Recently I watched the 1979 film Stalker by Andrey Tarkovsky. The best place to start with this movie is probably the story of how it was made. After shooting the entire movie once, Tarkovsky found that the film had been developed incorrectly, and was unusable. In response, he fired his cinematographer, and re-shot the entire movie take-for-take. The film was shot primarily in Estonia among old and at least partially-abandoned chemical and hydroelectric power plants, and it was only a few short years after the movie had been completed that crew members began to fall ill with various forms of cancer. Not even 10 years later, Tarkovsky himself died of cancer that was mainly attributed to shooting in these toxic locations. As if Soviet filmmaking wasn’t dark enough already…

The plot of the movie is fairly straightforward, but cryptic nonetheless. One of our protagonists, a “Stalker,” makes his living by guiding visitors into “the Zone,” and ultimately to “the Room.” These nebulous titles, taken from the novel Roadside Picnic that served as the movie’s inspiration, evoke uncertainty and discomfort merely by their ambiguity. The nearly three hour movie follows the Stalker’s journey as he guides two visitors, “the Professor” and “the Writer,” to the Room, where it is said that a person’s deepest wishes are granted. As the trio follows the capricious path to the Room (the Stalker tells us that the path shifts, and is extremely dangerous to anyone unwilling adequately prepare and follow instructions), they engage in philosophical and psychological discussions, mostly about one another. They sneer at one another’s desires for reaching the Room, and have memorable if superficial conversations about deep human quandaries. Once they reach the Room, there is an altercation in which the Professor reveals that he intends to destroy the Room with a bomb that he brought along. The aim is to prevent the Room’s misuse, and a struggle ensues between the three men. It is revealed that the Room cares not for a person’s claimed truest desire, but for the desire that they truly want. Perhaps a subtle distinction, but the example of the Stalker’s former companion, “Porcupine,” isolates the issue. Porcupine attempted to use the Room to cure his dying brother, but was instead rewarded with material wealth. Porcupine realizes what this means: that, deep down, he cared more about wealth than the wellbeing of his brother. The Stalker tells us that Porcupine killed himself as a result of this revelation. It is here that all three abandon the journey, and return from the Zone without entering the Room at all.

Despite being a film that begs philosophical interpretation, there are not necessarily any concrete references to specific thinkers. Rather, the primary underpinning seems to be a debate between values. After discussing Stalker with a few friends who also watched it, we concluded that the debate is primarily between faith (represented by the Stalker), art (the Writer), and science (the Professor). Not the most profound realization, but sensical. All three claim to have one aim or another, but ultimately fail in accomplishing said aim. The Stalker states that his only goal is to lead others to happiness, but it seems that little happiness is reached by the visitors (we need only think of the suicidal Porcupine). The Professor seeks to end the Room’s usage, but abandons his bomb once told the story of Porcupine. He realizes that the Room cannot be instrumentalized as he and his colleagues feared. The Writer, who wants to retain his inspiration for creating art, realizes that, again, the Room cannot be co-opted for one’s selfish desires. It seems then that none of our protagonists are truly satisfied or even partially rewarded for their toils. Perhaps this is the most important takeaway from Stalker: That, despite our best efforts to establish normative standards, values and purposes are constructed and, ultimately, meaningless. To me, it hearkens to some of the more nihilistic or even absurdist philosophies of the late 19th and mid-20th century. Of course there is a Nietzschean element, but I would even go so far as to invoke Kafka or Camus. There is no meaning, but humanity struggles day in and day out to find it anyway. It is my suspicion though that Tarkovsky was likely alluding to his more immediate experience of Soviet Communism. The idea that a collective ideology is impossible, and the crushing bleakness of life without color and purpose. The Room appears as salvation from monotony and intellectual bondage, but turns out to be a false prophet.

Perhaps even more so than the conceptual explorations of Stalker, the filming appealed to me tremendously. Throughout the movie, I found myself glued to the screen, watching Tarkovsky’s slow, meditative shots glide across a room, over a babbling brook, or the barren landscape of the Zone. Interspersed with religious and material symbols, Tarkovsky creates a world brimming with secret messages that remain somehow elusive to our eyes. We may notice a picture of the Virgin Mary and think “that means something,” but not comprehend what that “something” is. The color also shifts from grayscale to sepia to color, throwing us off-pace when we notice “oh – The Stalker’s hair is blonde…?” A change in lighting sneaks up on you before you even notice the sepia tint was there. I thoroughly enjoyed being pulled into this contemplative world and being forced to consider some critical questions, be they apparent or implied. Trying to pick apart the symbolism was particularly challenging, and I am certain that I will never fully understand everything that Tarkovsky threw into this piece, but then again, that’s part of the fun.