The Sacrifice 4K 1986 Ultra HD 2160p

Story Movie

What must one sacrifice to save the world from an impending catastrophe? One’s possessions, one’s way of life, or perhaps one’s very life? What will the film’s hero offer up on the altar of the Almighty Creator—if, of course, He exists?!

Review 4K Movie

Every person has a life’s work. Even if they don’t usually think about it, it exists nonetheless. And a person would be different if they were meant for a completely different purpose. For example, Kurt Gödel would have been a different person had he not formulated and proven the incompleteness theorem for formal systems.
Beethoven would not have been himself if it weren’t for his Ninth Symphony. And Andrei Tarkovsky would have been a different person if he hadn’t directed “The Sacrifice.”

Watching his films, you never cease to be amazed at just how measured the rhythm of cinema can be.
How quiet a cut can be so as not to drown out the thoughts expressed in the monologues. Every word matters, every movement. Desert landscapes? Solitude? Silence? All of this is so that the viewer can look within themselves and compare it to what is happening on the screen.

In all of Tarkovsky’s films, the central figure is the human being. Not his hands and feet. His immortality. And immortality cannot be sacrificed. When I see the protagonist, Professor Alexander, praying, it almost exonerates him. His sincerity is beyond doubt. But the line is very fine. The price of a mistake is life—not earthly life, but eternal life. And, regrettably, Alexander makes a mistake. This happens later, when the postman points out the “only way.” What distinguishes a human from an animal? Free will. For a human, there is no “only way”; a human makes a choice every second of life. And it’s always worth pausing to consider, when the question of the “only possible solution” arises, whether it is truly the only one.

Why do such “no-way-out” situations arise in the first place? Isn’t it an illusion? The trap snaps shut when a person gives the definitive answer: “There’s no way out.” And the flawed world, in which “something is fundamentally wrong,” claims a new victim. “If people suddenly stopped being afraid of death, everything would be different,” Alexander tells his mute son. But he acts exactly the opposite—apparently because, in his own words, “we’ve forgotten how to pray.” You have to pay close attention to see the fine line that separates Alexander from death. These are the words: “... I renounce everything that ties me to life, just spare me from this animal fear.”

The cinematography is brilliant. Only what is necessary ever makes it into the frame. The details are as insignificant as they are important. Particularly important are the details—all the camera movements and shots—in the scene where Alexander comes to Maria seeking “salvation.” What proves especially noteworthy is what serves as the sign for Maria that the “client is ready.” Alexander presses a gun to his temple. It’s quite logical to assume that suicide is the worst thing that could happen to him. But that’s not the case. Maria proves this with ease.

So who sacrificed whom? It’s clear that by playing out an infinitely complex chess combination, Maria and Otto are the ones making the sacrifice. For them, it’s a very successful move.
A very astute opponent, who could have outmaneuvered them in a flash, suffers defeat. Fortunately, his sacrifice is also accepted; the battle is lost, but not the war. This sacrifice is the infinite love that the father gave to his son—a love that gives voice to the mute. The first thing the new man says is, “In the beginning was the Word.”

The most important and powerful symbol turns out to be the tree that the son intends to water until flowers appear on its dry trunk. This tree is a symbol of life, of a truth that has faded. But the time will come when it will bloom. The faded truth will, after all, bear fruit. For there is one to whom this matters deeply.