In Solaris (2002), professionally handsome George Clooney plays a widowed psychologist sent to the space station orbiting Solaris (hey – same name as the movie title – neato!), a new planet with potential Starbuck’s™ applications. He has to find out why the crew gooned out and aren’t returning Earth’s tweets.
When he arrives (just a mere shuttle flight once you pass the moon on the left hand side, what crew isn’t dead is gooned out. Seems they’ve been having visitors drop by. These visitors are a physical manifestation of someone in your life. For George, it’s his dead wife who he’s been in power-grieving mode for since she committed suicide after an argument she and George had. He carries guilt around like a grocery bag.
When she suddenly appears, he goons out. Rationally, he knows it can’t be her, even though she still smells as fresh as a Nordstrom’s™ 1/2 off shoe sale. He tricks her into getting into an escape pod, and jettisons the illusion to the lunar curb. The next day she shows up again. What the hell? Is she, a space boomerang?
Clearly, this is the work of drugs. Or Solaris. Probably drugs. There is a way to permanently kill off the visitors, but it involves a science weapon of some sort. This gal, though, wants to die because she knows she’s not real, and drinks liquid oxygen. (Shaken, not stirred, served up.) But soon she resurrects and it’s back to being boring.
Another plan is devised to get out of Solaris’ gravitational pull in the escape module, but George stays to be with his artificial wife because he still hearts her. Then he ends up back on Earth and cuts himself while chopping up mouth-watering zucchini in his kitchen. That’s odd — his cut just healed instantaneously. That must mean… Yep, he’s officially dull, too.
There’s just no other way to put this: Solaris is a really boring sci-fi movie with more talking than outer space-y stuff.