Loosely based on the life of the titular 15th Century iconographer, and starring Anatoliy Solonitsyn, this complex film is far more than a historical biography. With its medieval setting and complicated religious and political themes, Andrei Rublev takes place during a turbulent time in Russia, where Christianity and authoritarianism collided. Why would a icon painter have an important place in this particular time? Perhaps because the position of art in conflicting times can reflect much in a society: artistic freedom, government sponsorship, and intellectual curiosity are certainly themes worth analyzing in 1400s pre-Tsarist Russia.
In Andrei Tarkovsky's second feature film, this man's art and emotional connection to his homeland, religion, and culture is brought to audiences in a historical epic not seen in Russia since Sergei Eisenstein's Ivan the Terrible. We don't even know the exact date of Rublev's birth or death, but 1360 to 1430 is as good of a guess as any. The movie presents eight episodes, some directly and others only tangentially related to the titular artist; the segments are linear only in the strictest definition of the term, and take place over roughly a quarter century. Tarkovsky co-wrote the screenplay along with Andrei Konchalovsky, still writing for films today; cinematography would be done by Vadim Yusov, known for Solaris among other Tarkovsky works.
As opposed to the Eastern Orthodox faith that many know from Russian history, Russia of the early 1400s was one of transition religiously, where many of its people had no singular or defined faith -- paganism, perhaps, would have been the prevailing one. The Christianity that iconographers like Rublev espoused an embodiment of the spirit of God, and Christ the man in particular, was still taking root in this land. Contrary to Renaissance artists and societies of Western Europe, the East with its veneration of icons in no secular sense whatsoever distinguished Russian art from its rivals'. Indeed, Western Christianity considered these icons as heretical as they believed the Russians worshipped them as well. This artistic appreciation -- one that required a defiant Christian view -- found itself emanating among the Rus, Slavic, and Tatar people in this century.
Still, Rublev through these vignettes of sorts (Tarkovsky called them "several novellas") comes to see the various cultural practices of Russia as he travels through the land, not necessarily on missionary work but surely not avoiding proselytizing either. Soon, his art is his focus along with his journey of faith. The cinematography of Tarkovsky is of course brilliant, sensuous at times in its dreamlike portrait of the man and his people during chaotic times where the only united force apart from the impending tsar was orthodoxy itself -- sharp black and white, panoramic landscapes, angelic elevation of camera angles then swooping down literally to the snow and horse hooves.
The score, interspersed through the film, unites these "novellas," and a naturalistic sound mixing with light breezes rustling the leaves and birdsong in the distance is almost ever-present, even among the violent and terrible events that Rublev witnesses including the brutal Tatar invasion, and ultimately in which he takes part.
Ever purposeful yet enigmatic like Rublev himself, Tarkovsky's "film of the earth" is surely one more of a faith, a time, or a rumination on purpose and place. This historical epic of forlorn splendor, difficult to view or simplify, ultimately can be appreciated as a profound meditation on integrity and dedicated perseverance amidst a world of doubt.