Mère et fils

After opening with a distorted tableau, Sokurov moves slowly into images of stones, grass; he's a naturalist who's addicted to nature; a humanist who's dedicated to the intimate. (The mother and son in his film are not characters or types or ciphers or "performances.") The camera movements are so beautifully slow that they're hard to describe -- imagine the precision of "Ordet" had it been made in color, those images still and hazy, like pastoral paintings with glowing hues of light. They're some of the purest images I've ever seen, comparable to "Barry Lyndon" and "McCabe & Mrs. Miller." What is so startling is that the color makes the film seem modern -- and such a hazy yet lucid color, Maddin-like in its Expressionism and schemes: fable-like and emotionally incestuous. It exists outside time, its only indicator a train within the film; existential emptiness represented visually. The film passes by quickly, with the perpetual wind that sounds like the ocean. It's as if the film is a progression of the most beautiful visions imaginable, the various images of death.

It is something different -- art should be unique, if we're talking about art in the vein of Picasso, Shakespeare, and Bach, shouldn't it be an experience like no other? In fact, this could easily be compared to Tarkovsky, the most obvious comparison. But for me it feels more like Dreyer without the self-conscious dialogue. It couldn't be said to be complex -- it's two characters talking rather simply. But what it lacks in complexity it makes up for in singularity. (The images are at times so rich that it's almost comical -- is this a film set or not?) It's the kind of film that's easy to make fun of, intruding on the most personal moments of this pathetic-looking mother and her son who constantly speaks in a hushed tone -- you imagine one of those "Seinfeld" Village Voice parodies. It isn't emotional or intellectual; I don't even know if it's profound. But it's a masterpiece, plain and simple. 10/10

There is very little in the movies today that is anything like Mother and Son. Certainly the slow movement, which mirrors life itself, is far away from any editing that we normally see. But what is there to prepare one for the absolute exquisite beauty, scene after scene. Because of the slowness, because of the beauty, because of the subject, it is painfully exquisite. One feels, at once, the heavy pain and suffering of this life and its beautifulness. The two seem to coexist like oil and water, pulling one in two directions at once. Of plot, in the normal sense, there is little or none. Everything is about the hiddeness and mystery of all things, all relationships, the blowing of the grass in the wind, a young man carrying his mother, Death. What more is there to say?

This relatively short film is about as far from mainstream cinema as you could get. It was reassuring for me to see that films like it are being produced somewhere, by someone -- especially after the experience of watching `Mission to Mars' on the same evening. An art-house goon like myself will at least have an idea of what he's getting himself into, but it's hard for me to imagine an habitual consumer of mainstream cinema watching it unless by accident or at the urging of others. If such is the case, however, and you find it confusing or uninvolving, please don't jump right into the act of declaring it `boring and pretentious.' At the very least, give it a day or two, try to think a bit about what you saw, and what others have seen in it. I hate to see a work of fine art dumped-on publicly because of a quick impression. While I wouldn't necessarily call `Mother and Son' entertainment, if anything can be called a work of art, I think it can.

Just about every frame of this film is beautifully composed and rendered. It almost looks like a series of living oil paintings. For anyone who has ever drawn or painted, even as a hobby, it gives you an urge to try to make something as beautiful as what you're seeing. But the look, sound, and essential content of the film combine to make a powerful impression, if you're receptive to it. It is an especially strong and significant experience to anyone who has an elderly parent with whom they are still close, but it seems to me elemental to anyone human who cares for another human. I've often thought there is too much dialog in many modern films, making long stretches of them seem like some form of color radio instead of real cinema, which I think of as primarily a visual medium. `Mother and Son' speaks volumes with little talk, in the manner of some of the great silent film artists. Per the DVD, the actors in this film have almost no other film credits, and to me are completely unknown. No matter. I would love to have participated in the creation of a fine work of art like this once in my life.

I wouldn't presume to recommend a film like `Mother and Son' to everyone, but if you've read the comments posted here and think you might be receptive to this film, as I did, see it by all means. You'll probably appreciate its power and beauty, as I did.

In just over an hour, Sokurov achieves in ‘Mother and Son' a wholly satisfying balance between the aesthetic, emotional, and spiritual elements that inform this simple but extremely profound film. In many ways the film is reminiscent of Andrei Tarkovsky, but where Tarkovsky was more specifically Christian in his metaphysical leanings, Sokurov suggests a kind of "humanist mysticism", an elegiac hymn to the natural rhythms of life and death, and the fragile poignancy of human love. As a celebration of life in the face of death, ‘Mother and Son' portrays the journey we must all eventually face with a simple naturalistic acceptance, and is perhaps the closest thing one might find in cinema to what I can only describe as a sort of "non-religious sacredness".

Sokurov's approach here is very ‘pared-down'. While the dialogue is kept to an absolute minimum, the soundtrack is extremely expressive and is an essential element of the work - the wind, the sea, the "music" of the earth, provide a brilliant counterpoint and commentary to what is seen. The look of the film is remarkable, inspired by the paintings of Caspar David Friedrich, but while the images are indeed beautiful, they are never merely "picturesque". From beginning to end, Mother and Son is a work of genius.

The prior commentator went a little overboard. The film is surely not the greatest of all time. It is, perhaps, the greatest LOVE FILM of all time. The beauty of the landscape (note that this is Russia in deep summer -- deep winter would have produced a much different effect - but then the mother is dying, and the contrast between her physical state and the lushness of the fields and forests is necessary to keep one from being overwhelmed by sorrow ) is itself commentary on the beauty between these two. No pretty girl, no surging music, no reasons even for the love. It is just there. Titanic. Not tied to sex or gratitude. JUST EMOTION. The dialog is spare. There is no third person. Though everything moves very sluggishly, this fits perfectly. This is not a movie. It is a poem. Extremely fine too as an essay on what the core of love looks like.