Andrei Rublev

(1966, Dir.: Andrei Tarkovsky)

I suspect it helped in watching this film that I've read a reasonable amount of Russian literature, because in so many ways Andrei Rublev is such a Russian story. The structure of the film’s storyline makes a lot more sense in this context; Andrei Rublev, like a Dostoevsky novel, is epic in scope, even as central characters may recede for long periods into the background.

The title, in a way, is a bit misleading. Andrei Rublev, though named in the title, is not so much the protagonist but functions more as a prism through which the themes Tarkovsky wants to explore are reflected: art, faith, love, and Russia itself. Rublev is an observer, or, in some cases, a catalyst, but rarely a direct actor. This is why, when confronted with challenge of painting “The Last Judgment,” he does nothing. His existence causes a spiritual crisis for Kirill, but he himself is not the cause; when Theophenes (listed in imdb as Feofan Grek) asks Rublev to assist him over Kirill, it is Kirill’s own insecurity that causes him to leave the order, his own envy of the talent of Rublev that drives a wedge between them. Rublev is simply who he is. So when Kirill ultimately confronts Rublev with his bitterness, it is natural that Rublev cannot respond.

On reflection, what is remarkable is how little Rublev does. He acts only once, decisively: killing a man to protect the holy fool. The holy fool is another figure that looms large in Russian literatute; here she seems to represent an innocence that Rublev wants and tries to defend, but ultimately cannot. In the end, like Russia herself, she is swept away by the Tatars, but she goes willingly. Rublev’s one singular act, indeed, causes him to shut down almost entirely, taking a vow silence that lasts nearly until the film’s conclusion.

Indeed, the last act of the film finds Rublev acting solely as an observer, silent, isolated, watching as a new generation of Russian takes on the task of binding art, faith, and politics in a massive bell that may well crack when rung. It is a dangerous, overwhelming task that nearly destroys the creator. Russian life, as always, is hard.

The visuals are wondrous. From the beginning flight of a man on a balloon to the siege of a cathedral to the massive ironworks of the bell, Tarkovsky shows what film is capable of in the hands of a master. Yet never is the story sacrificed for the sake of a shot; what is most remarakable about Andrei Rublev is how well the style of the film serves its substance.