Sounds From a Silent Planet / Splitting Bars with Big Tarks
They echo, these abandoned train sheds. Electronic cloisters, wet with dew. A synthetic twanging. Iridescent. Cleaved. There is the reverberation of rainfall. And finally, there are footsteps. Stalker (once preposterously described as “the last great Russian film”) was the beginning of my obsession with Tarkovsky, cinema’s last ascetic. Its holiest fool. Dying on a bed with sallow cheeks. Smiling as he clasps his son, drinking a mouthful of champagne. I’m referring to that documentary, of course; shot not long before he breathed his last.
Owen Vintzs and Ralph Pritchard talk all things Tarkovsky and composer Edward Artemiev