In the fabulously written and consummately directed new film by Turkish filmmaker Nuri Bilge Ceylan (Distant, Three Monkeys, Once Upon a Time in Anatolia), winner of the Golden Palm and the Fipresci Award at Cannes), there’s a former actor-turned writer, Aydin (Haluk Bilginer) who has a weekly column at a local, unimportant newspaper.
He has been trying to write a book on Turkish theatre for quite some time now. He also owns an isolated hotel and is the landlord of a house in the Anatolian mountains, whose tenants are many months in arrears in their rent.
Aydin claims he was a free spirit in his youth, yet how much of that is true remains to be seen. He certainly is no iconoclast now. He’s unyielding, demeaning, unaffectionate, and unconfident. But he puts lots of inconspicuous effort in looking laid-back, flexible, caring and secure.
To a certain extent, he believes his own act. This is why his sister Necla (Demet Akbag), a divorced woman still in pain, never ceases to point it out in a seemingly fair , yet ultimately brutal manner.
She’s also uncompromising, but unlike her brother, she has nothing to do in her life and sits around the house all day.
She has moved to the house which once belonged to their father to get over the divorce and make a new start. Instead, she blames Aydin’s temper and bossiness for her idleness and emotional, when not existential, discomfort.
There’s also Aydin’s much younger wife, Nihal (Melisa Sozen), who has achieved nothing on her own and is no longer in love with her husband. However, unlike Necla, she’s found the next best thing: she’s become a philanthropist (with her husband’s money, that is).
She too has hidden (and not so hidden) complaints and longings, and is sometimes unafraid to speak up. Yet, for the most part, she is almost completely eclipsed by her husband.
Add a drunken and violent tenant, his unemployed and unproductive brother, and his brother’s son, a young, resented kid who won’t utter a word. There’s also a disillusioned friend of Aydin’s, who’s buried his wife a long time ago and whose sister lives far away.
Other characters come into play, but it’s better to discover them as you get involved in a series of a long, nearly perfectly-articulated intellectual conversations and emotional verbal exchanges in which these people scrutinize and judge each other unremittingly.
Other times the dialogue is about the futility of good intentions, the impossibility of turning malevolence into goodness, the destructive effects of the passing of time, the tediousness of everyday life, which holds no surprises, the inner crisis that make you stumble and fall, and the transformation of past dreams into present cynism.
This is, among other things, seamlessly woven on a large canvas. And although the characters do criticize each other heavily, Ceylan never casts a judgmental gaze on them. Smartly, he’d rather leave it up to viewers to respond to this scenario.
This is, indeed, a very distressing film. Consider that you are often witness to algid, cerebral discussions that quickly swift to heated arguments addressing particular and universal questions.
As is the case with accomplished chamber pieces, the performances are as compelling as they can be. It’s not only how they speak their lines, it’s not only the minor and major gestures, it’s not only the gazes, but, equally impressive, their use of silence as aneloquent dramatic device.
The editing makes each shot last exactly what it has to so as to keep the story flowing swiftly. And we’re talking about a film that runs 196 minutes, which actually feel like 120, 130 minutes, at most. There’s only something to regret, which is not a serious flaw but not a minor one either.
It’s not too rare that the dialogue is “too well written,” as in common conversation, but rather from a novel or a play. When this happens, you tend to disbelieve the raw realism Ceylan achieves so well.
As this only happens from time to time, it may be disregarded for the sake of a film that goes unexpected places with unusual depth and lucidity.
Best of all: it never tries to be enlightening. That’s the stuff minor filmmakers go for.
