Reviewing Andrei Tarkovsky’s The Mirror, I am impressed as if I had never seen it. The film, for those who did not see it, is a reproduction of memories of the author himself, organized in a nonchronological and nonlinear way. The feeling of those who watch is ambiguous: first, it is perceived that there is something fundamental to be revealed; and then, the film causes something like a visual and sonic ecstasy, causing seemingly meaningless and banal scenes to take a monumental dimension. I am not surprised by the mystery — which is indeed an element that has become a cliché in film productions, — but the poignancy of the film. Tarkovsky manages to thrill the viewer scene by scene, even the plot does not have linearity or defined chronology, and even if the viewer is not understanding anything at all. Which brings me to the following reflections: (1) imagination hardly achieves the result of productions based on experience, and (2) maybe the Russians are even one step ahead of the rest of the world when it comes to art.
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