Andrei Rublev

This weekend I saw Andrei Rublev. This is the third Andrei Tarkovsky film I’ve seen. I had previously seen Stalker (which I hated) and Solaris (which I found alternatingly beautiful and silly). Andrei Rublev went a long way towards revealing Tarkovsky to me as something more than a pretentious self-righteous hack. I still think he is pretentious and self-righteous, but Rublev illustrated a mastery that I really didn’t see in the previous two films. My thoughts on the movie are mixed. During the intermission, someone asked me what I thought so far, and I didn’t know how to answer. I still don’t, really. But I’ll give it a shot here.

First off, I have to talk about the introduction the movie received. A local podcaster named Jett Loe gave the introduction. I’m now convinced he’s a complete tool. He began his introduction, not by talking about the film itself, but about the audience that doesn’t get it. It’s their fault, you see. They’ve been conditioned by commercial cinema. He suggested we have Hitchcock to blame by focusing on suspense and cultivating and interest in “what happens next.” Of course to blame Hitchcock is to suggest that Hitchcock created suspense. It also ignores thousands of years of storytelling, much of which used suspense and mystery to engage the audience. Of course, this is not his point. He’s trying to build Tarkovsky up by tearing other filmmakers down. He went on to suggest that Hitchcock is responsible for such modern abominations as Michael Bay. Playing the Michael Bay card in cinema discussions is like playing the Hitler card in politics. It’s cheap, lazy, and ultimately cheapens your point regardless of what it is. He then went on an obligatory tangent about how watching Michael Bay is like getting assaulted. I agree that he is rough viewing for anyone with a passing interest in film, but can’t someone discuss the attributes of a film or filmmaker without having to evoke the names of those one deems lesser? Welcome to modern discussion. Blaming the audience of course undermines the technical craftsmanship that Tarkovsky does bring to the movie. He gave a half-assed rant against modern film by pointing out how flesh tones and teal are tweaked in modern cinematography – a practice that will instantly date them. Andrei Rublev remains timeless because there are no techniques to date it! This assumes that the washed out black and white that was so prevalent in the mid-sixties does not count as a technique or look. 

He then went on to announce that Andrei Rublev may be the only movie in existence to feel as if there is no camera present at all. It is that compelling an experience! I swear I’ve heard this assertion made about five different movies at the Belcourt in the last year alone. He capped off the discussion with a quote from Tarkovsky himself:

The problem with young people is their carrying out noisy and aggressive actions not to feel lonely – and this is a sad thing – the individual must learn to be on his own as a child – for this doesn’t mean to be alone: it means not get bored with oneself which is a various dangerous symptom, almost a disease.

Not only is Tarkovsky a filmmaker, he is also an amateur psychologist (a cursory search online failed to produce proof to this effect). That night, I heard a bit of dialogue on Mad Men that instantly reminded me of this quote. A daughter tells her mother she is bored, to which her mother quips, “Only boring people get bored.” On the show, this was clearly a dismissive bullshit aphorism meant to silence someone. I wonder if Tarkovsky gave his quote as a reaction to a criticism of his movie. If so, it seems like an ugly response to suggest a critic’s point is negated by some deep psychological “disease”. To be honest, I suspect the quote is either fabricated or altered (as film history anecdotes tend to be). Regardless, the quickness to repeat the quote in introducing the movie reveals the speaker to be the kind of knee-jerk online commentator who answers differing opinions not with interest and consideration, but with character assault. It’s classier than “Fuck you and your opinions,” and better cited than the I’m-taking-the-high-road dismissal of “I respectfully disagree.” 

Now to give him his due: these introductions are not easy. I’ve been to a lot of these introductions and have seen how difficult it is to lead a discussion on these films and engage the audience and not come off as something other than a raging fanboy. I certainly don’t think I could do it. Even if I were to talk about my favorite movies, I’m too nervous having private one-on-one conversations. I could never speak in front of people. But most of the discussions take place after the film – in an effort to invite discussion with the audience. Here, it took place before – killing an organized discussion. That may be for the best, as I don’t think I could have sat through another rapturous masturbatory exaltation of the movie at the expense of other filmmakers or ideas. 

