| [BACK]
SOLARIS by Tom McCurrie
In any screenplay, there's a fine line between ambiguity and confusion. Some scripts tow that line successfully. Others like SOLARIS cross it, never to return.
(Warning: Spoilers Ahead!)
First, let's get some definitions down. According to Webster's, ambiguity means something capable of being understood two (or more) different ways. In a script this can be an exhilarating experience. For instance, Kurosawa's RASHOMON brilliantly demonstrates that even a murder can have varying interpretations. Why is this exhilarating? Because in life, complete truth is usually elusive, and we spark to any movie that reminds us of our own experiences.
Now you should never mistake confusion for ambiguity in your scripts. While ambiguous stories prompt us to ask, "Is it possible to know anything for sure?", confusing stories prompt us to ask, "Who the hell directed this piece of donkey dung?" While ambiguous stories may keep us in the dark about one thing (such as whether a murder was really a murder), confusing stories keep us in the dark about everything. This doesn't cause exhilaration; it causes frustration -- and an immediate loss of interest. And that's the case with SOLARIS.
Written (and directed) by Steven Soderbergh, and based on the novel by Stanislaw Lem, SOLARIS is about a psychologist (George Clooney) who travels to a space station to investigate some creepy goings-on. It seems every time you fall asleep on this station your dreams come to life the next morning. (The mind boggles at what might happen if you fell asleep reading the latest Victoria's Secret catalogue.) Does this bizarre phenomenon have something to do with Solaris itself, the wispy, glowing planet the station orbits?
Well, folks, I wish I could answer this question, but I can't. The narrative in SOLARIS is so sketchy I was lucky to synopsize as much as I did. With the risible FULL FRONTAL and now this, it appears that Soderbergh made a bet to see how quickly he could ruin an Oscar-winning career. Though his script poses a thought-provoking question or two (Is the illusion of love better than no love at all?), these are ultimately overwhelmed by the story's sheer incomprehensibility.
For starters, why are the scientists' dreams coming to life? Is something on Solaris trying to communicate with them? Is it trying to destroy them? Or maybe Solaris has nothing to do with this phenomenon. If so, what is causing it?
In the course of the story, Clooney dreams of his dead wife. The next morning, there she is in the flesh, as ordered. Now it's understandable that he doesn't want to leave the station for home -- he feels guilty over not preventing his wife's suicide and wants to make up for it with this carbon copy. But why doesn't the Viola Davis character return to Earth? This no-nonsense woman seems to be the only one with a head on her shoulders. And whatever she dreams of seems to be threatening her, making it puzzling as to why she continues to stay.
(Another issue: Clooney dreams in whole swaths of exposition, including major exchanges of dialogue. No one dreams this realistically. If anything, dreams are like the last third of MULHOLLAND DRIVE, with all its surreal twists and bizarre associations.)
And why did Clooney's close friend, played by Ulrich Tukur, kill himself? I could understand why Clooney might want to chew the barrel -- he couldn't bear to live after another suicide attempt by his "wife." Tukur is another matter. Though he dreamed up his son on the station, his real son was alive on Earth waiting for him. Wouldn't that be motivation to leave as soon as possible and go home?
And what happened to the security force sent to the station ahead of Clooney?
Then there's the completely baffling ending. Clooney decides to stay on the station as it crashes to the surface of Solaris. Then he suddenly finds himself back on Earth with his wife. Is he dreaming? Is he dead? If he's dead, how can he be dreaming? Is he in Heaven? Or Hell? Or maybe someone is dreaming him? If so, who?
The questions go on and on and on. But not the audience's patience. So make sure you know the difference between confusion and ambiguity. Confusing the two could be a disaster for your script.
A graduate of USC's School of Cinema-Television, Tom McCurrie has worked as a development executive and a story analyst. He is currently a screenwriter living in Los Angeles.
Responses, comments and general two-cents worth can be E-mailed to gillis662000@yahoo.com.
|
