A Phantom Borderline
An analytical paper
Wading through the pond, water glistening high up to his knees, tipsy, mumbles
he, “are you content? Della vita?”
Alluring, as if cast by a spell, the poetics of Tarkovsky revive the artistry of cinema,
conjuring an otherworld where human nature inhabits and the debris of memories
dwell. The aching, inexplicable sensation evoked by his films is encapsulated in a
letter to the Russian director: “Everything that torments me, everything I don't have
and that I long for, that makes me indignant, or sick, or suffocates me, everything that
gives me a feeling of light and warmth, and by which I live, and everything that
destroys me—it's all there in your film.”1 The capturing and revelation of human condition underlie Tarkovsky’s cinematic language, which he refers to as sculpting in time: “just as a sculptor...the filmmaker, from a ‘lump of time’ made up of an enormous, solid cluster of living facts, cuts away and discards all that is not necessary.”2 What remain after this authorial excision are the recesses of a collective memory in the human landscape, rooted in an entanglement of metaxological borderlines between reality and the subconscious, humanity and nature, and ungodliness and faith. In the work of Tarkovsky, these alleged dualistic pairs are represented by the narrative characters as religious archetypes, animals as mythical and material bodies, architectures as the constructed civilization, and nature and elemental imageries as metaphysical embodiments.
Meditated in Nostalghia, released in 1983, amid the cold war, Tarkovsky’s philosophy of cinematic arts evinces its paragon—shot in Italy, eponymous to the title of the picture, the film explores the artificial split of cultures, frontiers, time, and space. The protagonist, Gortchakov, a character biographical to the director himself, is a Russian poet who embarks on a research expedition to Italy, accompanied by a translator Eugenia, in order to retrace the journey of an acclaimed eighteenth century Russian composer named Pavel Sosnovsky.3 During the quest, Gortchakov’s encounter with an eccentric man, Domenico, who kept his family captive for protection from the apocalypse, enlightens the poet, prompting him to deliberate on the humanity’s estrangement from faith and metaphysical integrity, which leads him to undertake a mission of redemption.
Contextually equivocal, Nostalghia transcribes the longing for the return of the natal and the poignancy of physical displacement. On a thematic level, however, it encompasses the spiritual nostalgia—the faithlessness, alienation, and the crisis of humanity and its state of being—referred to as elemental perplexities, 4 which stand as original reminders of our historical essence both as individuals—hence the idiosyncratic presence and symbolical function of certain signs—and as historical beings, with our specific relationships with a collective timeline—we may designate it identity. 5
This essay therefore ponders on Nostalghia’s critique on human narcissism and the dualism between man (humanity) and nature (animality). Through its narrative construct, time within the frame merges and denies its linearity, as memories of the past dissolves into the stream of the present, impelling us to repent for the dissociation from the spiritual origin, the sacred, and the divine.
Quoting the director himself, “[...] a person must live in isolation, close to nature, to animals and plants, and be in contact with them.” 6 Tarkovsky’s advocacy of human engagement with animality is intrinsic to his notion of metaphysics. This is exemplified by Domenico, who embodies the Holy Fool and the prophet. His intimacy with nature—the miniature mountains and brook in his dilapidated home, the dripping rain through the roof, the puddles on the floor, and the animal body of a dog—retains his state of faith and commitment to the salvation of mankind. The character demeanor of Domenico mirrors the physical condition of his weathered habitat, where veins of plants creep through and moss encroaches, suggesting the inner and external coherence of a visionary who transcends the dichotomy between nature and civilization. Illuminated, Domenico thus forebodes the apocalypse—a catastrophe of “spiritual impoverishment of the modern world by way of our fixation with technological progress.” 7
In his manifesto at the plaza, Domenico declares, “we must regain our sense of life [...]. We must come together to find meaning again [...]. We must go back to the main foundations of life, without dirtying the water.” 8 His speech overtly condemns anthropocentrism, as the industrial act of contaminating the water symbolizes the human abandonment of faith and its arrogant disdain for nature as a metaphysical vessel. By immolating himself, Domenico completes the elemental metaphor of fire as a narrative of salvation, following the preestablished threads of the candlelight and the inflamed poetry. Yet, Domenico’s attempt to salvage the world is perhaps, in the end, futile. Underneath the oblivious eyelids of passersby and onlookers, framed in a wide shot, their stagnant stance exhibits the figurines of humanity—an eerie display of manufactured mannequins, uncanny humans, whose heart of compassion rigidifies, and indifference overrides all mankind’s dispositions. The redemptive act of Domenico remains foolish as the music "Ode to Joy" abruptly cut out, exposing his agonized screams. Here, the figure of Beethoven, who epitomized human egotism, underscores this inability to unite and awaken the numb—a futility reflected in the malfunction of his music, which parallels the worldly conception of Domenico’s faithfulness as insanity.
Hence, the fragmented Beethoven uncloaks the vanity of prophesy, which ridicules human narcissism and reveals that Tarkovsky's treatment of animality vies to debase our fêted image of the human.9
However, amid the directorial denunciation of modernity, the presence of a dog eclipses those who forsake faith. Depicted as liminal creatures that traverse boundaries of space and time, the archetype of the animal body traces back to The Hound of Hell, a mythical guardian of the boundary of life and death. Representing vigilance over the spiritual divide, its presence in frame bridges the artificial borders of countries, cultures, and identities. It is the symbolic presence of a dog that manifests Domenico’s spiritual calling and his state of enlightenment which allows him to foresee the apocalypse. More evidently, the hound that appears in Gortchakov’s recollection of home and hypnagogic vision interlinks the unreachable past and the tangible present.
