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Year of the Month

Stalker

Slow ride

Did you know arthouse movies are good for you? A study by UC Santa Barbara found this; subjects who watched experimental films performed better on creative tests than people who watched more immediately gratifying comedy videos. The idea is that the process of interpretation, however frustrating, creates an ability to exert the same muscle elsewhere. This is a thing I’ve noticed not only in myself, but in others who enjoy interpreting art – even art that isn’t, strictly speaking, experimental, where assumptions we made about other art bled its way into our work. The writing I’ve done here and elsewhere has improved my ability to create enormously.

Stalker is my first Tarkovsky after a lifetime of hearing about him, and the most shocking element is how accessible it seems. The action is incredibly simple, the philosophical observations aren’t particularly dense, and above all, the motivations seem screamingly obvious. My personal taste in fiction could best be described as ‘arthouse genre’, where a familiar genre is used to explore heady emotional or sociological questions, or the possibilities of a medium. Some of my favourite works – The Prisoner, Twin Peaks, Neon Genesis Evangelion, Metal Gear Solid – push the elements of genre to places that are genuinely alien and borderline incomprehensible, grounded only by familiar plot devices. Genre is often rightfully dismissed as cheap power fantasies, but the familiarity also gives structure for surreality and confusion.

By comparison, Stalker is comparatively straightforward. It doesn’t really exist for vivid emotional expression; it exists for those philosophical observations. Of course, cinema inherently expresses emotion; one could describe this movie’s emotion as ‘contemplation’, but I think I prefer the term ‘comfortable boredom’. That many sound like an insult – fans of arthouse works tend to bristle at the words ‘boredom’ or ‘pretention’, and understandably so, but one thing these smartphone-addicted constantly-thrilled times have taught me is that boredom isn’t necessarily a bad thing.

Tarkovsky’s camera is generally distant; a wide shot establishes geography and a close-up establishes emotion, and for the most part, we are detached from the three men wandering around the Zone. Hell, we don’t even really know their names! We soak up the land alongside them, struggling to see what they feel about their situation or each other except in the loosest terms, and the few times we do, we’re almost uncomfortably close; my favourite example of this is when we see the Writer and the Professor wake up and look up at us and the Stalker.

We’re left to infer most of their origins, motivations, and the origins and motivations of the Zone. Stalker has a video game adaptation/inspiration which leans far more heavily on genre elements like violence, mutants, and exposition; I haven’t played it, but I can assume it slides right next to Fallout or Gears of War or other violent genre games. I find myself wondering how much genre work would benefit from not explaining or even revealing itself to this level; one of the most popular video games of all time is Silent Hill 2, which easily fits in the style and approach of this film, right down to ‘having something to say’.

What puzzles me is why most people seem to dislike this approach – why it’s relatively niche despite being good for us and being pleasurable to engage in. That study from the start of the essay notes that people feel worse and more irritated after an experimental film than a comedy, although I personally enjoy the process of confusion and articulation of a thought. Confusion, admittedly, is connected to fear, and fear comes from lack of control, and lack of control is one of the most abhorrent experiences a human being can go through, apparently.