowsky, and Terrence Malick, have cited Tarkovsky’s films as influential to their work. His innovative storytelling techniques, unique visual aesthetics, and philosophical explorations have made him a pivotal figure in global art cinema. Through his enduring cinematic legacy, Tarkovsky inspires filmmakers and audiences alike, emphasising the power of cinema as a medium for philosophical inquiry and emotional resonance.

Andrei Tarkovsky (1932 – 1986)

Calculated Films:

Ivan’s Childhood (1962)
Andrei Rublev (1966)
Solaris (1972)
Mirror (1975)
Stalker (1979)
Nostalgia (1983)
The Sacrifice (1986)

Similar Filmmakers

Andrei Tarkovsky’s Films Ranked

1. Stalker (1979)

Genre: Psychological Drama, Slow Cinema, Sci-Fi

2. Andrei Rublev (1966)

Genre: Period Drama, Biographical, Medieval

3. Mirror (1975)

Genre: Psychological Drama, Drama, Experimental

4. Solaris (1972)

Genre: Sci-Fi, Psychological Drama, Mystery

5. Nostalghia (1983)

Genre: Psychological Drama, Slow Cinema

6. The Sacrifice (1986)

Genre: Drama, Slow Cinema

7. Ivan’s Childhood (1962)

Genre: War, Drama

8. The Steamroller and the Violin (1961)

Genre: Drama

9. Voyage in Time (1983)

Genre: Movie Documentary

10. The Killers (1956)

Genre: Crime, Drama, Film Noir

Andrei Tarkovsky: In Search of Lost Time

The 1960s were awash with cinematic innovation; in France, the New Wave cut up the old in favour of the new; in Italy, they mocked society; and in Russia, they dared to show life as it was, not as the party wished it. At the centre of Russian cinema’s renaissance was Andrei Tarkovsky, a man who would eventually be considered by many the world’s greatest director, a poet who made films about humanity’s soul.

Born in the small village of Zavrazhye in the Ivanovo region of the Soviet Union on April 4, 1932, Tarkovsky grew up immersed in the arts. His father, Arseny Tarkovsky, was a renowned poet whose lyrical, emotive verses seemed to prefigure Andrei’s later cinematic style. His mother, Maria Vishnyakova, often recounted tales of Russian folklore that left an indelible mark on young Andrei. Nature, spirituality, and the poetic sensibilities he inherited from his upbringing were to become central motifs in his films.

By the time Tarkovsky enrolled at the All-Union State Institute of Cinematography (VGIK) in Moscow in 1954, he was already influenced by literature, music, and painting. But it was at VGIK that the future maestro would hone his unique cinematic voice. His mentors, two cinematic giants, Mikhail Romm and Grigori Chukhray, recognised his talent early on.

Romm, in particular, played a seminal role in Tarkovsky’s development. Often regarded as the conscience of Soviet cinema, Romm’s films exemplified a delicate balance between the State’s demands and personal artistic expression. Under Romm’s tutelage, Tarkovsky was encouraged to delve deep into the human psyche, an endeavour that became a hallmark of his work. Chukhray, known for his war dramas, perhaps instilled in Tarkovsky an appreciation for the gritty realism of human struggles juxtaposed against grand, philosophical backdrops.

At VGIK, Tarkovsky also met another influential figure: Andrei Konchalovsky. Both students at the time they co-wrote Tarkovsky’s diploma film, The Steamroller and the Violin. While not as complex as Tarkovsky’s later works, this short film already displayed signs of his distinct visual language. It tells the touching story of a young boy, a violinist, who forms an unlikely friendship with a steamroller driver. The juxtaposition of the fragile strings of the violin against the mechanical behemoth of the steamroller prefigured Tarkovsky’s lifelong obsession with contrasts – nature vs. technology, spirituality vs. materialism, dreams vs. reality.

Tarkovsky’s full-fledged foray into feature filmmaking came with Ivan’s Childhood. A war film unlike any other, it delved into the psychological trauma experienced by a young boy scout during World War II. With this work, Tarkovsky revealed his already fully developed talent. His use of dream sequences, lush nature shots, and his penchant for long takes were already evident, hinting at the masterpieces that were to follow.

However, besides his talent, Tarkovsky was also lucky; the changing Soviet society gave him opportunities few Russian directors had. The “Khrushchev Thaw”, a period of liberalisation and relative artistic freedom that began in the mid-1950s under Premier Nikita Khrushchev, was at its height as Tarkovsky graduated from film school.

