BFI Top 50: Andrei Rublev, Released in 1971, Directed by Andrei Tarkovsky

What I know going in

I know the film is a period piece of 15^th century Russia and also a biopic about famous icon painter, Andrei Rublev. I loved Stalker so I am looking forward to watching some more Tarkovsky.

Immediate Reaction

Unfortunately, Andrei Rublev is in the same category as Jeanne Dielman and Satantango for me. I really had to struggle to stay focused on the film. Maybe it’s because the film was vastly different from what I was expecting. Based on the film’s title and description I thought it was going to be a meditative, solemn, but straightforward portrait of the eponymous painter. That notion was perhaps a bit silly since this is a Tarkvosky film, but the actual film was not particularly satisfying for me. For one, the film seems to violate the “show don’t tell” rule. Numerous characters comment about Rublev’s skill, but I rarely observed him going through the process of painting. A process I imagine would be very rigorous, especially in the time the film is set. I felt that I had to take Rublev’s admirers on faith. At a certain point, Rublev decides to take a vow of silence and give up art after a life-altering event, so the decision to not show anything afterwards makes sense. Perhaps the film is making an esoteric statement about the relation between art and public recognition, but this seemingly purposeful omission resulted in the film being less viscerally satisfying for me.

In addition, the film being called Andrei Rublev sets up an expectation that he will be the focus. I found this to be untrue. I would be a bit better to consider the film as a portrait of medieval Russia. This is the one front I found the film to be completely successful. Like Marketa Lazarova, Andrei Rublev surpasses the usual falseness with period pieces and transported me fully to an incomprehensible time. Everyone in the film looks starved and battered. Their clothes are thrown together from random bits of scraps and no attempt is made to cover up scars or rotting teeth. The monks in particular walk with a hunch that suggests ancient Russia was a singularly brutal place. Like Tarkovsky’s first film, Ivan’s Childhood, Andrei Rublev is shot in black and white. However, unlike the ghostly, high contrast style of Ivan, the world of Andrei Rublev takes on a grey color palette. Similar to Satantango, color simply does not exist.

Furthermore, Humans interact in a different manner. The beginning of the film sets this up by having a mob of angry villagers decry a ramshackle hot air balloon. The stunning raid that opens the second half of the film is savage. The film does not attempt to hide the fact that women will be raped and civilians will be needlessly killed and a struggling horse provides one of the movie’s most distressing images. The conflict between paganism and Christianity is depicted as a no win scenario and the film doesn’t really comment on which path might be more fulfilling. The witch’s mass reveals the pagans as sensual and free, something that attracts event the spiritually rigid Rublev. Christianity is portrayed as quiet and thoughtful, but is also used as an excuse for extreme barbarism.

I was hard for me to really pinpoint what the film was trying to say about art. As I mentioned earlier, Andrei Rublev is somewhat of a misnomer. At time he seems barely present in the film. When he is the focus, most of what the film is trying to say about art is conveyed in dense, overly philosophical dialogue that was difficult for me to keep track of when reading subtitles. The only sequence that I think manages a consistent statement is the bell-making sections near the end. The minute details and rigor that go in to making a work of art is on full display here. These scenes have a sense of reality and scale that was fascinating to me. The sequence ends a beautiful manner as the bell-maker falls to the ground and cries after hearing the bell ring. It turns out his father had never told him his secret and his son was basically winging the whole thing.

Further thoughts

I will say this; Andrei Rublev maintains an impressive scale and a complexity of composition and movement that is rarely seen. One shot that demonstrates all three of these traits is during the raid of Vladimir sequence. A group of Tatar’s is seen from a raised platform. The camera tracks the group as they wind up the hill. Instead of cutting or following the group all the way around, the camera moves to follow a group of men dragging a girl away while the original group of bandits is still seen moving in the background. The camera finally rests at the entrance of the church as the riders arrive. All of that is done in one take. Tarkovsky manages to move the events of the raid forward while simultaneously conveying its horror.

Of course, the entire bell-making sequence demonstrates similar qualities. I’m honestly not sure how this sequence was filmed, but its depiction is so convincing that it wouldn’t surprise me to learn that Tarkovsky and crew actually cast a new bell. During this section, the camera floats elegantly from extreme wide shots where every person and piece of rope is composed as if in a painting to intimate, detail-packed tracking shots showing the distress of the blustery bell-maker Boriska.

This complexity is even carried into the final five minutes of the film. I imagine most directors wouldn’t be able to make close-ups of paintings dynamic, but Tarkovsky manages it with aplomb. The sequence cuts between the minutiae that make up the painting, building up an intense fascination until finally giving the audience a release and revealing the painting’s full splendor. The montage is cut almost symbiotically with the music, creating a transcendent effect.

Why is the film on this list?

Andre Rublev has a scale that is rarely seen in films so esoteric in nature. Tarkovsky uses a sizable budget to create a visually dynamic and complex tableau of medieval life. This would be enough to earn the film a spot on this list, but the film also manages to make an important statement about the value of art in the harshest of times.