Milena Canonero in Space: On Dressing SOLARIS

While Steven Soderbergh’s Solaris—his 2002 adaptation of Stanisław Lem’s 1961 exisential science fiction novel—may seem like a small stitch in Milena Canonero’s career when placed beside her more grandiose undertakings in costume design, the wardrobe she created has long been a fascination of mine. I see it as a perfect example of how, no matter the scale, Canonero treats every project with the same level of remarkable detail and exacting precision.

Canonero began her career by designing the costumes for Stanley Kubrick’s vividly stylized vision of the near future in A Clockwork Orange (1972), and following that, long expressed an interest in revisiting the realm of the “futuristic.” In the late-seventies, George Lucas approached her about designing the costumes for Star Wars, but as was already committed to another project, recommended John Mollo, a colleague who worked for her on Barry Lyndon (1978). He went on to win an Oscar for his collaboration with Lucas. By the time Solaris came about, Canonero herself had won two Oscars for her work on Barry Lyndon and Chariots of Fire (1981), been nominated four times for such films as Out of Africa (1985) and Dick Tracy (1990), and was one of the most sought-after costume designers in the world. 

***

 Although both Andrei Tarkovsky’s beloved 1972 adaptation of Solaris and Soderbergh’s variation are set in an indeterminate near future and center on a psychiatrist sent to investigate mysterious happenings onboard a space station, the latter version strips the story to its emotional and psychological essence. In his sleek and spare imagining of Lem’s story, Soderbergh conjures a haunting portrait of grief, romance, and regret. The film is a visual and aural feast—from the hypnotic editing and cinematography (done by Soderbergh himself) and George Clooney’s beautifully interior performance to Cliff Martinez’s heart-stirring score and the sensual elegance of Canonero's costumes.

 Canonero has said that in order to achieve Soderbergh’s desire for the film to feel “real and enigmatic,” her work had to be “almost unnoticeable.” And in a way, she achieves this brilliantly. Aside from the space suits we see but briefly, the clothing worn by the characters on earth and in space don’t read as intrinsically “futuristic,” or as one might assume as such. On first glance, one might not even be cognizant of the way her costumes subtly elevate the atmosphere of the film. But it’s in the small details that we get a taste of her stunning sartorial vision for a reality just slightly removed from our own. 

To create the “lean” look she was after, Canonero eliminated certain accoutrements from the characters’ wardrobes, like buttons. It’s something so simple but so effective, and recalls a moment from an interview with Kubrick while making 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968). When asked about how the space-age inhabitants of his film would dress, he said succinctly: “Certainly, buttons will be gone.” And in the case of Solaris, he’s especially right—who has time for buttons when you’re weighing the psychological and ethical implications of lying in bed with a replica of your deceased wife?

***

Canonero’s costumes for Solaris are a brilliant example of her acute attention to, and obsession with, fabric and color. She dresses Clooney’s Chris and Natascha McElhone’s Rheya in a range of gemstone hues: deep space blues, icy silvers, lustrous blacks, and a particularly memorable burgundy sheen. Silk taffeta and satin aplenty. It’s a near-future wardrobe telegraphed through a late-90s-meets-turn-of-the-century lens—pre-Y2K chic and its sartorial aftershocks, if you will. This is most noticeable in the oversized but elegantly high-collared protective outerwear she chooses for Soderbergh's imagined future where it’s always raining. On earth, she clothes Clooney in Nehru neck shirts with loose fitting sweaters and high-waisted Gurkha trousers; in space, a simple, casually well-fitted black t-shirt most of the time. McElhone’s everyday luxe looks are reminiscent of that era’s collections by Donna Karan, Prada, and Calvin Klein. For both actors, the leanness of their garments’ cuts, with their clean lines and air of effortless sophistication, evoke a look that is both timeless and startlingly sexy. 

One moment in the film that I always return to (and features my favorite song from Martinez’s score) is a dream sequence of flashbacks that possess Chris during his first sleep in space. It’s a frenetic and sensually edited montage—one that brings to mind the Don’t Look Now-inspired “What if, what if” sex scene in Soderbergh’s Out of Sight. It begins with Chris seeing Rheya for the first time on a train and then again at a party where they meet and eventually go home together. While in an elevator, either leaving the party or riding up to Chris’s, we feel the palpable exhilaration in the lovers. They’re not looking at each other; both entranced in their own state of internalizing romantic intrigue. Soderbergh cuts back and forth between their faces and a close-up of their bodies in which the entire frame is consumed by the fabric of their coats (and her matching box clutch). Their hands twitch toward one another with nervous excitement. It’s a stirringly seductive moment. The corporal nature of their desire mingled with the sensuous beauty of these costumes is electric—and even more erotically charged than Clooney’s nude silhouette that we see as the montage rolls on.

“Soderbergh’s real fascination is with textures and elegant details. . . you may find yourself remembering the film for a certain metallic sheen on Clooney's pillow,” wrote Jonathan Romney in a review of the film. That sheen is echoed tenfold in the wardrobe—and indeed, it lingers. Throughout her career, Canonero has talked about the importance of creating a "lasting visual memory" for the viewer, an aesthetic imprint. I find that to be just as present here in Solaris as it is in the more costume-forward period pieces she's become known for. Whether there are a hundred extras to dress or just a space station of four, her costumes always speak to the psychology of the characters on-screen and bring life the world her collaborators seek to create.