Stalker (1979)

I really liked Solaris. Then I saw Andrei Rublev and loved it, which in turn made me love Solaris in retrospect, and realize that Tarkovsky is an incredible filmmaker. After that, I saw The Mirror, which blew my mind, further proving my thoughts on Tarkovsky being a genius, and wondered if anything else I saw of his would be able to top it. I got Stalker on VHS (Fox Lorber edition, 1.33:1 OAR, Russian with English Subs) and once again was drawn into an incredible world created by Tarkovsky. I feel silly to keep saying this, but Stalker is one of the greatest films I've ever seen.

I had no idea what to expect when I put in Stalker. From the description, I expected some kind of sci-fi epic with some kind of grand setpieces, incredible effects and astonishing mood. Yet, this is Tarkovsky, so I couldn't see him doing something like that. Almost like a paradox, I couldn't wrap my head around the concept, and my mind could conjure up no images of what to expect from the film.

The film immediately establishes an oppressive, otherworldly atmosphere, with droning music underscoring the credits. The sepia background is hard to see (maybe a fault of the VHS), but you can make out that it's a place that looks like a bar, with only a single patron and bartender. After this, the camera shows a small, mostly unfurnished, run-down house, with a couple asleep in bed. Tarkovsky's camera adopts an overhead perspective, showing their nightstand. As a train goes by outside, shaking the ground, it moves a small glass of water slowly across the table with its vibrations, as Tarkovsky's camera pans slowly to the right, past a sleeping woman, to a man, wide awake. Dwelling on him for a while, it slowly pans back to the right, past the woman, and back to the nightstand. It's an incredibly powerful, yet subtle movement.

Early on in the film, when the action takes place in the outside world, that is, outside of The Zone, the film is sepia-toned, sparsely lit and decorated, dingy and very quiet and solemn. Tarkovsky uses sound here to an incredible effect, with small benign noises punctuating the silence and hushed tones the characters speak in. Little noises, like the Stalker pulling his pants on and loudly zipping them up, probably emphasizes the humanity of the characters, showing that they are all, in fact, only human.

For the first 30 or so minutes, there are almost no close-ups, no way to differentiate the characters from one another, aside from basic body shapes and hair patterns. The camera stays at a distance from the characters, much in the way they do from one another, physically as well as emotionally. When they ride in the small cart towards The Zone, Tarkovsky's camera tries mercilessly to probe these men with close-ups, yet they're all so detached that the camera only serves to isolate each man even more, in his own individual frame.

Once they arrive in The Zone itself, the characters slowly begin to open up and reveal a little more about themselves, and more importantly, why they are here. The film is still unsettlingly quiet, however, the camera still far away and detached for most of the picture. The time spent in The Zone is a time of quiet and poetic beauty, a time of reflection and wonder. The Zone is photographed in color, oddly, while the outside world is always sepia-toned. I think that this further emphasizes how at home Stalker feels here, how useful and safe he feels in The Zone.

During their journey, it's hard not to get caught up. There's a huge air of mystery throughout, because we're never quite sure what's going to be next. The film constantly puts us on edge, because of its mood and quiet atmosphere. We're taught to expect danger and wait for moments of horror and terror with bated breath, but Stalker lets the viewer know, early on, that this will be a different kind of journey. Because this isn't what we're used to seeing, we have no idea what will come next, which makes the anticipation almost unbearable.

In fact, it's interesting to note that we never see any of these traps that supposedly make The Zone so treacherous. It's left to the imagination as to what they could be. There could be standard booby traps, like nets hanging from trees or pits covered with leaves. But, the only real 'trap' we witness is when Writer tries to enter The Room early on, and a mysterious voice tells him to stop. Despite his stubbornness, he instantly obliges and turns back, despite desperately wanting to push on. This shows us that The Zone contains traps, not of a physical design, but of a mental and psychological nature, beyond our worst nightmares, even beyond our own comprehension.

The film takes a whole lot out of the viewer, as we're constantly staring into this world, absorbing it, traveling on this journey alongside these men. We're constantly wondering what could be next, if they'll make it. Most of all, though, our minds our flooded by our own imaginations as to what The Room could possibly be like. What will it look like? What will be inside? How will it divine what one's innermost wishes are? And once it does, how will it go about fulfilling them? These questions are obviously never answered, and rightfully so, as nothing anyone could show could match the viewers' own expectations. Not even Tarkovsky.

There's far more than meets the eye in Stalker, and I've only begun to scratch the surface as to the film's inner meaning, symbolism and craft. It's incredibly hypnotic, and it forces you to think a whole lot. Some might find it boring, but I didn't, not at all. During the scenes where it seems nothing is happening, it gives you time to reflect on what you've seen in the film, time to reflect on your own life, what you would do in the situation. Most of all, it forces you to wonder why. Why am I seeing these images, what do they mean to me, what do they mean in context of the film? The only analyzation I could really offer firsthand, was that the three men represent different things in human beings. Stalker seems to represent Faith, as he knows the way and trusts in The Zone itself to deliver him and his companions safely. Scientist obviously represents science itself, and its rejection of faith, seeking to prove it wrong and destroy what it cannot explain. Writer escapes me though. Maybe he signifies Art itself, but he's not an artist at the moment, as he's seeking inspiration. Maybe loss of art? I'm not sure. One thing I do know, though, is that Stalker is an incredibly journey and a film that is sure to prove to be one film to study, over and over again.