Much as John Cassavetes functions as a symbol of fierce independence and commitment to raw experience, Russian director Andrei Tarkovsky stands for a view of cinema as a passionate spiritual journey. It's ironic that his posthumous reputation has grown in the era of home video, because his films suffer more than most in the transition to the small screen. Fox Lorber's VHS edition of Stalker was barely watchable; fortunately, Kino's two-DVD edition is far crisper. Stalker's title character (Andrei Kaidanovsky) is a former prisoner who earns his living taking travelers to the Zone, a mysterious area created by a meteorite crash twenty years earlier. Although the entrance is guarded and dangerous and the Zone itself supposedly full of traps, it contains a room that is reported to fulfill the desires of those who visit it. The Stalker takes a trip into the Zone with a scientist (Nikolai Grinko) and a writer (Anatoly Solonitsyn).
It's easy to decide that Stalker is a Christian allegory, but it's much harder to figure out what the details mean; the film is too complex and evasive to be reduced to a single point. If the Zone represents the presence of God or the persistence of hope, its effects are almost anticlimactic and often negative, when they do manifest themselves. (Seen now, the film looks like a prophecy of the Chernobyl disaster.) Unable to depict tyranny directly, Tarkovsky showed its effects: a gray spell of boredom, cowardice and constant bickering. Under the guise of science fiction, Stalker suggests a great deal about what it was like to live in Russia in the '70s.
The surface riches of Stalker, which warrant multiple viewings on their own, shouldn't be overlooked in search of deeper meaning. With zero special effects, Tarkovsky succeeded in creating a truly alien ambiance. Part of this stems from the Zone's blend of industrial debris, water and murky greenery. Composer Eduard Artemeyev's electronic score certainly helps. Ultimately, there's still something mysterious about the film's look — grass has never looked so uncanny. It's as if the elements underwent an alchemical process between their existence in reality and their capture by cinematographer Aleksandr Knyazhinsky. The glacial pace of Tarkovsky's films can be off-putting, especially on video, but even on a 13" screen, the majesty of Stalker comes across loud and clear. — Steve Erickson
DVD EXTRAS: The second disc in this set contains a photo album, Serghei Minenok's 1997 short Memory (about the house where Tarkovsky grew up), an excerpt from Tarkovsky's student film The Steamroller and the Violin (available in its entirety on DVD from Facets), and interviews with Artemyev, Knyazhinsky and set designer Rashit Safiullin. Knyazhinsky is visibly frail and exhausted — no date is given for the interview, but it's noted that he died in 1996 — and doesn't have a great deal to say. Artemyev is far livelier, offering anecdotes about Tarkovsky's personality and approach to music.