ScreeningNotes’s review published on Letterboxd:
”What they call passion is not really the energy of the soul but friction of the soul with the real world.”
I love this idea that desire isn’t pure, that it doesn’t come solely from the inside, that it originates from a clash with something outside the self. Perhaps this is why the Writer and the Professor can’t go into the room that will grant their deepest desire — at some level they know that their desire is impure, that they don’t actually want what they think they want, and being confronted with the truth of their desire would be too traumatic (Porcupine thought he wanted his brother back, but the Zone showed him that what he really wanted was money). Maybe the ultimate dream (at least for the bourgeoisie, the not-yet-hopeless — the Stalker wants nothing more than to enter the room and is offended that the Professor and Writer will not) is to *not* have your desires satisfied, to return to the world and still have something in it to hope for, something in it to live for. The Stalker returns to the real world and his wife tells him that she married him because she’d rather have bittersweet happiness than a grey meaningless life — she’d rather bear some unhappiness in order to have something to hope for, in order to have something left to desire.