Andrei Rublev (1966)
Directed by Andrei Tarkovsky

Film Review

With his sprawling account of the life of the great Russian icon painter Andrei Rublev director Andrei Tarkovsky brought to cinema a uniquely arresting aesthetic that is as compelling as it is grimly austere.  This was Tarkovsky's most ambitious film, a lavish three hour historical epic that charts one of the most turbulent periods in Russian history whilst offering a deeply moving insight into the inner processes of one of Russia's greatest painters.  Andrei Rublev is the modern cinematic equivalent of a Medieval religious icon, a work of art that fills anyone who looks upon it with awe and wonder, yet it is far from being a conventional biopic. 

Dispensing with the traditional linear narrative and using his own colourful imagination to interpolate between the gaps in Rublev's patchy recorded history, Tarkovsky fashions an exuberant tribute to one of Russia's greatest heroes that assails the senses with the full force of a violent thunderstorm.  The film may be in black and white, its placid sobriety periodically punctured by famboyant outbursts, but it has an astonishing sense of reality.  Tarkovsky completed the film in 1966 but so contentious was its subject matter that it was not released in the Soviet Union until five years later.  Even then, several cuts had to be made to remove some of the more shocking sequences involving physical violence and nudity. For the part of Rublev, Tarkovsky took the risk of casting a little known theatre actor Anatoly Solonitsyn in his first major screen role.  Solonitsyn made such an impression on Tarkovsky that he cast him in his subsequent great films, Solaris (1972), The Mirror (1975) and Stalker (1979).

What is perhaps most remarkable about Andrei Rublev is that it is only Tarkovsky's second feature.  It has the stark realism of the director's astonishing debut film Ivan's Childhood (1962) but is on a much grander scale, crafted with a maturity and confidence that totally belies its director's comparative lack of experience.  Tarkovsky spent two years researching the life of his subject and the period in which he lived before embarking on an adventure that would have daunted a more seasoned filmmaker.  His film begins with a prologue that ostensibly has nothing to do with Rublev - an early balloonist fleeing from the mob only to come down to Earth with a bang.  This tragicomic opening anticipates the journey that Rublev himself would undergo, attaining heights of ecstasy as he fulfilled his artistic potential before the sudden fall as his faith and inspiration begin to fail him.

The three directors who had the greatest influence on Tarkovsky were Carl Theodor Dreyer, Robert Bresson and Ingmar Bergman.  Andrei Rublev bears the imprint of all three of these master cineastes, not only in the meticulous shot composition, subtle editing and restrained use of camera motion, but also in the way in which the film transports us out of the realm of the purely physical into the inner consciousness of the protagonists.  The images that are projected onto our retinas are more than just a dead reflection of physical reality, they contain deeper truths about human experience, in particular the relationship between art and faith.  More than just celebrating the life of one great artist, Tarkovsky's film compels us to contemplate why art is so important to us, even if it does occasionally disgust and horrify us.

And there is plenty to horrify us in this film.  Tarkovsky does not shy away from showing us the gruesome reality of life in 15th century Russia.  In one scene, several artists have their eyes gouged out to prevent them from recreating their work for others.  The second part of the film opens with a dramatic action sequence that might well have been filmed by Akira Kurosawa (another of Tarkovsky's heroes), one that depicts a violent Tartar raid on a city that culminates in any orgy of cruelty and carnage.  Our sense of revulsion is heightened when we see a cow set alight and a horse tumble down a flight of steps before being speared (for real).  The killing of the horse was the worst outrage for Tarkovsky - he uses horses in his films as a symbol for life.  After the languorous first hundred minutes of the film, this sudden eruption of activity is all the more shocking and we are relieved when it ends, leaving in its Hellish, gore-saturated wake a man whose faith is irredeemably shattered.  In the previous episode, Rublev was seen decorating a church with glorious frescos of the Last Judgement.  Now he sees a more vivid rendering of it, played out with genuine suffering - a vision of the Apocalypse that no man can endure.

Rublev's inner torment is palpably rendered in the instalment that follows.  Robbed of his creative urges he becomes a silent witness to a world that he cannot comprehend.  It takes a miracle to awaken him from this solemn sell-induced coma of the soul.  This miracle is the subject of the film's final tableau, another visual tour de force that is the exact opposite of the frenzy of destruction that Tarkovsky subjected to us earlier - one in which organised effort, harnessed by the courage and talent of a driven artist, result in the creation of something wondrous.  That, from the dust of the Earth, human kind can fashion an object capable of elevating the spirit is surely a miracle.  Tarkovsky sustains and heightens this final moment of transcendence by concluding his film with a short colour sequence depicting Rublev's glorious art work - a stunning conclusion to an absolutely stunning film.

Film Synopsis

In the year 1400, three monks, Andrei, Danil and Kirill, leave Andronikov Monastery and set out for Moscow in search of work.  Andrei receives an invitation from the renowned icon painter Theophanes to assist him on the decoration of the Cathedral of the Annunciation in Moscow.  Kirill, who had hopes of working as Theophanes's apprentice, is so consumed with jealousy that he renounces monastic life.  In 1408, Danil works with Andrei on the decoration of a church in the city of Vladimir.  Andrei admits that the subject, the Last Judgement, disgusts him.  Not long after this work is completed, Vladimir is raided by a party of Tartars led by the Grand Prince's jealous brother.  Andrei survives the ensuing carnage but loses his enthusiasm for painting.  He takes a vow of silence and refuses ever to paint again.  Fifteen years later, he has an encounter that will make him change his mind...