Solennoyance: A Bittersweet Tale for the Lost Cinephile

I saw the beginning, the end, and skipped the middle

There are films one is supposed to love. Films whose very title provokes admiring sighs at dinner parties and dense essays in highbrow journals. Solaris is one of them. A monument of contemplative cinema, Tarkovsky’s masterpiece, an initiatory rite — or an aesthetic ordeal, depending on your stamina.

I watched the beginning, the end, and skipped the middle. Still, a few images stayed with me — like that of a father seen through a window, and the rain falling inside the house… It’s beautiful, yes. But what for? There’s a lot of water in that film, incidentally. Presumably symbolic, hammered in with great insistence. The protagonist is so deeply depressed he seems to have lost all sense of humor. Or perhaps it’s the other way around. As a result, you end up depressed too.

Don’t get me wrong. Like many, I enjoy a good sadness — raw and sincere, with tears one tries in vain to hide. But here, every emotion is buried under a soggy melancholy that numbs you in your seat and crushes any will, except perhaps the one to murmur: “What’s the point?”

So I wrote a short story for those who, like me, emerge from these films a bit lost, vaguely ashamed, and later that night, find themselves googling “Solaris ending explained.” A bittersweet tale for the lost cinephile… A gentle mockery, aimed as much at myself as at the intellectuals who take these films far too seriously.

Solennoyance

No popcorn, no candy, no chocolate bars… Why had we chosen a cinema that offered not even the most basic refreshments? We should have stayed at my place. Or gone to his. But the seats were comfortable, and Raphaël had so much charm that I endured his esoteric monologue with patient indulgence. When he’d suggested the film, I had pretended to know the director. What I discovered afterward did little to reassure me, but it was too late to change our plans.

The lights dimmed, and with the darkness came a wave of apprehension — tempered by the hope that Raphaël would take my hand or, better yet, lean over and kiss me.

Water and algae… Kris, a dazed-looking middle-aged man, wandering through a dull countryside. Inside the house, his father chatted with a visitor. Their ease stood in contrast to Kris’s awkwardness, as we found him standing in front of a garden table with dirty plates, unmoving in the rain. Why didn’t he run for cover like the others? He seemed to be suffering from some physical or mental disorder.

I dared a glance at Raphaël, so handsome in his serious expression. He was staring straight ahead, seemingly unaware of my presence. The lack of action on screen lulled me into a fog, and eventually, I gave in. Plagued by the fear that I might be snoring, I surfaced from time to time, my mind sticky with sleep, just long enough to admire my companion and his virtuous resistance — before slipping back into oblivion.

He asked me if I was alright… That stupor of mine was sure to ruin any chance I had of pleasing him. I imagined faking a seizure to disguise my state and, despite my semi-consciousness, convinced myself I understood the film, that I was following Kris and sharing his dream. Somehow, as disoriented as he was, we both made it through the endless screening, uninterrupted by an intermission. I woke up to a close-up of a hairy ear. Kris’s, no doubt…

Back where he started, Kris still wanders the countryside. He approaches the house and lures a dog with a treat hidden in his hand. The dog runs toward him, walks alongside him for a bit, then trots away after swallowing the bait. Sophistication and clumsiness. How can one portray the complexity of human relationships while forgetting to trim ear hair — or by revealing a tired old dog-training trick?

I brushed aside these trivial details and focused on the images. The omnipresent water — algae swaying in the ocean, rotting stumps in the pond, and despite the summery light, the relentless rain — all of it intensified my need to pee. Kris watches his father through a window as the old man sorts books. Why doesn’t he go in and greet him? Rain begins to fall inside the house, soaking the old man, who finally notices his son’s arrival.

The lights came back on, and I rushed to the bathroom, certain I’d never see Raphaël again. He, so refined. Me, so terribly down-to-earth… He must think I’m an idiot. No way he’d waste his time on a girl like me…

And yet, I found him waiting outside the theater. Calm, relaxed, and enigmatic — the complete opposite of Kris — he greeted me with a smile, asked what I thought of the film, and without waiting for my answer, said:

“Next time, I’ll let you pick the movie.”