Tarkovsky
Nathan Dunne, Editor
Reviewed by Noah Charney
Andrei Tarkovsky’s films are at once incredibly beautiful and intimidating. They are slowly paced, full of iconographically-suggestive imagery, and do not possess a standard narrative format. The plots, if they may be considered as such, often focus on a single act that we viewers must assume is full of symbolic meaning, but is difficult to excavate. Nostalghia (1973), for instance, may be summarized thus: a Russian writer travels through Italy with his Italian translator, becomes fascinated by an old man who infamously locked his family in their home for many years, and then walks across an empty pool with an illuminated candle. Like film versions of Magritte paintings, we are drawn into the mystery, to decipher the symbolism, clawing away the soil for a shard of diamond, a moment of beautiful truth revealed when the tumblers click into place. Each action must surely be a metaphor. But we are on our own to understand it. Metaphor aside, we might be satisfied with the aching beauty of the images — Tarkovsky film as gorgeous slide show. But with a little help, we can see what is already before our eyes, though hidden behind a veil called symbolism.
Nathan Dunne’s Tarkovsky is the best and most important book written on the Russian director Andrei Tarkovsky (1932-1986), author of only seven feature films. Tarkovsky’s name provokes both awe and eye-rolling. He is idolized by film students and those who distinguish “films” from “movies.” But many viewers (and still more who hear about, but do not see his films) consider him to be the poster-boy for overly-cerebral opaque art films. The films edify, but perhaps do not entertain. This may be a legitimate complaint, as the films avoid standard narrative and rarely possess a clear plot. They are slow, symbolic, and gorgeous to look at — all signifiers of the oft-dreaded and too often dismissive term “artsy.” But who is to say that entertainment, in the manner of the current quick-cuts-hyper-edited-remote-control generation, is the better path? Tarkovsky is not easy to watch. His films require active thought on the part of the viewer. They possess none of the passive “entertain me!” pleasure of today’s movies. Consider Tarkovsky’s films as Balzac novels, as slide shows of haunting images that suggest symbolism, but need not be read “correctly” in order to appreciate the beauty and mystery inherent in them, and his works become more digestible.
In many ways, those who would buy a ticket to see a Tarkovsky film are already those most likely to admire it. As a result, Tarkovsky boasts a passionate, tiny audience of intelligent viewers who love the art form known as film. To love Tarkovsky is a sign of intelligence and patience, requiring an almost 19th-century aesthetic appreciation.
Dunne’s book, published by the elegant UK press Black Dog, is a collection of essays by academics and film makers who, as Dunne himself states in his introduction, avoid the common snares of deifying or dismissing the film maker, the two most common approaches to past criticism and praise, and provide intelligent essays on a variety of aspects of his work.
The list of contributors is impressive, headed up by Jean-Paul Sartre. A letter of his in support of Tarkovsky’s first feature film, Ivan’s Childhood (1962), is translated into English for the first time. How many essay collections can boast a new contribution from Sartre, rendered even more impressive by the fact that Sartre has been deceased for many years? Dunne’s powers of editing necromancy carry over to his living contributors, a definitive list from the relatively small community of Tarkovsky scholars around the world. Two selections by film makers who worked with Tarkovsky are particularly welcome. And Dunne’s “curation” of this collection is well-considered, thoughtful, and lovingly presented.
The book is generously, lavishly illustrated. The essays are clear and intelligent. They will be ideal for true Tarkovsky devotees and film students, though it should be noted that they do not provide step-by-step exegeses of the films, and therefore are not suitable as annotations for those seeking a key to the symbolism. This is a film student’s film book about a film lover’s film maker. And future such books would do well to emulate this excellent example.
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About the Reviewer:
Noah Charney is the author of THE ART THIEF and the founding director
of ARCA, the Association for Research into Crimes against Art (www.artcrime.info).
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