StalkerPeople will sacrifice everything to quiet that terrible human condition called unhappiness. Stalker is a science fiction drama about a trio of men who quest into a mysterious district called "The Zone", where it has been said that a meteorite fell twenty years prior. Subsequently, the Zone has been overtaken by nature...or something resembling nature. Led by an unnamed "Stalker" (Alexander Kaidanovsky)--one who acts as an illegal guide into the guarded and quarantined Zone--are the world-weary "Writer" (Anatoly Solonitsyn) and the taciturn "Professor" (Nikolai Grinko/Sergei Yakovlev). They seek the center of the Zone where something called "The Room" awaits. Where one's desires may be realized, and where unhappiness supposedly meets its end.
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Directed by Andrei Tarkovsky, Stalker was written by Arkady and Boris Strugatsky (a.k.a. The Strugatsky Brothers), which in turn was adapted from their novel "Roadside Picnic". However, only the terms "Stalker" and "Zone" carried over, and this movie is otherwise a completely different story from the book. (In this, and in many, many other ways, Alex Garland's adaptation of Jeff VanderMeer's "Annihilation" share much in common with this movie.) Stalker opens with titles that only vaguely set the stage, supposedly coming from a researcher who suggests that cordoning off the Zone was "right"; a hint of doubt remains. And as with the rest of the film, every answer to the mystery of the Zone only generates more questions. Mystery is the dominant tone of Stalker; even the names of the film's characters are a mystery. As with Tarkovsky's Solaris, science fiction is essentially a backdrop for deeper philosophical and poetic musings about the soul and the struggle each of us has with our identities. (Another justification for the absence of names.) It's easy to conclude from the start that Stalker is set in the former Soviet Union, since Tarkovsky was a Russian filmmaker. This is reinforced by a deliberately oppressive opening, shot in sepia tone, in a city that is as run down of a ghetto as any ever was. The Stalker shares a squeaky bed with his wife (Alisa Freindlich) and crippled (and possibly telekinetic) daughter (Natasha Abramova) in a ramshackle apartment. The only decor is a multitude of books and a metal table that rumbles whenever a train goes by, shaking the apartment as it blasts Beethoven's "Ode to Joy"...a bitterly ironic choice for such a miserable scene. Before the Stalker sets out for the Zone, his wife chides him for even considering returning, reminding him that last time he did so he was imprisoned for five years. He disregards her pleas because the Zone is more than just a chance for some money to him...it represents something intrinsic to his very being. When the three men arrive in the Zone, he shares that he was trained by another stalker called "Porcupine", who--it was rumored--discovered the Room, returned to civilization exceedingly rich only to hang himself a week later for unexplained reasons. This detail adds to the pervading dread that fills every second in which these men are in the Zone. The Stalker constantly warns against going off of his path, which seems to shift every time he visits (somehow reminding me, of all things, of Dracula's castle in the "Castlevania" series of video games). He uses metal nuts wrapped in gauze to test the environment before proceeding, cautious to avoid triggering any of the myriad traps he claims fill this verdant land of mystery.
The first part of Stalker is, in fact, so oppressive, that it can be hard to tolerate. Everything in this city is muddy, rundown, dilapidated. The men meet up at a shoddy bar with a flimsy door before setting out into the unknown. They take a beaten up military vehicle into the guarded territory that acts as a barrier to the Zone, riding behind a transport train with bizarre scientific equipment that somehow looks like it belonged in Frankenstein's laboratory. Once spotted, the guards shoot on sight--no warning given. This is dangerous work, so the question we have is just what could entice the Stalker--and his two charges--to attempt such a daring incursion? Our first suggestion of this comes after they actually do cross over aboard a "speeder" (a small railcar that just fits the three of them). The film abruptly shifts from dull brown to vibrant color, but the scene is hardly something from The Wizard of Oz. The first image of the Zone is of a wilderness where a city may have once been, but no longer. The whole of the Zone is filled with crumpled electrical poles, even more abandoned buildings, and tanks engulfed by overgrown greenery. There is so much grass, so many trees, water, mist, and especially shadows. It's eerie to think that Stalker was made in 1979, seven years prior to the Chernobyl disaster. (It is said that people who went into the radioactive fallout of the nuclear power plant called themselves "stalkers" after this movie. Similarly, the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone is also referred to as "The Zone", which I doubt is a coincidence.) This is a place where humanity is the stranger, nothing like the city where these men came from, where nature was all but subjugated and trodden down. Yet despite the lingering danger that the Stalker repeatedly warns of around every untested corner, the presence of color and the open air gives the Zone an ironic sense of calm, even relaxation, for the audience. It's a clear message that life under oppressive regimes and governments is unnatural. (So, yes, it's easy to see the Soviet overtones.)
