If you’ve ever felt totally out of place in a foreign country, you’ll get what Andrei Tarkovsky was going through in 1982. He was in Italy. He was tired. Most of all, he was deeply, painfully homesick. This isn’t just some trivia; it’s the entire vibe of the documentary Voyage in Time Tarkovsky fans often overlook.
It’s a weird film. Honestly, it’s barely a film in the traditional sense. It’s more like eavesdropping on a genius who is slowly realizing he might never go home again.
What Actually Happens in Voyage in Time?
The setup is simple. Tarkovsky is scouting locations for Nostalghia. He’s traveling with Tonino Guerra, the legendary screenwriter who worked with Fellini and Antonioni. They’re driving through the Italian countryside, looking for "the right" mist or "the right" crumbling brick wall. But Tarkovsky is grumpy. He’s dismissive. Guerra keeps showing him beautiful Renaissance architecture, and Tarkovsky basically says, "Yeah, it’s fine, but it’s not what I’m looking for."
He’s looking for Russia in Italy. It's an impossible task.
The footage is raw. It’s 16mm, grainy, and feels lived-in. You see Tarkovsky smoking constantly. You see him arguing about the nature of art. There’s a specific moment where they’re sitting in a sun-drenched garden, and the contrast between the warmth of the setting and the coldness of Tarkovsky’s internal state is jarring. This isn't a "making-of" featurette you'd find on a DVD. It's a psychological portrait.
The Guerra-Tarkovsky Dynamic
Tonino Guerra is the secret weapon of this movie. He’s trying so hard to be a good host. He wants to show off the wonders of Tuscany and Amalfi. But Tarkovsky is focused on something else entirely—the "spiritual vacuum" of the modern world.
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They talk about things that would make a Hollywood producer’s head spin. They discuss whether poetry can be translated (Tarkovsky says no). They talk about the duty of the artist. Guerra is the optimist; Tarkovsky is the monk in exile. Their dialogue isn't scripted, and you can tell because they frequently talk over each other or lapse into long, awkward silences.
It’s human.
Why the Keyword Voyage in Time Tarkovsky Still Matters for Cinephiles
Most people come to Tarkovsky through Solaris or Stalker. Those are big, heavy masterpieces. But Voyage in Time Tarkovsky is where you see the man without the armor of high-budget sci-fi sets.
If you want to understand why Nostalghia looks the way it does—why it feels so damp and melancholic—you have to watch this documentary. You see the literal birth of the film’s visual language. He finds a pool in Bagno Vignoni. He looks at it. You can see the gears turning. That pool eventually becomes the centerpiece of one of the most famous long takes in cinema history.
But it’s also about the tragedy of his life.
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Tarkovsky was struggling with the Soviet authorities. He was worried about his family back in the USSR. In Voyage in Time, he mentions his father, the poet Arseny Tarkovsky, several times. You realize that for him, art isn't a career. It’s a burden. He looks exhausted.
The Misconception of the "Slow" Director
People joke that Tarkovsky movies are just shots of grass blowing in the wind for twenty minutes. Sure, he likes a long take. But in this documentary, he explains why. He’s not trying to bore you. He’s trying to let you inhabit the time of the scene.
"Cinema is the only art form that can take time and pin it to a page," he basically says.
Watching him scout locations is like watching a hunter. He isn't looking for "pretty." He’s looking for "truth." If a church is too beautiful, he hates it. It’s too "touristy." He wants something that feels like a memory.
Technical Nuances and the 1980s Aesthetic
The film was directed by both Tarkovsky and Guerra, but it feels like Guerra did the heavy lifting on the camera side so Tarkovsky could just be. It’s a 63-minute window into a lost era of filmmaking. No drones. No digital color grading. Just the hazy, golden light of Italy and the grey smoke of Russian cigarettes.
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- The Soundtrack: It’s mostly diegetic. Birds, wind, the sound of the car engine.
- The Pacing: It’s brisk compared to his features, but slow compared to modern YouTube essays.
- The Language: They jump between Italian and Russian, sometimes using an interpreter, which adds to the feeling of "lost in translation."
How to Watch It Today
Finding a high-quality version of Tempo di Viaggio (the original title) is actually kind of a pain. It’s often bundled as a bonus feature on boutique Blu-ray releases of Nostalghia (look for the Kino Lorber or Criterion versions).
It hasn't been "remastered" in the way Andrei Rublev has. It still looks like a home movie. But that’s the point. If it were too polished, it would lose that sense of intimacy.
What You Can Learn from His Process
If you’re a creator, this film is a masterclass in refusal.
Tarkovsky says "no" to almost everything Guerra suggests.
"Let’s go see this cathedral."
"No."
"Let’s look at this painting."
"No."
He knows what he wants. Or rather, he knows what he doesn't want. In a world where we are told to "collab" and "say yes to everything," Tarkovsky’s stubbornness is actually pretty inspiring. He protected his vision with a ferocity that eventually took a toll on his health and sanity.
Actionable Steps for Deepening Your Understanding
To truly appreciate the context of Voyage in Time Tarkovsky, don't just watch it in a vacuum.
- Read "Sculpting in Time" first. It’s Tarkovsky’s book on film theory. He wrote much of it around the same time this documentary was being filmed. It explains his obsession with "rhythm" over "montage."
- Watch the "Pool Scene" in Nostalghia. After you see the location in the documentary, watch the final version in the movie. The 9-minute shot of a man carrying a candle across a drained pool. Seeing the "real" location versus the "cinematic" one is a lesson in lighting and framing.
- Check the Letters. Look up the published letters between Tarkovsky and his wife, Larisa, from 1982. They provide the heartbreaking context of his loneliness that he tries to hide (mostly) from the camera in the documentary.
- Compare with "One Day in the Life of Andrei Arsenevich." This is another documentary, directed by Chris Marker. It’s more of a tribute, filmed while Tarkovsky was dying. Watching it alongside Voyage in Time creates a powerful "before and after" of his exile.
Ultimately, this film isn't about Italy. It’s about the internal map of a man who knew he was losing his connection to his homeland. It’s a rough, unpolished gem that shows art isn't about what you put in the frame—it's about what you’re willing to leave out.