Volume 3, No. 5 December 6, 2002
Planet of the (sour) grapes A Review By Beth E. Concepción Steven Soderbergh and George Clooney’s latest endeavor, a space movie titled "Solaris," should be a thumbs-up, right? After all, this is the dream team who revamped "Ocean’s 11," much to the delight of the majority of critics and moviegoers. It is true that critics have raved about "Solaris." For example, the Cincinnati Enquirer’s Margaret A. McGurk claims it is "easily one of the year’s best films." Perhaps she and I saw a different version of "Solaris." Or perhaps she was distracted by the shots of Clooney’s bare butt. I, however, was not bewitched by the gratuitous supposed-heartthrob nudity and was able to see the movie for what it is: "The Monkey’s Paw" in space, set on anti-warp speed. "Solaris" revolves around Clooney, who plays Chris Kelvin, a psychologist sent to a space station that is orbiting the planet Solaris. Once he gets there, he discovers that his friend, the commander of the expedition, is dead, along with a few other people. The remaining two staffers, Snow played by Jeremy Davies, the scaredy-cat in "Saving Private Ryan," and Helen Gordon, played by Viola Davis, are spooked, to say the least. No one will tell Kelvin what is going on, but then he goes to sleep and discovers for himself. Apparently the planet is able to recreate in the station the person foremost in the space traveler’s thoughts. In Kelvin’s case, it is his deceased wife Rheya, played by Natascha McElhone, who looks vaguely like Meryl Streep. The moral of "The Monkey’s Paw," written in 1902 by W.W. Jacobs is essentially to be careful what you wish for because it might come true. This is similar to "Solaris" because Kelvin’s wish turns out to be not exactly as he might have hoped. Just 20 minutes into "Solaris," I wanted it to be over. I’ve never read the book by Stanislaw Lem on which it was based, but I hope it is better than this plodding movie that doesn’t know if it wants to be a love story, psychological drama, "Aliens" rip-off or a tribute to Hefty bags as space garments. Writer, director, photographer and editor Soderbergh lets the shots unfold slowly, thereby allowing the movie to breathe. After a while, though, it hyperventilates with so much breathing. It is slow and Soderbergh can’t seem to wring an ounce of charm out of Clooney. I did not care one iota about him, his problems, his wife, or any of the characters in the movie, for that matter. This movie takes itself so seriously and it ends up being a serious bore. The Atlanta Journal-Constitution’s Steve Murray calls "Solaris" a movie "that’s bound to be loved or hated." Count me in on the latter.
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