Stalker is all about atmosphere. At over two and a half hours, it takes its time, allowing the audience to contemplate each scene, to absorb and digest the implications of the setting, and to get to know the people who journey through it. How like us each of these men are. Each one knows that even though the Room is a mere rumor, each man carries with them the burden of their lives, and longs for some reprieve from it. This is a existential crisis; like them, each of us chases some golden beacon at the end of our trail, hoping and praying that it will be the solution to the very pain of existence itself. At times, these moments of introspection in Stalker are deliberately addressed to us, "breaking the fourth wall". The Writer or the Stalker's wife speak their thoughts out to us about what it is that they hope for...what they pray for. The architecture of the Zone as the men approach the Room is outright nonsensical. The location has become waterlogged and overrun by nature, but the only apparent entrance to the Room (which is little more than an empty section of something resembling a factory) is through an underground tunnel shielded by a pair of bulkheads. This is followed by a staircase that descends a little into water--perhaps "baptizing" the men--before emerging into a long warehouse filled with lumpy sand dunes and a pipe that descends nearly endlessly into darkness deep below the earth. Even before the supposed meteorite struck this land, just what could this place have been intended for, anyway? I suspect that the "meteorite" story was a ruse for a government experiment; perhaps that deep and dark pit is a channel to Hell itself, and it is the Devil that grants these poisoned wishes, as it was with Porcupine. Or perhaps not. Perhaps, as the Writer and Professor suspect when they reach the Room, that there is no magic in the world, or what magic might exist is not for human consumption, and must be eradicated lest it fall into the wrong hands. The Stalker believes that he is doing the world a service by guiding the weary into the Zone...that he is charged with a kind of holy crusade, justifying his repeated visits to the Zone at the risk of life and limb. The Stalker describes his comrades as "good men", and that he would only take "good men" into the Zone; yet are these "good men" seeking something selfish from the Room? Is it money, eternal life, women, or power? Or is it deep down something that we all face in our lives instead? Regret...yes, regret. Each of these men are haunted. As the Stalker reminds them, only the unhappy come to the Zone, because it is only those who have given up all hope who can receive its gifts. He says, mostly to himself at one point, that when we are born, we are soft and pliable, and when we approach death, we become hard and strong. His message is like a gospel from an unseen spirit speaking through him, claiming that those who resist will be broken by the Zone, as in life. It is a sermon that makes the Stalker into a messianic figure; but is he a messiah for this brave new world, or is he just mad? Or is he both? The answer has much to do with how we view Stalker and the world it depicts. How does the Zone transform us?
Recommended for: Fans of a deeply philosophical and introspective science fiction drama that forces self-examination and contemplation as it washes over us. Stalker is a fascinating poem of a movie, drawing at once from so many classic tropes of the science fiction drama, but in truth casting our gaze into the endless mirror of self-reflection, recalling the eternal question so often asked of art: "What does it mean to you?"