This newfound freedom led to a renaissance in Soviet cinema and an opening to foreign films. Filmmakers, including Tarkovsky, began drawing inspiration from both Western and Eastern cinematic traditions. There’s a clear echo of Italian neorealism in Ivan’s Childhood and a dabbling in the meditative qualities of Japanese cinema. Yet, what made Tarkovsky exceptional was his ability to synthesise these influences into a style that was unmistakably his own, profoundly Russian in its depth and soul.

It was with this freedom and relative creative liberty that Tarkovsky embarked upon the film that cemented him as an all-timer: Andrei Rublev. Named after the 15th-century Russian icon painter, this sprawling epic paints a multifaceted portrait of a nation undergoing tumultuous change. Tarkovsky’s layered narrative explores artistic freedom, faith, and the resilience of the human spirit. The film’s masterful episodic structure, juxtaposed against the life of its titular protagonist, showcases Tarkovsky’s ability to navigate complex temporal spaces, seamlessly transitioning from dream to memory to reality.

What’s more, Andrei Rublev is a study in contrasts. The serene spirituality of monastery life is pitted against the brutality of Tartar raids, and the mundanities of peasant existence find their counterpoint in the meditative introspection of a gifted artist. By framing these contrasts against the broader canvas of Russian history, Tarkovsky not only made a film about an icon painter but also an iconic film about Russia itself.

It took six years for his next project, which took him four years to make. Solaris was a sci-fi film from a man who had little time for the genre. It was, as expected, a singular take on science fiction. Adapted from Stanisław Lem’s novel, “Solaris” is less about space exploration and more a journey into the human psyche.

While many superficially compare it to Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey for its space setting and contemplative tone, Tarkovsky’s film delves deeper into the emotional terrain of love, loss, and memory. The sentient planet Solaris, which materialises human memories, becomes a potent metaphor for the inescapable pull of the past and our intrinsic need for connection.

In 1975’s Mirror, perhaps his most personal and elliptical film, Tarkovsky blurs the lines between autobiography and fiction. An intricate mosaic of memories, dreams, and newsreel footage, the film reflects on Tarkovsky’s childhood, his relationship with his parents, and Russia’s turbulent 20th century. Unlike linear narratives, Mirror revels in its non-chronological structure, inviting viewers to experience the fluidity of time and memory. Its poetic visuals and the haunting strains of its soundtrack create an evocative, dream-like experience. As the title suggests, it is a mirror into Tarkovsky’s soul but also a reflection of a collective consciousness, a shared history that resonates with universal truths.

Yet, Tarkovsky’s transcendent art clashed with the more earthbound constraints of state censors and financial gatekeepers, especially as Krushev’s thaw ended and a more hardline state arose. Making films in the Soviet Union, particularly ones that eschewed propaganda and instead delved into the philosophical, was no small feat. Each of Tarkovsky’s projects faced delays, revisions, and sometimes outright bans.

Andrei Rublev, with its unflinching portrayal of violence and a candid exploration of faith, was deemed too politically sensitive and faced a two-year delay before its release. Mirror, with its deeply personal and non-linear narrative, baffled many Soviet critics and officials. It was not the kind of cinema the state expected or wanted, and Tarkovsky often found himself defending his art and vision.

Still, as with any great artist, he kept on keeping on, and in 1979, he created a haunting meditation on desire, faith and meaning, Stalker. Set in a dystopian world, the film follows three characters, the Stalker, the Writer, and the Professor, as they journey through the mysterious ‘Zone’, a place where one’s innermost desires supposedly come true. While its allegorical undertones can be interpreted in myriad ways – spiritual quest, commentary on artistic creation, or even a reflection on the state of the Soviet Union – Tarkovsky’s emphasis is on the journey rather than the destination.

After Stalker, Tarkovsky’s gaze shifted westward. 1983’s Nostalghia, filmed in Italy, is a poignant exploration of exile, longing, and displacement. The film, which revolves around a Russian poet wandering through Italian landscapes, mirrors Tarkovsky’s own sense of estrangement from his motherland. With its lengthy shots, melancholic atmosphere, and profound introspection, Nostalghia was Tarkovsky’s ode to a homeland he would never return to.

By the early 1980s, Tarkovsky’s relationship with Soviet authorities had deteriorated beyond repair. Frustrated with the constant censorship and the lack of artistic freedom, he made the painful decision to leave the Soviet Union. This departure was not only physical but also marked a shift in his cinematic themes. The homeland, memories of it, and the pain of exile would feature prominently in his final film.

The Sacrifice, produced in Sweden, is a culmination of his artistic and philosophical pursuits. Steeped in existential dread, the film grapples with the potential end of civilisation and one man’s desperate act of faith to prevent it. Thematically rich and visually arresting, it showcases Tarkovsky’s uncanny ability to wrestle with weighty subjects while retaining a deeply personal touch.

