Film and Felt

Superior to the pretentious Russian Ark, Aleksandr Sokurov’s Mother and Son is full of suffering and painful adulation but never achieves the complete transcendence it aims for. Mother and Son is the tale of two in the most literal sense: a dying woman of about 60 and her adoring son comprise the entire cast. Nobody else makes even a small cameo. Sokurov immediately announces his intentions by opening the film with six minutes of tight framing, filling the screen with two wounded faces. It’s completely clear that this is their world. Sokurov successfully conveys the son’s incredible devotion and puppy-dog love for his mother without stooping to sentimentality. Shots are drawn out to capture the somber mood; we see the duo in silence, we see them with birds chirping. We see them with soft music playing, we see them with just the wind purring. We see them in sorrow, we see them attempting to console each other. In just 66 minutes, the director tackles almost every emotion that two such people could endure. Frequently, the boy almost feels like the parent, as his mother lies pale and withered in his lap. The distorted visuals (Sokurov used a special lens when filming) create a dreamy atmosphere in the peaceful nature, indicative of the unhappy blend of tranquility and misery that lingers throughout the picture. The only touch of an outside influence is a train, slowly chugging through in the background near the end of the film. Its presence is reminiscent of Yasujiro Ozu’s infatuation with locomotives, fitting as the patient style of these directors is remarkably similar. For all of its accomplishments, though, Mother and Son isn’t without its problems. Shots frequently go on for too long, as four-minute takes indicate what two minutes easily could. Despite its short length, Mother and Son still manages to feel overstuffed: at forty minutes, it might’ve been a minor masterpiece. Touches of self-indulgence also rear their head, especially during a letter entitled “memoir to Aleksandr.” Might it be the director tooting his own horn? Nonetheless, the positives in Mother and Son outweigh its deficiencies. It’s Tarkovksy-lite with less religion, more humanity, and not quite the directorial touch.

© Gabe Leibowitz 2003