Stalker is not your typical science fiction film. It is long but not epic, haunting but not dynamic, contemplative but not revelatory. It involves three characters visiting an inexplicably sentient area of land (made so by some vague scientific phenomenon), yet its everyday visuals do not look even remotely sci-fi in nature. With this superficially dull setup, Stalker is able to transcend the need to visit outer space or encounter aliens and focus purely on its characters and their journey. In this film, director Andrei Tarkovsky takes us on a tough, drudging journey to fulfillment. Perhaps naturally, the film also becomes a test of human patience.

Whatever outlandish event occurred has transformed a wooded area into a place called “The Zone.” The Zone is able to punish those who visit it disrespectfully, but if you tread lightly it will let you explore. It is somehow constantly changing, though that change can never be seen, and it is said to house a room that will grant your deepest wish. The government, more fearful than anyone as to what secrets it holds, has cordoned off the area, authorizing lethal force against those who attempt to enter it. There are men called “Stalkers,” who regularly sneak into the Zone and who know its rules of exploration. This film follows a hired Stalker taking a professor, called “Professor,” and a writer, called “Writer,” to the mythic room in the Zone so that their dreams can be fulfilled.

Stalker comes across as though Tarkovsky has reached some sort of enlightenment and, unable to enlighten us through direct instruction, walks us through a story that appears mostly pointless but that feels deeply anecdotal. The majority of the film is spent either watching the Stalker, Writer, and Professor trek through the overgrown wilderness that is the Zone or watching them stand still, rest, and ponder things. Most of this passes wordlessly. When dialogue is used, it is either the Stalker explaining the dangers of the Zone or the three of them debating philosophical matters, and even during these scenes there are long pauses between dialogue. Not a word is wasted, and Tarkovsky wants to ensure that the relatively few words used are all absorbed. This leisurely style of storytelling allows the viewer to truly feel the plight of the characters. Understanding their frustration in attempting to reach their goals is a vital part of the film.

Journeying through the Zone is not a straightforward matter, either literally or figuratively. The room they are heading to is not far away, but per the Zone’s rules, they have to take painstakingly roundabout ways to get there. It is not because there is no direct path. There is, but when Writer attempts to approach it directly, a bodiless voice instructs him to turn away. He wisely does so. Instead, the three progress through the Zone in the most inefficient way possible, not only taking a convoluted path but walking one person at a time to intermittent points. At one point they find themselves inexplicably at a previous destination though they have not backtracked. The Zone's unique physical laws force a method of navigation so alien it is frightening.

This inability to achieve goals in a straightforward manner is one of the film’s few easy concepts to grasp. Acquiring one’s dream is not an easy task. The process can be arduous, dreary, and even terrifying, as when the men must walk through a dark tunnel that the Stalker calls “the meat grinder” (though why he calls it that is not clear). The tunnel seems to represent their deepest fears. Even the Stalker shivers in horror as he progresses through the tunnel. As this is the penultimate pathway before reaching the room they are heading for, perhaps it stands for the fears we must overcome in order to free ourselves and acquire our dreams. The bigger point, though, is that reaching such a goal is always difficult, even though it can appear fairly simple at first.

When they reach the room, nothing spectacular happens, only the inexplicable. A phone rings. Professor answers it to find someone looking for a clinic. He then hangs up and calls a colleague. Afterward, they are not even sure if their goals have been achieved. It will take time to tell, none of them feel any different, and all they have to go by are widespread myths and stories told them by the Stalker. In light of the Stalker’s story of a previous Stalker who made it to the room, won the lottery, and then hung himself, they begin discussing the probability that they are not even conscious of what they truly, deeply want. It is an angled view of Lacanian philosophy, which states that when we achieve our ultimate goal or desire, it becomes worthless and repulsive, only to be replaced by a new desire. In this case, the characters’ stated desires, unbeknownst even to them, may not be their true desires at all. Their innermost subconscious wishes will indeed be granted, but there is not telling what these wishes are. Perhaps it will be death; they can never know until they get it. The Stalker himself never goes after a dream. He is content taking other people to find theirs.

I tell you the following minor spoiler because it is essential to understanding what kind of movie this is: we never learn what happens to Writer and Professor. The movie suddenly cuts from the Zone to the train station from which they originally departed. We then see a couple scenes of the Stalker’s daughter, “Monkey,” a legless girl with apparent supernatural powers, presumably granted by some sort of radiation the Stalker absorbed during his many visits to the Zone. The film provides no answers and only opens more questions until the very end. Stalker is meant to spur thought, not to close it.

Tarkovsky is not an easy director to enjoy. Both Stalker and his science fiction masterpiece Solaris approach three-hour runtimes, and in both films only about half of that time is used to progress the plot. The rest of it is there so that we can experience the characters’ emotional plights more fully and contemplate their journeys' philosophical implications more deeply. Some people just cannot tolerate this sort of pace, and that is fully understandable. I somehow can, even though I am prone to impatience. The sheer intellectual and metaphysical weight of these movies is enough to hold some viewers to the screen, if they are willing to give it a chance.