Subscribing to the perception that the eyes are the home windows to the soul, andrei tarkovsky locates stalker’s spiritual center in his protagonists’ weathered countenances. One in every of cinema’s greatest portraitists, he gives up a gallery of masterful near-ups: a few dipped in sepia-toned bronzes; others cast in the harsh mild of a cloudy morning; numerous obscured with the aid of dank, dark shadows.
No alike and all stunning of their formal composition and expressiveness, tarkovsky’s visages—from the large, sorrowful eyes of alexander kaidanovsky and the anguished expressions of anatoly solonitsyn to the heart-rending candor of alisa freindlikh—shape the emotional backbone of his heavily metaphorical story. In aggregate, the movie’s various artifacts, items, and narrative events in the end capture something similar to the essence of what guy is made from: a tangled knot of reminiscences, fears, fantasies, nightmares, paradoxical impulses, and a yearning for some thing that’s simultaneously past our attain and but intrinsic to every one folks. Is that factor hope? Faith? Or, as implied by way of the masterful climactic monologue from stalker’s spouse, is it absolutely devotion? Perhaps tarkovsky summed it up great when he wrote about stalker, “in the long run, the whole thing may be reduced to the one easy element that is all a person can be counted upon in his lifestyles: the capacity to love.”