Time is no longer linear and irreversible—deconstructed, just like physical space, as remarked by Gortchakov: “All art forms cannot be translated.” To this, Eugenia asked, “And how can we really know each other?” He replied, “Borders should be destroyed.”10
To attain human mutuality, Tarkovsky suggests that one must forgo the secular imposition of identity and the grip on a constructed form of time. In the opening sequence, where Eugenia refuses to kneel in the church, the rejection of the ritual shows her obsession with a sense of self shaped by artificiality and modernity. This civilized identity detaches her from spiritual origin and the nature of being, amplifying a disconnection between the mind and the body. Moreover, bearing a painful awareness of the unattainability of the past, the act of kneeling embodies a return to spiritual roots—a return to a pre-civilized state of terrestrial life that predates the ascendance of man.11 It requires one to renounce their constructed identity, time as a societal framework, and the borders of themselves, in order to be in touch with the metaphysical integrity. Thus, it is Eugenia’s lack of humility, faith, reverence for the divine, and fear of nostalgia that exacts great sacrifices on her artificial humanity, rendering her unable to kneel.
However, witnessing Domenico’s self-immolation enlightens Eugenia as she decides to step out of the frame—the doorframe of her lover’s house, an architecture of greed and hypocrisy; the panoramic frame of a rigid society at the plaza; and the frame separating man from nature. It is, then, her mobility that brings her to unearth the lost spirituality, beginning a reconciliation with a fragmentary faith.
Similarly, as the hound crosses through time and the physical border between Russia and Italy in the mind of Gortchakov, the temporality dwindles and ebbs, baring a narrative vacuum in which the character navigates the liminality of existence. His in-betweenness, vacillation, and the loss of belonging, are enwrapped in the dream of her wife embracing Eugenia. The constant recurrence and overlap between the past and the present collapse the arrow of time, thereby impelling an orientation toward spiritual renewal. For Gortchakov, his redemption lies in reconciliating with nostalgia, a yearning for the past and the stagnation in the present—a detachment from the state of nature—so the act of carrying out the candle ritual subsides his obsession with temporality.
In one take, Tarkovsky preserves time in its purest form, distilling all the subtlety and complexity of life itself, allowing one to experience “the fullness of life and time as a lived moment rather than a series of fragments.”12 By holding the candle to the other side, the poet bridges the seemingly irreconcilable borders between his homeland and the foreign land, reliving his Odyssean suffering by its entirety. Mirroring the Passion of Christ, Gortchakov sacrifices himself for the truth and salvation of humanity.
Nevertheless, the ending scene presents a spectacle of Gortchakov in his Russian hometown, enclosed by the dilapidated Italian cathedral. Motionlessly, he lies on the meadow with a dog beside him. The superposition of landscapes and the mythical body of a dog suggest an ambiguity in the reconciliation of Gortchakov’s past and the present, as the liminality persists. Elusive as it is, the unresolved tension stretches as camera pulls back, and cascades of snow veil the spectacle. Amid the chant of a Russian folksong, one contemplates: will we ever return to home?
Bibliography
Andrei Tarkovsky, Nostalghia, directed by Andrei Tarkovsky (1983; Moscow: Mosfilm, 1984).
Avelar, Mário. "Andrei Tarkovsky’s Imaginary: Word, Silence, and Meaning." Paper presented at Universidade Aberta, Lisbon, Portugal, Year.
De Luca, Raymond. "Tarkovsky's Cine-Safari: Animal Bodies in the Cinema of Andrei Tarkovsky." The Slavic and East European Journal 64, no. 3 (Fall 2020): 511- 536.
Desmond, W. (2003). Art, origins, otherness—Between philosophy and art. Albany: State University of New York Press.
"Nostalghia: A Film of the Wound." Senses of Cinema, July, 2001. https://www.sensesofcinema.com/2001/cteq/nostalghia/.
Tarkovsky, Andrei. Sculpting in Time: Reflections on the Cinema. Translated by Kitty Hunter-Blair. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1989.
Andrei Tarkovsky, Nostalghia, directed by Andrei Tarkovsky (1983; Moscow: Mosfilm, 1984).
Avelar, Mário. "Andrei Tarkovsky’s Imaginary: Word, Silence, and Meaning." Paper presented at Universidade Aberta, Lisbon, Portugal, Year.
De Luca, Raymond. "Tarkovsky's Cine-Safari: Animal Bodies in the Cinema of Andrei Tarkovsky." The Slavic and East European Journal 64, no. 3 (Fall 2020): 511- 536.
Desmond, W. (2003). Art, origins, otherness—Between philosophy and art. Albany: State University of New York Press.
"Nostalghia: A Film of the Wound." Senses of Cinema, July, 2001. https://www.sensesofcinema.com/2001/cteq/nostalghia/.
Tarkovsky, Andrei. Sculpting in Time: Reflections on the Cinema. Translated by Kitty Hunter-Blair. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1989.