When it comes to Solaris, the jury is still out on Steven Soderbergh’s attempt to adapt Stanisław Lem’s impenetrable novel. The general sentiment was that it stands as a noble effort, but an otherwise misguided attempt to capitalize on a wave of cerebral science fiction cinema that had recently become quite prominent in Hollywood at the time. However, time has been oddly kind to this film, with its reputation increasing exponentially over the past two decades, with the perception being that Soderbergh made a film that can really only be described as ahead of its time. For all intents and purposes, I personally fall squarely in the middle of the two schools of thought – on one hand, I admire Soderbergh’s boldness in adapting Lem’s novel, which had already been the subject of a film often considered one of the defining works in the career of Andrei Tarkovsky, one of the finest filmmakers in history. On the other, it’s sometimes difficult to move beyond the fact that this reimagining of Lem’s novel is not nearly as interesting as it seems to believe itself to be. Undeniably intelligent (and remarkably free of any kind of pretension, a rare occurrence for a film as focused on some very abstract theoretical issues), but often too heavily dependent on the viewer blindly acknowledging the science of this film, since it’s delivered in a manner that feels authentic, Solaris isn’t the pinnacle of twenty-first-century science fiction, which is quite contrary to what the director seems to be implying with this film. By all means a decent effort that has some moments of outright mastery that are amongst the most interesting in the storied career of a director who constantly pushed the envelope, the film does manage to be a worthwhile achievement in its own right – but considering how far similarly-themed films have been able to work with this premise, and how the genre has taken some enormous strides, it’s difficult to not look at Solaris and wonder where it could’ve improved and made it the masterpiece it was clearly aiming to be, and certainly capable of becoming with a slight push.

You can’t compete when you don’t compare, which is exactly why an in-depth comparison between this version of Lem’s novel, and the more well-known Tarkovsky adaption would be entirely fruitless, especially considering how Soderbergh has been vocal that he intended to adapt the novel through his own vision, rather than being inspired by the previous film, with which it obviously has many similarities, but an equal number of deviances that keep it from becoming entirely appropriate to look at both of them together. To its merit, this film does certainly manage the intimidating task of taking a daunting piece of literature and turning it into a very compelling visual work, being as intricately-plotted and detailed as some of history’s great science fiction masterpieces, but also intimate enough to not be excessive or arrogant in its own profundity. There’s a narrow boundary between technical mastery and outright self-indulgence, and of its merits, Solaris does manage to be intelligent without resorting to proclaiming its own brilliance, keeping everything quite subdued and simple, which is undeniably a remnant of a director who was steady in imparting his own vision, while still being able to experiment with the form in new and exciting ways. It doesn’t quite qualify Solaris as a masterpiece though, since there are still numerous flaws that tend to come up throughout, especially when it comes to the ambigious space between the narrative and the manner in which Soderbergh executed some intimidating ideas, which weren’t always as successful as they could’ve been with a more assured direction, and a more controlled approach that would’ve found the oscillation between genres fertile ground for some fascinating conversations, which seemed to be the original intention that never quite materializes in any significant form.

This is perhaps the fatal flaw of Solaris – despite being guided by strong source material, this is a film that doesn’t quite know where it wants to go. It certainly has a general idea of precisely what it wants to be, but the journey there is far more vague, and not in the way that would suggest intrigue and mystery. The storyline is undeniably solid, and Soderbergh does draw on his experience as a visual storyteller in getting the general thematic content out of the way – we’re never really at a loss in understanding what’s transpiring on screen. Instead, the problems come in the fact that there is just too much content for what this film was working with – at a paltry 94-minutes, it could’ve greatly benefitted from some more context, and while there aren’t many genres that benefit from hitting the two-hour mark, a film that blends psychological thriller and science fiction more than warrants it. So much about this film seems so rushed – some of the moments that would normally be the basis for a great deal of dramatic pedigree instead feel like afterthoughts, brief flirtations with greatness that certainly do carry some meaning, but not to the extent that they make much of a difference, instead disappearing into the ether, leaving the more overwrought social commentary as the only truly memorable aspects of this film, which isn’t enough to sustain a story that needed so much more depth, especially when dealing with something as prominent as the very limitations of human nature, and the extents to which our species will go to self-preserve our own interests.

There are so many provocative questions being asked in Solaris, the disappointment that comes in realizing that it doesn’t seem to be interested in answering them is immense. This isn’t to imply that this isn’t a film worthy of some attention – ultimately, Soderbergh did make a solid science fiction film, and he did manage to make some profound statements along the way. The problem comes when we peer deeper into the formal nature of the film. George Clooney is a charismatic actor, but he seems wildly miscast as the psychologist at the core of the film – the role needed someone who could carry both the dashing heroism, and the inner turmoil, and Clooney only passes on the former. Much of the rest of the proverbial legwork is done by the supporting cast, who have to carry much of the film – Viola Davis (in one of her first prominent film roles) is incredible as the conflicted scientist who grapples with her own humanity, and the wellbeing of the entire species, while Natascha McElhone is beguiling as Clooney’s deceased wife who haunts him as a spectre, driving him into an existential crisis. The characters in Solaris are well-developed, but the film around them doesn’t seem to be able to do much with their potential. It’s not quite fair to say they’re wasted – the cast is small enough to hand each of them moments where they can shine – but considering the promise shown at the outset, it’s disappointing that they’re not characterized with more precision and dedication, often falling victim to a film that quite frankly has all the elements of a great success, but none of the willingness to make good use of it.

Solaris is getting a critical reappraisal, which isn’t entirely unearned – despite my hesitations, this is a film with some strong aspects to it, with merits including its simple approach to a storyline that is almost expected to be convoluted and labyrinthine, as well as a poeticism that serves the film exceptionally well, especially when dealing with the long stretches of time that focus on the role of memory in informing the present actions of its characters. There are many ways this could’ve been worse, but just as many opportunities for it to have been much better, which makes the relative disappointment of the film all the more difficult to process. Unlike some truly dismal failures that occur in its genre, Solaris actually has all the components of a great film, and it does manage to use them well enough, albeit only to a specific point, after which it gradually starts to fall apart. Soderbergh remains a fascinating filmmaker, and as is the case with any prolific artist, there are going to be some duds from time to time – and while I’m hesitant to classify Solaris as one of them, it’s peculiar approach and perpetual inability to meet its full potential does mean it is a lot more difficult to heap praise on it, instead inciting nothing but muted respect at best, resigned ambivalence at worst. The general consensus forming from a small but dedicated group of admirers is that this is Soderbergh’s most misunderstood, under-praised film – it does qualify based on its sheer audacity and its outright insistence on being different, but when we really cut to the core, there’s not much else that we can credit this film for doing, especially when there was so much potential that was simply not met, and which could’ve so easily elevated it beyond the realm of mere mediocrity, which is ultimately where it ends up settling, an unfortunate but hardly surprising development for a film weighed down by its own misguided ambition.