#IgnatDaniltsev

[doomonfilm]

Thoughts : Mirror (1975)

In my circle of cinematic fiends searching for what’s on the verge of becoming Kino on a widespread level, I’ve started to see a recent resurgence and groundswell of interest of Russian film icon Andrei Tarkovsky.  There has always been a deep underground love and respect for Stalker, Andrei Rublev and Solaris (not to mention his other handful of outstanding works), but recently, Mirror has started to take hold of the public consciousness.  With it’s hauntingly beautiful observations and reflections on childhood, it’s easy to see why the film would be respected purely on its artistic merit, but with Criterion Collection recently joining the parade of praise, I decided it was time to give Mirror a proper viewing.

The powerfully unironic weight of Mirror as the title for this deeply personal and reflective film is not lost on me.  Tarkovsky’s approach to reimagining the inherently understood unconditional love presented by his mother from her perspective is told in a breathtakingly and achingly beautiful fashion, like the best elements of a diary and a journal mixed together in a visual fashion.  The mixture of Russian history, familial reflection and poetic nostalgia intertwined into the presentation of Mirror is a powerful set of united threads that helps fortify the visual switches present, giving us a keen awareness of the distinct times we are visiting within the run of the film.  Time is not only messed with on a large, cyclical scale, but it is also examined in terms of in the moment experiences, like the disjointed nature of the grenade scare or the way that Liza chasing Maria down the hall transitions between standard time and extremely expressive slow motion.  Having a narrator is normally a somewhat distracting and seeming condescending element, but having a poetic and spiritual narrator that doesn’t explain to you exactly what you’re seeing works as a parallel to the visual stimulus provided in the case of Mirror.

Like many directors of the time, Tarkovsky stood as a sign of the land he emerged from, with his art being staunchly Russian in terms of the economic disparity, the looming shadow of war and the neo-realist futuristic elements present within the militaristic and Communist sentiment.  Unlike his other films, however, Mirror brings a sense of multiculturalism to the table, even if only remotely, and certainly not at the expense of placing his Russian heritage in a nearly jingoistic light.  The way that childhood innocence, matriarchal responsibility in light of militaristic obligation’s impact on the family and nationalist duty are all conveyed in a haunting fashion without the need to implement direct statements or rants infused with personal judgement and/or fervor.  Instead, we are presented with elements that, from an outsider's perspective, allow us to understand what life behind the emergence and formation of the Iron Curtain would look and feel like.

The use of three distinct visual styles to distinguish the present, the past and the surreal without a need for title cards or basic indicators is a Tarkovsky staple, but the nuance in which it is implemented here is as bold as it is impressive, especially with such drastically different shifts in tone and acting approach occurring amidst these unmarked switches.  The modern feel of Tarkovsy’s cinematography is not only a testament to the lasting impression his work has left, but taken in direct context, an equally strong testament to how forward-thinking his storytelling and visual capabilities were, putting him in league with the likes of Ingmar Bergman or Federico Fellini.  I’m hard pressed to think of another director who was not only keenly aware of how environments were used, but a director who captured nature as if he cast it to do his bidding, as if he had the ability to personify the old adage “cinema is the wind in the trees” at his beck and call.  The way that Mirror uses sound design in the same manner that other directors use score is a subtle flex in Tarkovsky’s ability to create immersive experiences outside of conventional methods.  The few instances of score that are present are seemingly always interrupted by some brief and shocking jolt back into reality, be it violence of the reinforcement of violence as a threat.  The intermixture of what seems like stock footage that separates the film into thirds gives us a sort of cinematic intermission that allows us to breathe without disconnecting from the film experience.

Margarita Terekhova is the lynchpin that holds Mirror together, and she is clearly up to the challenge, turning in a vastly dynamic performance that swings between calm controlled moments and open displays of raw emotion.  Terekhova has a wonderfully magnetic ability when it becomes to displaying a character on the verge of a breakdown, putting up just enough of a tough and protective veneer to remain grounded while reinforcing the veneer with raw, uncontrolled and intuitive reactionary emotion threatening to break through and bring everything crumbling to the ground, with her ability and awareness to pull it all together coming off as admirable in terms of its sharpness.  She is supported by a number of different narrative approaches, such as the direct flirtation and acute unawareness of Anatoly Solonitsyn, or the collective pressing she stands up to from Alla Demidova, Nikolai Grinko and company at the printing house.  Ignat Daniltsev plays a surprisingly strong audience surrogate for such a young actor, serving not only as a human reason for the subjective gaze on Terekhova within her home, but a foil to allow her to vent deeply personal feelings, with his mostly silent reactions standing as a captivating performance in their own right.  Olga Kizilova, Tamara Ogorodnikova, Yuriy Nazarov, Filipp Yankovsky, Oleg Yankovsky and Maria Vishnyakova turn in strong supporting performances while Arseny Tarkovsky and Innokenty Smoktunovsky both turn in strong vocal performances.

Mirror has a fascinating ability to be both direct and obtuse in seemingly equal measure, portraying both a deep and healthy understanding of what a mother and estranged wife would experience without assumption or presumptuousness, only a desire and need to understand in the hopes of reinforcing an already deep and inherent sense of love and admiration that comes with being a child with a creative spirit.  Without even trying to or feeling like a prisoner to a limited scope, Mirror captures all of the dramatic force of a stage play and supports it with the visual power of cinematic mastery and intention.  The film is not the most technically proficient in Tarkovsky’s career, but if you’re watching it and finding yourself hung up on boom mic shadows and crew reflections, then you’ve already missed the entire point.  If looked at like a moving Mother’s Day gift in the form of a living and breathing painting, it is impossible not to appreciate Mirror in all of its glory.