Solaris, both Andrei Tarkovsky's 1972 original and Steven Soderbergh's 2002 re-make, is a film that truly tests the limits of motion picture as a medium.

In my judgment, the aesthetic G-forces created by pushing the envelope of the cinematic medium is more apparent in Tarkovsky's original, which is in a way also a testimony to Soderbergh's amazing directorial powers. But then, perhaps Soderbergh did not try to jam in as many "messages" as Tarkovsky tried to do.

Solaris is a lovely ruse that starts as a sci-fi flick and ends as a Dostoyevskian meditation on "the meaning of life."

To the extent the issue is approached without "laying down the pipe," or over-the-top exposition, the film engages our senses and massages all the dormant graycells.

But the minute Kris Kelvin starts to lecture about "grand themes," the uncomfortable truth surfaces -- moving images are great for thrillers, action flicks, for slapstick comedy, horror and drama. Yet when it comes to addressing philosophical issues, how far can the pure image go?

What's the correct image or