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Solaris (PG-13)
Rating: F
You might think I would have figured it out by now. Whenever a local newspaper reviewer gives a sketchy movie an A rating, it's either going to be totally incomprehensible or it's going to suck like Ricky Martin at a Boy Band convention. I am almost completely convinced that this is true, given that it happens probably 97% of the time. So one might think I would wake up and stopping seeing movies that were given an A rating as such; however, the trailer of Solaris left little plot to be gleamed from its short length, and I must say that I was a bit intrigued. Besides, George Clooney isn't too terribly awful in choosing his roles, and with the exception of O Brother, Where Art Thou, I tend to enjoy his movies.

  Well, as far as I'm concerned, O Brother.. has a new playmate. Solaris reeks to high heaven. It is an utter cinematic abomination of gigantically massive proportions. It makes Steven Seagal movies look like repeat Oscar winners. It makes David Caruso look like a deep actor. It makes Pauly Shore look like the next James Bond. Solaris has totally and irrevocably distorted my precepts for what constitutes good and bad in cinema. It has reached into my brain, probed its depths for the most vapid images ever encountered, hollowed them out, and replaced them with a brand new standard for what constitutes the ultimate bottom of the barrel. My disgust for this movie reaches levels I didn't even know existed. I can't even hope to express my loathing in words. Just try to take the hint.

  I remember spending nearly the whole movie trying to decide on just how I would begin my review.  I would opt to focus on one horrid aspect of the movie, and then turn it down in favor of an equal (if not far more wretched) aspect that made me groan with complete agony. This process continued and amplified, until I truly had no idea how I could possibly express my contempt and hatred for Solaris in a reasonable amount of space. However, once I arrived home, and after lengthy meditation, I have decided how I will begin my review of Solaris: With a descriptive overview of some of the statistics.

Total Movie Time                                                                               98 minutes
Total Time spent without dialogue                                                     60 minutes
Total time spent with crappy dialogue                                                38 minutes
Longest interval between spoken words                                            30 minutes
Total time spent waiting for the camera to pan across a room           50 minutes
Total amount of dialogue spent in voice-overs                                   25 minutes
Total amount of film-time wasted on useless scenes                          98 minutes

Total number of words spoken in the movie                                       100 words
Total number of irrelevant words spoken in the movie                       100 words

Total number of times the CG design of Solaris is shown                   50 times
Total number of times the same CG design of Solaris is shown          50 times

Total Budget for the film                                                                      $5599.99


  Ok, for my own sake, I'm just going to go stream of consciousness on this movie and write about whatever comes to my mind. So if one sentence or paragraph doesn't transition into another and you get frustrated or bewildered, then send me $7.25, because you'll then know what it's like to watch this movie.

  Solaris is about as monotonous and soporific as a movie could ever possibly fear to be. It's like a 747 plane with no engines trying to take off-- it doesn't even begin to move. The first thirty minutes of this movie nearly drove me insane, as NOTHING WAS HAPPENING. I swear to God, the camera would either pan across an empty room, stopping to look at the wall, or it would jump from one angle to the next, eager to catch the movie's main actor or actress in the same state of repose, but from several different angles. I always wondered what George Clooney reclining on a bed looked like from six different angles.  ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.


  If there was anything in this movie that worked successfully, it was the integration of the lullaby-like music with the complete lack of ANYTHING resembling activity. I think it would put just about anyone but a chronic insomniac to sleep (and even then it would drive an insomniac to homicidal insanity), but for some reason I just couldn't pass into blissful unconsciousness, no matter how steadfast and desperate my efforts were. It was as though I was being punished for the all the sins I had committed in my current life and those before it. It was a punishment so fierce and so unlike bodily torture, that I couldn't even pass out from the nervous shock. I endured every last ounce of mental torture. I just had to take it and take it and take it. I think I recall a point near the halfway mark of this movie where I left my body and hovered above the theater crowd. Still in view of the movie screen, I could neither move my body nor speak a single word. It was as though some higher power anticipated that I might scream myself to death or flee the theater in terror (either way escaping my torture), so I was immobilized for the rest of the film, and forced to watch this disease Solaris.

  I have a beef with the person responsible for casting Natascha McElhone as George Clooney's dead wife, Rheya. Several references are made in this movie to her great beauty, and I just can't help but wonder if the scriptwriters are even aware of who is being cast as the characters. Nastascha McElhone ain't no pretty woman. She's got a sunken face. She's got muscular arms. She's got a man-jaw that would make Arnold Schwarzenegger's penis shrink from loss of pride. This is a character that is supposed to be absolutely gorgeous, yet she has the appearance of a British transvestite. During one of the love making scenes, I nearly screamed a warning to the audience that George Clooney was about see his wife whip out her huge deformed penis from between her legs and wedge it between his buttocks. Of course, my warning would've been in vain, seeing how I was still hovering above my comatose physical body. 

  Speaking of buttocks, I think I've seen more than enough of Clooney's contribution. The rating on Solaris indicated adult language and nudity, and I honestly expected to see something female. Guess what. Every last single instance of nudity in this film is of George Clooney's STUPID ass. I guess the director really had no choice-- Natascha McElhone had such a man's body they had to show Clooney's rear end to give viewers female nudity by comparison. Ugh. It must really suck to have fewer muscles and a more feminine body than the actress starring opposite you. I guess that's what you get for starring in a cinematic cesspool like this, Clooney, you prick.

  So aside from the boring story, the monotonous dialogue, the aggravating camera speed, the dull backgrounds, the bad acting, the aggravating character played by Jeremy Davies, and the fact that you have to spend money to get into the theater, is there anything else bad to say about Solaris? Certainly, but I just don't want to think about it anymore. Rather, I'd like to make a comment about the people who will see this movie and call it a fantastic masterpiece. Unless you truly think that this movie moved you personally, do not call it a work of art. You may think it makes you look cultured or intelligent when you claim to understand a movie that's as stupid and dull as Solaris, but it really only accentuates your lack of real understanding and in addition, openly announces your superficial desire for attention. Pretty music aside, this movie brings nothing new to the table, and you know it.

  I found it interesting that once the lights came back on inside the theater, I quickly noticed that all the other viewers were 60 years of age and up. One of the older senior citizens, upon exiting the theater, commented to his wife, "That was a pretty good movie."

  Well, I suppose I can understand those circumstances. If I were half-blind, half-deaf, incontinent, and losing half my brain mass each hour, perhaps Solaris would be appealing to me as well.