Mirror

Dir: Andrei Tarkovsky

1975

*****

It’s impossible to say which is Andrei Tarkovsky’s greatest work, it’s too subjective. It is also too difficult to suggest which of his works has been the most influential, on one hand I’d argue Solaris was but then I look back at Andrei Rublev and change my mind. In many respects Mirror is the concluding part to both of his previous films. A poster of 1966’s Andrei Rublev is seen on a wall in one scene which makes me think Mirror forms the third part of a sort of trilogy, together with Tarkovsky's previous film Solaris which was made in 1972 and which references Andrei Rublev by having an icon made by him being placed in the main character's room. So that’s a series of three films all referencing Andrei Rublev. It isn’t some sort of self-referencing product placement or an act of egotistical narcissism. I think you can see a definite change in his films from Mirror onward. Tarkovsky's own comments about the film reflect how special the film was for him: "As I began work on Mirror I found myself reflecting more and more that if you are serious about your work, then a film is not the next item in your career, it is an action which will affect the whole of your life. For I had made up my mind that in this film, for the first time, I would use the means of cinema to talk of all that was most precious to me, and do so directly, without playing any kinds of tricks." This is perhaps, in part, why so many critics, fans and film makers have declared Mirror his greatest achievement. The film’s structure follows a non-linear narrative, almost like the recalling of memory. There is a remarkable fluidity to the often confusing memories recalled by a dying poet based on and narrated by Tarkovsky's own father Arseny (who in reality would outlive his son by three years). These memories feature particularly meaningful moments from the poet Alexei’s family life as well as that of the Russian people as a whole during the tumultuous events of the twentieth century. In an effort to represent these themes visually, the film combines contemporary scenes with childhood memories, dreams, and newsreel footage. Its cinematography slips, often unpredictably, between color, black-and-white, and sepia. The film's loose flow of visually oneiric images, combined with its rich, and often symbolic imagery has been compared with the stream of consciousness technique in modernist literature. Alexei is followed as a child and as a forty year old, the film switching between one and the other, making the film quite unconventional and almost as if we’re watching three different films. The only thing the separates the films are the time frames, as they are predominantly set prewar (1935), war-time (1940s), and postwar (1960s and '70s). The story draws heavily on Tarkovsky's own childhood. Memories such as the evacuation from Moscow to the countryside during the war, a withdrawn father and his own mother, who actually worked as a proof-reader at a printing press, feature prominently. The film opens with Alexei's adolescent son Ignat switching on a television and watching the examination of a stammerer by a physician. After the opening titles roll, a scene is set in the countryside during prewar times in which Alexei's mother Maria (Margarita Terekhova) talks with a doctor (Anatoli Solonitsyn) who chances to be passing by. The exterior and interior of Alexei's grandfather's country house are seen before we witness young Alexei, his mother and sister watch as the family barn burns down. In a dream sequence Maria is washing her hair. Now in the postwar time-frame, Alexei is heard talking with his mother Maria on the phone while rooms of an apartment are seen. Switching back to the prewar time-frame, Maria is seen rushing frantically to her work-place as a proof-reader at a printing press. She is worrying about a mistake she may have overlooked, but is comforted by her colleague Liza (Alla Demidova), who then abruptly reduces her to tears with withering criticism. Back in postwar time, Alexei quarrels with his wife, Natalia (also played by Margarita Terekhova), who has divorced him and is living with their son Ignat. This is followed by news-reel scenes from the Spanish Civil War and of a balloon ascent in the U.S.S.R. In the next scene, set in Alexei's apartment, Ignat meets with a strange woman (Tamara Ogorodnikova) sitting at a table. At her request, Ignat reads a passage from a letter by Pushkin and receives a telephone call from his father Alexei. The strange woman vanishes mysteriously. Switching to war-time, the adolescent Alexei is seen undergoing rifle training with a dour instructor, intercut with news-reel footage of World War II and the Sino-Soviet border conflict. We then witness the reunion of Alexei and his sister with their father (Oleg Yankovsky) at the end of the war. The film then returns to the quarrel between Alexei and his wife Natalia in the postwar sequence. Switching again to prewar time, vistas of the country house and surrounding countryside are followed by a dreamlike sequence showing a levitating Maria. The film then moves to the postwar time, showing Alexei apparently on his death-bed with a mysterious malady. The final scene plays in the prewar time-frame, showing a pregnant mother, Maria, intercut with scenes showing Maria young and old. (Old Maria is played by Tarkovsky's own mother, Maria Vishnyakova). The concept of Mirror dates as far back as 1964, when Tarkovsky wrote down his idea for a film about the dreams and memories of a man, though without the man appearing on screen as he would in a conventional film. The first episodes of Mirror were written while Tarkovsky was working on Andrei Rublev. These episodes were published as a short story under the title A White Day in 1970. The title was taken from a 1942 poem by his father, Arseny Tarkovsky. In 1968, after having finished Andrei Rublev, Tarkovsky went to the cinematographer's resort in Repino intending to write the script for The Mirror together with Aleksandr Misharin. This script was titled Confession and was proposed to the film committee at Goskino. Although it contained popular themes such as war, patriotism, a heroic mother etc, the proposal was turned down. The main reason was most likely the complex and unconventional nature of the script. Moreover, Tarkovsky and Misharin clearly stated that they did not know what the final form of the film would be – this was to be determined in the process of filming. With the script being turned down by the film committee, Tarkovsky went on to make Solaris. The script was finally approved by the new head of Goskino in 1973. Tarkovsky was given a budget of 622,000 Soviet ruble and 7500 metres of Kodak film, corresponding to 110 minutes, or roughly three takes. Several versions of the script for Mirror exist, as Tarkovsky constantly rewrote parts of the script, with the latest variant of the script written in 1974 while he was in Italy. One scene that was in the script but that was removed during shooting was an interview with his mother. Tarkovsky wanted to use a hidden camera to interview her on the pretext that it was research for the film. This scene was one of the main reasons why Vadim Yusov, who was the camera-man for all of Tarkovsky's previous films refused to work with him on this film. At various times, the script and the film was known under the titles Confession, Redemption, Martyrology, Why are you standing so far away?, The Raging Stream and A White, White Day (sometimes also translated as A Bright, Bright Day). Only while filming Tarkovsky decided to finally title the film Mirror. (The final film does indeed feature several mirrors with some scenes shot in reflection.) it’s hard to think of another film that delves so deeply into the human psyche and without pulling punches or becoming cliché. Tarkovsky edited 33 versions of the film, the 33rd being the one he eventually decided on. While the film is clearly personal it is one of those journeys that the viewer can relate to, each one as individual as the next. It’s finding that right balance that makes Tarkovsky’s films so compelling. It’s all subjective, it means different things to different people and yet everyone can agree on its brilliance. The sign of a true master of cinema.