week of 5/15/02
 
 
 

Film redefined
Tarkovsky’s ambitious approach finds its form in the unnerving, edgy cinematic art of ‘The Stalker’
By Gary Carden

Stalker
Color/black and white - 160 minutes
Director: Aleki Tarkovsky
Rating: not rated


I first heard about this Russian film when I overheard two college students arguing about it in a restaurant.

“Boring.” said one. “I went to sleep twice.”

“Hypnotic!” responded the other. “I’ve watched it four times.”

When I inquired, I learned that the film in question was fast becoming a kind of “cult” film among college students and science-fiction buffs (although I’m not sure “Stalker” is science-fiction). When I surfed the Internet, I learned that Tarkovsky had died in exile in 1986, and that his films (seven of them now available on Amazon) had been banned until recently. When copies of such Tarkovsky classics as “The Sacrifice” and “Nostalghia” began circulating in the United States a few years ago, Tarkovsky developed an immediate, enthusiastic following — in fact, something akin to a religious movement is growing which perceives his films as a catalyst for “spiritual awakening.” At present, “Solaris” and “Stalker” are among the most popular films in American universities.

After watching “Stalker” three times, I can assure you that this is not a conventional film. By that, I mean that none of the aspects of a typical American “movie” are present — no special effects, no lush colors, no fast, slick pacing. Tarkovsky refuses to coddle his audience with music or camera work designed to retain their interest. (He has frequently expressed his disgust with 80 percent of audiences “who for some reason have gotten it into their heads that we are supposed to entertain them.”) That may prove to be an alien concept to most American audiences who have been conditioned by Hollywood.

“Stalker” reminds me of Arthurian legends — those ancient tales about perilous journeys (quests) made by knights through a surreal land filled with bridges, dark towers and wastelands. Certainly, the landscape of this film is bleak and threatening — abandoned battlefields, rusting machinery and the debris of vanquished towns.

The word “Stalker” has a meaning that is at odds with the American use of the term. For Tarkovsky, the word denotes a person gifted at finding paths from the City (civilization) to the “Zone,” which is the name given to a mysterious region where a meteorite fell some 20 years ago, disrupting both life and natural laws. Most of the inhabitants in this area simply vanished; subsequently, the government established a boundary line and officially outlawed traffic to the Zone.

Consequently, stalkers are considered criminals since they lead curious (and adventurous) individuals to and from the Zone. They also traffic in objects which they find in the forbidden area. Apparently, people willing to risk the journey are motivated by the belief that the the heart of the Zone (called simply “The Room”) will grant the traveler’s most secret desire. The Stalker tells his charges that this is true — however, many individuals who made the journey successfully in the past committed suicide on their return.

The Stalker (Alexander Kaidanovsky) has paid a high price for his profession. His face is scarred, testifying to his imprisonment and torture, and he makes several references to his deformed child, Monkey, whose condition is a result of his trips to the Zone. When his wife warns him that he is risking imprisonment if he goes to the Zone again, he responds, “What does it matter when I am in prison everywhere!”

On this trip, he is taking two eager travelers who are identified only as the Writer (Anatoly Solonytsyn) and the Scientist (Nikolay Grinko). The cynical, embittered Writer has lost his ability to create and believes that the Zone will revitalize him. The Scientist is curious and says he wants to verify some of the extraordinary characteristics of the forbidden area. Not surprisingly, we later learn that both men have “hidden agendas.”

After successfully evading the militia which constantly patrol the boundaries of the forbidden area, the three men venture into a country filled with illusions. The Stalker informs his two charges that there are numerous taboos: He forbids them to retrace their steps to retrieve forgotten items. When they argue about the shortest route to the Room, he tells them that “the most direct approach is the wrong one.” Some hazards can be avoided by letting the Scientist go first; others require the Writer in the lead. Sound becomes deceptive and they sometimes respond to commands that no one gave. At times, even the guidance of the Stalker seems deceptive.

The journey is filled with cryptic references to a diversity of religious sources including the Book of Revelations, Christ’s resurrection and the myth of the Wandering Jew. At times, the Stalker is called a “holy fool” because of his illogical persistence in searching for a connection between the earthly and the divine. (All of his quests to the Zone have been fruitless). At the conclusion of this journey, he promises his wife that we will never return to the Zone. Ironically, the film ends with the suggestion that the Stalker has unwittingly found what he was searching for. Monkey (the deformed child) — like everything that originates in the Zone, is deceptive.

The most challenging aspect of “The Stalker” is Tarkovsky’s filming technique. The first 40 minutes of the film are in a muted black and white and the viewer is often subjected to lengthy panning shorts that are both disconcerting and mesmerizing. When color finally enters the film (after the travelers leave the city), it is muted and the world seems drained of vitality. (We are told that the flowers have no odor.) The soundtrack is bleak, recording only occasional bird calls behind the querulous dialogue of the travelers. Unadorned bleakness acquires a kind of eloquence.

Certainly, there is more here than what the eye sees, suggesting that Tarkovsky was attempting to “redefine” film-making. Prior to his death in 1986, he completed a record “Sculpting in Time” in which he explains his purpose. Obviously, he felt that film — a medium with the power to transform Mankind — has been grossly misused.

According to a current website, “Andrei Tarkovsky’s Cinema of Spirituality,” cinema as we know it “seems to have drowned in a sea of glamorized triviality, when human relationships ... have been reduced to sexual intrigue, sloppy sentimentality, and baseness rules the day. (Tarkovsky) appears as a lone warrior standing in the midst of this cinematic massacre, holding up the banner for human spirituality.”

I find it especially interesting to note that Tartovsky’s first film, “Ivan’s Childhood” (1962) depicted the fate of a young boy who escaped from the confines of an army base only to discover that everything beyond the walls was a bleak wasteland. Apparently, the image remained with Tarkovsky since the world in “The Stalker” is remarkably similar — as though the child, Ivan, grew up to become the Stalker.