Andrei Tarkovsky’s films have been described as “poetic”. Now, while this term may be pompous and full of air, one can’t help but find truth in it. Much like poetry, his work is highly structured and intentional. It is only upon subsequent viewings, however, that one finds the purpose of this structure. Stalker (1980) is a prime example of this: a film that was riddled with production problems and may or may not have resulted in the death of its director. Despite its tumultuous history, it still managed to reach the light of day and cinema is all the better for it.
Stalker is, in theory, a rather straightforward film: a guide, known in this dystopian world as a "Stalker", leads two men, the professor and the writer, into a forbidden area known as “the Zone”. These men want to reach “the Room”, which is found at the heart of the Zone. The Room is said to grant the inner most wish of those who enter it. While this description could very easily be confused with the Wizard of Oz, I assure you there are no clear yellow brick roads to follow. Instead, what one finds is a labyrinth-like trail shrouded in mystery and fraught with danger.
The danger, however, extends well beyond the plot of the film. The initial filming was done near the Estonian capital of Tallin. This choice of location, while apt for the film, turned out to be fatal. Beyond the abandoned electric stations where they filmed was a river covered in thick scum. These characteristics, according to sound recordist Vladimir Sharun, were gifted to the river by the chemical plant up-river which “poured poisonous liquids downstream”. This resulted in white snowflake-like droplets causing allergic reactions among the crew. It is also heavily speculated that exposure to this resulted in Tarkovsky dying of bronchial cancer years later. The tragic reality of the film’s history enhances the impact of the message Tarkovsky tried to carry across.
In its 2 hour and 43 minute long runtime, Stalker attempts, rather successfully, to ask questions surrounding purpose, happiness, hope and, perhaps most prevalent of all, faith. While this may seem like a recipe for bleak existential dread, I assure you that there may be a glimmer of… well, hope. I, however, don’t want to mislead you. Stalker has many moments of despair and tragedy, but, as Tarkovsky puts it, “tragedy is not hopeless”. One might even venture to say that tragedy is one of the few places that fosters hope.
Tarkovsky uses Stalker as a microscope: he zooms deeply into the relationship between man and his own subconscious. He does this to highlight our warped understanding of our own desires and, in this, the tragedy lies. Throughout the film, characters discuss the Room and what they believe their deepest desire to be. One very quickly realises that, while these characters believe their deepest desire to be one thing, it is, in most cases, something else. This dichotomy between self-concept and true reflection is played with differently in each of the characters. The most interesting of all these characters is the Stalker himself. He, while being one of the few people who can find the room, has never entered it. He instead finds his meaning in helping people reach the Room. This is where one finds the purest concentration of faith in this film: he believes that the Room can grant peoples desires and he wants those that he helps to believe with him. One cannot help but wonder what would happen if this desire was not met and he was the only person to believe in the power of the Room? One also wonders what Tarkovsky wanted to achieve through this. While Tarkovsky proffers that “the existence in the zone of a room where dreams come true serves solely as a pretext to revealing the personalities of the three protagonists”. One believes, however, that it goes beyond that: it acts as a means of exploring the relationship between these three juxtaposing characters and their beliefs. This exploration also extends beyond the screen: one not only considers the characters' beliefs and desires but also one’s own.
When one considers the setting of the film, it comes as no surprise that Tarkovsky opted for an abundance of sweeping long shots. These act as a means of making the characters feel small in a world far larger than any of their individual personalities. Another element of great note is the use of colour. The film opens in a sickly sepia tone, which captures the bleak reality far better than black and white ever would (I too would be miserable if my life consisted of muddy brown after muddy brown). This is then heavily contrasted by the introduction of colour in the Zone. This colour, while striking, comes with an eerie gravity: the browns are replaced by a vast ocean-like canopy of green, which sees the occasional out-cropping of debris. While one might initially assume that this contrast highlights the Zone’s apparent habitability, one quickly comes to realize that the green is perhaps even more dangerous than the browns. Why has Tarkovsky done this? Well, perhaps he is proffering a thesis that nature harbours more danger than our artificial life, perhaps he is commenting on climate change and how we are our own worst enemies in nature, or perhaps he just thought it looked pretty.
The film is a hotpot of symbolism and meaning and, while I would love to sit here and tell you all about Tarkovsky’s minimal use of non-diegetic sound or his clever framing of characters to explore their relationships and attitude towards the world, I think it best for you to, like the characters in the film, venture into the Zone by yourself. This film is a must-watch for anyone brave enough to sit through its immense run-time. Stalker is a difficult, but ultimately rewarding, film, and one which truly radiates with meaning!
Comments