The first part of Stalker is, in fact, so oppressive, that it can be hard to tolerate. Everything in this city is muddy, rundown, dilapidated. The men meet up at a shoddy bar with a flimsy door before setting out into the unknown. They take a beaten up military vehicle into the guarded territory that acts as a barrier to the Zone, riding behind a transport train with bizarre scientific equipment that somehow looks like it belonged in Frankenstein's laboratory. Once spotted, the guards shoot on sight--no warning given. This is dangerous work, so the question we have is just what could entice the Stalker--and his two charges--to attempt such a daring incursion? Our first suggestion of this comes after they actually do cross over aboard a "speeder" (a small railcar that just fits the three of them). The film abruptly shifts from dull brown to vibrant color, but the scene is hardly something from The Wizard of Oz. The first image of the Zone is of a wilderness where a city may have once been, but no longer. The whole of the Zone is filled with crumpled electrical poles, even more abandoned buildings, and tanks engulfed by overgrown greenery. There is so much grass, so many trees, water, mist, and especially shadows. It's eerie to think that Stalker was made in 1979, seven years prior to the Chernobyl disaster. (It is said that people who went into the radioactive fallout of the nuclear power plant called themselves "stalkers" after this movie. Similarly, the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone is also referred to as "The Zone", which I doubt is a coincidence.) This is a place where humanity is the stranger, nothing like the city where these men came from, where nature was all but subjugated and trodden down. Yet despite the lingering danger that the Stalker repeatedly warns of around every untested corner, the presence of color and the open air gives the Zone an ironic sense of calm, even relaxation, for the audience. It's a clear message that life under oppressive regimes and governments is unnatural. (So, yes, it's easy to see the Soviet overtones.)
Stalker is all about atmosphere. At over two and a half hours, it takes its time, allowing the audience to contemplate each scene, to absorb and digest the implications of the setting, and to get to know the people who journey through it. How like us each of these men are. Each one knows that even though the Room is a mere rumor, each man carries with them the burden of their lives, and longs for some reprieve from it. This is a existential crisis; like them, each of us chases some golden beacon at the end of our trail, hoping and praying that it will be the solution to the very pain of existence itself. At times, these moments of introspection in Stalker are deliberately addressed to us, "breaking the fourth wall". The Writer or the Stalker's wife speak their thoughts out to us about what it is that they hope for...what they pray for. The architecture of the Zone as the men approach the Room is outright nonsensical. The location has become waterlogged and overrun by nature, but the only apparent entrance to the Room (which is little more than an empty section of something resembling a factory) is through an underground tunnel shielded by a pair of bulkheads. This is followed by a staircase that descends a little into water--perhaps "baptizing" the men--before emerging into a long warehouse filled with lumpy sand dunes and a pipe that descends nearly endlessly into darkness deep below the earth. Even before the supposed meteorite struck this land, just what could this place have been intended for, anyway? I suspect that the "meteorite" story was a ruse for a government experiment; perhaps that deep and dark pit is a channel to Hell itself, and it is the Devil that grants these poisoned wishes, as it was with Porcupine. Or perhaps not. Perhaps, as the Writer and Professor suspect when they reach the Room, that there is no magic in the world, or what magic might exist is not for human consumption, and must be eradicated lest it fall into the wrong hands. The Stalker believes that he is doing the world a service by guiding the weary into the Zone...that he is charged with a kind of holy crusade, justifying his repeated visits to the Zone at the risk of life and limb. The Stalker describes his comrades as "good men", and that he would only take "good men" into the Zone; yet are these "good men" seeking something selfish from the Room? Is it money, eternal life, women, or power? Or is it deep down something that we all face in our lives instead? Regret...yes, regret. Each of these men are haunted. As the Stalker reminds them, only the unhappy come to the Zone, because it is only those who have given up all hope who can receive its gifts. He says, mostly to himself at one point, that when we are born, we are soft and pliable, and when we approach death, we become hard and strong. His message is like a gospel from an unseen spirit speaking through him, claiming that those who resist will be broken by the Zone, as in life. It is a sermon that makes the Stalker into a messianic figure; but is he a messiah for this brave new world, or is he just mad? Or is he both? The answer has much to do with how we view Stalker and the world it depicts. How does the Zone transform us?
Recommended for: Fans of a deeply philosophical and introspective science fiction drama that forces self-examination and contemplation as it washes over us. Stalker is a fascinating poem of a movie, drawing at once from so many classic tropes of the science fiction drama, but in truth casting our gaze into the endless mirror of self-reflection, recalling the eternal question so often asked of art: "What does it mean to you?"