Tragically, that’s where Tarkovsky’s story stopped. He never got to enjoy more of the creative liberty of the West. On December 29, 1986, Andrei Tarkovsky succumbed to lung cancer, leaving behind a relatively small but profoundly influential body of work. He was just 54.

Of course, he isn’t forgotten. He left his mark. Abbas Kiarostami‘s poetic depictions of Iranian life bear a reflective quality reminiscent of Tarkovsky’s introspective style. Krzysztof Kieślowski‘s Dekalog series and films like Blue showcase a spiritual depth and moral inquiry akin to Tarkovsky’s explorations. Nuri Bilge Ceylan‘s contemplative narratives, especially in Once Upon a Time in Anatolia, owe much to Tarkovsky’s influence. Michael Haneke‘s rigorous examination of society and the human psyche shares Tarkovsky’s unflinching gaze.

You can get bogged down talking about Tarkovsky; there’s a lot to say about his importance: slow cinema, long takes, dreamy sequences and philosophical dialogues. But what really mattered about him and his work was his unwavering commitment to peering into humanity’s soul.

Most Underrated Film

Caught between the towering reputations of his earlier Soviet masterpieces and the intense emotional weight of his final offering, The Sacrifice, it’s easy to overlook Nostalghia. But to sidestep the film is to miss out on one of Tarkovsky’s most intimate and deeply personal works.

Produced during Tarkovsky’s self-imposed exile in Italy, Nostalghia is a poignant reflection on displacement and longing. It follows a Russian poet named Andrei, an alter ego of Tarkovsky himself, traversing the mist-laden landscapes of Italy. The film has an almost tangible ache as the protagonist grapples with the dual pull of his homeland and his present surroundings.

Even by Tarkovsky’s standards, the film is meandering and slowly paced with a typical impenetrable narrative. Does it, at times, almost feel a bit too Tarkovsky? Yes. But that’s kind of why it’s so great. The drawn-out shots are not merely stylistic choices; they embody the film’s central theme: a deep yearning, a stretching out towards something forever elusive. The film is a mood piece, a symphony of emotions that resonate with anyone who has felt out of place or time.

Is it underrated? No. Of course not. No Tarkovsky film is underrated. He has such a short filmography that nearly every film has been given the once-over at least ten times. Every inch of these films is in the canon, but Nostalghia feels like it gets the least look-in of all his movies. It’s quieter than the others, but its whisper speaks volumes. It beckons with the promise of finding beauty in melancholy, and in a world constantly on the move, its meditation on stillness and reflection feels more relevant than ever.

Andrei Tarkovsky: Themes & Style

Themes

Spiritual Quests: Tarkovsky’s films consistently explore man’s spiritual journey, grappling with questions of faith, existence, and purpose. From the icon painter in Andrei Rublev to the scientists in Solaris, characters embark on inner pilgrimages.
Nature vs. Technology: He often contrasts the natural world with the man-made, hinting at an underlying tension between the two. Stalker, for instance, juxtaposes the dystopian world outside the ‘Zone’ with its lush, untouched landscapes.
Time and Memory: Tarkovsky’s narratives transcend conventional linear storytelling, blurring the lines between past, present, and future. Films like Mirror explore the fluidity of memory.

Styles

Long Takes: Tarkovsky is renowned for using long, unbroken shots. These takes allow the viewer to immerse deeply into the scene, fostering contemplation.
Atmospheric Soundscapes: His films often employ natural sounds – rain, wind, fire crackling – enhancing the sensory experience and setting an atmospheric tone.
Visually Poetic: Tarkovsky’s imagery leans towards the poetic and symbolic. Scenes are meticulously composed, often resembling moving paintings.
Non-linear Narratives: His stories often shift seamlessly between dreams, memories, and reality, challenging viewers to actively engage with the film’s temporal flow.

Directorial Signature

Elemental Imagery: Water, fire, earth, and air frequently recur in his films, symbolising various themes from purification to destruction. Rain indoors in “Stalker” or the levitating glass in “Solaris” are emblematic.
Mirror Reflections: Literal and figurative reflections are common. Mirrors, puddles, or reflective surfaces often capture characters in introspection.
Slow Pacing: Unlike many contemporary filmmakers, Tarkovsky takes his time, allowing scenes to unfold organically. This pacing invites viewers to marinate in the film’s atmosphere and internalise its deeper meanings.
Personal Touch: Tarkovsky’s films often draw from his experiences, memories, and emotions.

Bronze Screen Dream