The Andrei Tarkovsky Companion

By Gareth Evans

Andrei Tarkovsky

A trinity of documentaries throw light and dark on the essential oeuvre

Anyone who has seen any of Tarkovsky’s films and been significantly touched by them, might approach this highly distinguished new release in two minds. So personal are the late Russian film-maker’s works, both to him and to his viewers, so open to reading and response, that surrounding commentary, beyond intelligent exchange around the production, release etc, might seem irrelevant, irritating or worse, an attempt to reduce and contain within fixed parameters what are among the most remarkable artworks of the twentieth century. A parallel response might acknowledge the profound and specific soil out of which Tarkovsky, his films and aspiration grew, and might seek contextualising reference, insight and informed analysis, after which the artefacts themselves would appear even more luminous, earthed and aloft at the same time.

This release offers documentaries that support both opinions. It is taken as given that the availability now of Tarkovsky’s own and only documentary, Tempo di Viaggio, is cause for celebration. Made in the difficult period following his voluntary and lonely exile to the West, it charts location scouting and early preparations for his 1983 feature Nostalghia, alongside extended conversations with its co-writer, the great Tonino Guerra. Not only for completists, this is a valuable document of the creative process, filmic or otherwise.

Aleksandr Sokurov’s personal tribute, Moscow Elegy, while drawing on footage from Tempo... is far from illuminating however. Speaking far more about the maker than its subject, it’s a poorly assembled and formally distancing take on a pivotal mentor that makes one yearn for the vitality and quiet optimism of Tarkovsky’s own work.

Chris Marker’s One Day in the Life of Andrei Arsenevitch, on the other hand, is perhaps the best film yet made by one (great) film-maker about another. A revelatory document, loving, lucid and lyrical, on the elemental structuring of Tarkovsky’s work, it marries moving footage of the terminally ill director shooting and struggling to finish his final film The Sacrifice with an exemplary assessment of the films and their importance, humane, humble and always open. In its own essential way, it too is a masterpiece.

Anyone who has seen any of Tarkovsky’s films and been significantly touched by them, might approach this highly distinguished new release in two minds. So personal are the late Russian film-maker’s works, both to him and to his viewers, so open to reading and response, that surrounding commentary, beyond intelligent exchange around the production, release etc, might seem irrelevant, irritating or worse, an attempt to reduce and contain within fixed parameters what are among the most remarkable artworks of the twentieth century. A parallel response might acknowledge the profound and specific soil out of which Tarkovsky, his films and aspiration grew, and might seek contextualising reference, insight and informed analysis, after which the artefacts themselves would appear even more luminous, earthed and aloft at the same time.

This release offers documentaries that support both opinions. It is taken as given that the availability now of Tarkovsky’s own and only documentary, Tempo di Viaggio, is cause for celebration. Made in the difficult period following his voluntary and lonely exile to the West, it charts location scouting and early preparations for his 1983 feature Nostalghia, alongside extended conversations with its co-writer, the great Tonino Guerra. Not only for completists, this is a valuable document of the creative process, filmic or otherwise.

Aleksandr Sokurov’s personal tribute, Moscow Elegy, while drawing on footage from Tempo… is far from illuminating however. Speaking far more about the maker than its subject, it’s a poorly assembled and formally distancing take on a pivotal mentor that makes one yearn for the vitality and quiet optimism of Tarkovsky’s own work.

Chris Marker’s One Day in the Life of Andrei Arsenevitch, on the other hand, is perhaps the best film yet made by one (great) film-maker about another. A revelatory document, loving, lucid and lyrical, on the elemental structuring of Tarkovsky’s work, it marries moving footage of the terminally ill director shooting and struggling to finish his final film The Sacrifice with an exemplary assessment of the films and their importance, humane, humble and always open. In its own essential way, it too is a masterpiece.

The Andrei Tarkovsky Companion is available on dvd from Artificial Eye.

Visit the best website on all things Tarkovskian, nostalghia.com/" target="_blank">www.nostalghia.com