Now to talk about the movie itself: I have issues with Tarkovsky, as you may have ascertained. But my issues do not necessarily stem from the idea that he is too slow or boring for me to stomach, which is what everyone assumes. I’m an atheist, and I love to see that depicted with some thought in films. I’m not immediately averse to God talk in movies. That doesn’t bother me. This film, like many religious films, does criticize the church (as an institution) in its praise of faith and spirituality. What does bother me is how Tarkovsky relentlessly equates faith with a disdain for intellectualism. The speech at the end of Stalker, after all the ranting previous in the film, was flat out offensive – equating science with nihilism. With Andrei Rublev, the anti-intellectualism is more nuanced and considered. It is mostly represented by the character of Kirill, a monk who hasn’t read a book in ten years and plans never to read another. His fate is somewhat ironic considering that he ends up copying the scripture fifteen times. Early in the film, Kirill rants to Theophanes that spreading knowledge is akin to spreading sorrow. He goes on to state that ignorance is better, because it allows one to follow his heart. This is followed through at the end of the movie when a bell maker’s son, upon completion of constructing a working bell, confides in Rublev that his father had NOT passed down the secret of casting bells as the kid had led everyone to believe. In fact, he did it by following his heart and crap. This secret inspires Rublev to go back and paint “icons”. (Of course, in doing this, the young bell maker deceives everyone and takes advantage of their faith in him.) This sore point for Tarkovsky will always remain a sore point that I am unable to reconcile with. It will ultimately never enable me to fully embrace Tarkovsky. 

What I do find engaging about that final moment is that Rublev is only able to return to painting after some life experience. So am I to assume that information is bad while only experience is good? I will grumble about that while moving on. I wonder how much of this comes from Tarkovsky himself, and how much is in the translation. As for his shooting style, I’m not a fan of slow motion or cutting to horses doing somersaults. These things feel too self-consciously important to me. But Tarkovsky is not one to engage the audience by keeping them guessing. He leaves them with drawn out imagery to that they may sit with their thoughts and reflect. He does not draw out moments in Andrei Rublev as he will with Solaris and Stalker, but he does keep the pace deliberate. 

Regardless, most of my reservations are swayed by the glorious, beautiful camera work. Andrei Rublev is miles more beautiful than either Stalker or Solaris. The washed out black and white is luminously stark. The relentless gray skies glowing through bare tree branches. The sea of mud. The hardened faces. Cold, empty chambers and fake birds gliding over intricate battle scenes below. The movie is a pleasure to look at – particularly during the bell casting sequence in which most of the characters have shut the hell up. If Tarkovsky movies contained no dialogue and existed solely on visuals, I would love this film. 

The movie is violent in parts, as it needs to be. The only moment that made me ache though, was the horse falling down the stairs. According to Wikipedia, the horse was actually injured, tortured, and killed. That moment was clearly not faked and hurt to watch. 

Now a genuine question: Tarkovsky seems very humorless to me. The jester at the beginning is not especially funny (on purpose?) and is played for tragic effect. But there is one moment that I would have normally laughed at loud at. But in this audience, I feared that the film was to be taken with such reverence that laughter might be to imply a heavy-handedness in the film. During one scene, Rublev encounters pagans (“Witchcraft!”). This scene involves numerous women bouncing about naked. As Rublev approaches one, he steps too close to a campfire and his robe catches fire. This seemed like a deliberate visual gag to me, but since no one else in the theater laughed (including the speaker who introduced the movie), I wondered if I had misread the scene. Surely it’s not a deliberate attempt at subtle symbolism. Is it okay to laugh at a Tarkovsky movie? 

During his introduction, the speaker claimed that Tarkovsky strips away everything that is unnecessary in his filmmaking process. This is not true. As a storyteller, he is repetitive. He lacks economy. And he hits some of his points too hard, which only stands out because he is such a master of deliberate subtlety. But the man is not about telling a story. No one should pretend he is. Tarkovsky is about creating a mood and crafting slow burning visuals (at least when his characters aren’t ranting about the evils of knowledge!). His universe is depressive. His characters are self-righteous. Andrei Rublev is a beautiful movie, and I’m glad I got to see it on the big screen. I may even sit through it again someday as there is still much to unpack from it. On a single viewing, it feels as if many interesting themes fall away at the expense of the follow-your-heart-not-your-head agenda. I need to see it again to ponder the outlying ideas. Still, I have not turned around on how I feel about Tarkovsky. His movies are both awe-inspiring and frustrating in their singularity. Now if somebody were to ask me again what I think about the movie . . . I still don’t know what to say.