Tarkovsky's role in the Soviet Union was ambiguous. Whilst not overtly critical of the regime, it is clear that his films do not align themselves with the authorities. It is clear from a film like Andrei Rublev that, for Tarkovsky, the role of the 'artist' is to create, inquire and discuss in the face of oppression. The rigid atheism characteristic of the Soviet regime was also completely discrepant to what mattered mostly to Tarkovksy - spirituality and the need for the individual to reflect on his place in Earth. Tarkovsky's films look 'inside' rather than 'outside' and, in such political surroundings, it is a small miracle that his films were made.
The painter Andrei Rublev can only create within a society in a state of turmoil. Set in 15th century Russia, around the time the country became Tsarist, it is clear that Rublev is dependant on the carnage and exploitation surrounding him to unearth his mural paintings. Continuously brooding and rationalising everything, he turns to orthodox Christianity to give him some sort of moral compass and purpose. An invasion of the Tartars, which completely devastate and maim the community he has lived in, leads him toward a vow of silence. He devotedly keeps to his word, only until the construction and casting of a bell makes him review of his decision. This bell has been built with such scrupulous craftsmanship that he is awed. It becomes clear that the creation of art, in its most crafted and disciplined form, can lead to transcendence and resolution. When the bell clangs toward the end of the film, Rublev knows it and the audience knows it.
Another clear theme that runs through most of Tarkovsky's films is memory. It is an illusory concept, often leading to grief and misconceptions. This is beautifully explored in Mirror. The structure of the narrative generally pans out in accordance with the narrator's notions of past and present. Scenes transpire in relation to what the narrator is actually going through in his everyday waking life. His tormented issues with his mother, his estrangement from his son, the fractured relationship with his wife, dream recollections, etc. All these elements ebb and flow as he tries to make sense of his broken family relationships. The narrative is seldom linear because of the wavering nature of memory and human thought. I have seen the film three times now and each viewing is different and revelatory.
Having spoken of dream sequences above, I'll just make the small remark that they are the closest I've seen to real dreams in any representational art. Some people say that the surrealist visions of Dali, Bosch, Ernst etc. are dream-like, but to me they really aren't. The dreams in Tarkovsky's films often take place in enclosed spaces and scenes often shift from one place to the other. Natural elements - fire, water, snow, etc. - often feature. (In a scene in Solaris, the protagonist visits his father, gazing into the home from outside his window pane. It is raining within the house, rather than outside. This is a warped logic often characteristic of dreams.) He certainly is a director who manages somehow to pierce into your skull. Three or four months after seeing my first Tarkovsky film, Solaris, I had a series of dreams influenced by the film's atmosphere.
A tangential theme of interest is that of the characters' wishes and what exactly these wishes mean and involve. There is often something hazardous in the Tarkovsky film about striving after an impossible goal. In Solaris, the planet where the astronaut resides in, the nostalgia for his deceased wife leads to her resuscitation. They are impermeable to one another and the film constant reminds the viewer that his wife is unearthed because of his unstable mind. The possible radiation (it is unclear in the film if this is the case) that the planet emits destabilises and fractures the lucidity and rationality of his waking thought. Likewise, in the flabbergasting film Stalker, the three characters become crazed by the toxicity of 'The Zone'. It is a place capable of unearthing their innermost wishes, but the locality drives them toward insanity. In the end, they are few yards away from the room granting them their wish, but they are unable to walk in. This is not only because it might be too dangerous, they are unable to confront the inner demons and fears that reside within their quixotic and yearning minds.
Another reason why his films mean so much to me is the constant recurrence of nature. The scenes depicting wildlife, plains, fields, swamps, forests are irresistibly shot. Tarkovsky could be considered a modernist in the sense that his films can often be structurally elliptical and theatrically undramatic. However, he is a romanticist in the way he turns to nature for inspiration and the way the reflection of nature helps as individuals and our purpose in the world. Most modernist 20th century artists turned to urbanity and the hoopla of living in a high-octane community. Tarkovsky jettisons all that and returns to the object of fascination of Wordsworth and so many other 19th century artists - the immensity of nature and the reflectivity it provokes.
His characters are often populated by children. (Most notably with the child protagonist in Ivan's Childhood.) A scene that I recall is in Mirror when the protagonist's son leafs through a large book. It seems to invoke the feeling of raging curiosity and inquisitiveness. Children feature throughout Tarkovsky's film because they know less. As a result, they perceive situations and concepts far more vividly. Too much knowledge seems to be very perilous indeed to Tarkovksy - just look at what it leads The Writer, The Scientist and the Stalker toward in Stalker...
So, above I provided a few notes as to why Tarkovsky's films mean so much to me. These are themes that I personally connect with and inform my sense of purpose in the world...
