Andrei Rublev (1966)

The second film in Tarkovsky’s filmography is the expansive medieval epic, Andrei Rublev. Attempting to explore this film in a (hopefully) coherent and digestible blog post is an impossible feat. Yet, here I am. 

Andrei Rublev is split into eight chapters along with a prologue and an epilogue. Immediately, this makes the three hour runtime much more digestible for modern audiences. So don’t let this put you off viewing Tarkovsky’s first career masterpiece. Each of these chapters explore a different aspect of Rublev’s character as well as a differing view on humanity through the people he contacts within each individual chapter. This style of film structure alone allows Tarkovsky to effortlessly glide through what it means to be human and leave the audience with questions about their own humanity as well as that of the characters on screen.

Despite acting as a biopic for real life medieval painter Andrei Rublev, Tarkovsky doesn’t always provide our protagonist with centrality within the narrative. For example, in chapter two, titled “Theophanes the Greek”, Andrei does not initially appear. Instead, fellow monk Kirill speaks with esteemed painter Theophanes who is seeking an assistant for his new icon painting in Moscow. Kirill finally accepts on the condition that he is offered the position in front of an audience. When this comes to pass, Andrei is prepositioned rather than Kirill. Resulting in jealousy and rage overwhelming Kirill as he leaves the monastery with immediate effect. Chapter two therefore concludes with a very specific set of emotions engulfing both the audience and the characters. I believe this occurs with each chapter.

Act two of Andrei Rublev opens with chapter six, Raid. This is the most visually stunning and devastating chapter of the film. A chapter which causes anger for Andrei. As the monastery at Vladamir is burned a Russian soldier attempts to rape a woman named Durochka. Andrei saves her by killing the man with an axe. This incident occurs off screen obscuring the audience from Andrei’s violent actions. However, the rage and regret this creates within him results in Andrei leaving his work and taking on a vow of silence in order to repent his sins. Once again, Tarkovsky is depicting the brutality of humanity, much like in Ivan’s Childhood, but this time he chooses to showcase much of the violence on screen in order to accurately depict the darkness that was the Russian middle-ages. 

The film concludes with a sudden and unexpected shift to coloured photography. This epilogue depicts real imagery of Rublev’s work. This love letter to art represents the longevity of art and how its meaning will travel generations despite the loss of the artist. These pieces are shown through close-ups with no description of the art given alongside the imagery. This allows us, the audience, to appreciate the craftsmanship without external inputs and opinions. A thought process that I believe can also be tied to Tarkovsky’s art. From what I’ve seen of his films so far, they appear as true cinematic individualism. Devoid of influence from alternate world cinemas, which has allowed, and will continue to allow Tarkovsky’s cinema to live on well beyond the artist himself.