[psycho d]

Andrei Rublev (1966). Just popping this 205 minute Russian classic that half-centers around a Russian icon painter is in itself a life changing moment. But the next one you will experience are when the credits roll. No doubt about it, this movie is slow, complex, confusing, and definitely cruel. It takes place at the speed of life, and it doesn't follow the normal cinematic guidelines so lauded by lazy moviegoers. And animal lovers beware! You will be offended. But all of this comes not at the expense of the viewer, but instead to his greatest benefit. This is a movie about an artist that is itself a fantastic expression of art. Its beauty is in the complexity of intertwined ideas and metaphors and how they are twisted up with humanity's greatest of traits, good and especially bad, to create a tapestry of human existence defined, an existence with man's inherent contradictions as his most ostensible characteristics.

This is really a series of stories told in succession, with three of them miniature works of brilliance in and of themselves. But together they blend into a whole that is truly difficult to put into words. It must simply be seen and felt.

The acting was fine for what it was, but this is not an actor's movie, no matter the talent at hand.

Andrey Tarkovskiy has created what can be rightfully be called one of the greatest cinematic masterpieces to date. This movie explores the nature of man and men, the paradox of religion, and of the unanswerable philosophy of life that has all but been abandoned by men today. It answers nothing, but surprisingly seems to point us in the right direction, if only to begin again asking questions that will have no answers. This movie simply challenges man into a serious campaign of introspection, knowing that it will cause pain at the expense of pleasure, but with the solid foundation that the world is again ready to foment such an endeavor. In accomplishing all this, the movie's artistry is never sacrificed but enhanced.

The camera work is far from simple brilliance. Shot complexity and composition are impeccably woven together to create unfolding events of unparallelled majesty. From shots of princes squished into the corner of the screen to high above shots comically alluding to man the god, every shot is created with vicious ingenuity. It is almost too much to bear, but to turn away is to generate feeling of impotence that men are also unable to bear. But in watching this to impress our own egos is almost a tactic to get us to laugh at those same egos, intangible components of the human being that have forever led man to commit atrocities all for a simple stroke of something that Freud only guessed at.

The movie's abrupt transition towards its end gives the audience a much needed respite from the heaviness just taken in, and by the last scene, one of magical proportions revealing something greater than man that was not even conjured up by us, we become privy to the ruminations that are to follow such a wonderful movie experience. Until, of course, we ready ourselves to watch it again, all at the expense of the ubiquitous conceit that mars and connotes the human condition.
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