Uzak (Distant) Turkish DVD Review July 22, 2006
Posted by filmlover in : Turkish Film , trackbackFor all those who are attending - I must apologise for the delay in posting anything new on the site. Unfortunately, I’ve been ill over the past few days. What follows is a review of the Turkish DVD release of Nuri Bilge Ceylan’s Uzak. Due to Uzak’s ready availability on DVD in Britain and the rest of the world, as well as its critical acclaim, I thought a review of it would be the perfect introduction to a series of articles that I intend to write, over the next few weeks, on the work of Ceylan (a series that will incorporate reviews of his other feature films on DVD, The Small Town and The Clouds of May, as well as something a little more special). Anyway, I hope that this is enough for you to be going on with for now (incidentally, there are unavoidable “spoilers“ in this review, but these should not detract from a first-time viewing of the film):
Uzak (Distant) Turkish DVD Review
Film Info
Country of Origin: Turkey
Year: 2002
Director: Nuri Bilge Ceylan
Screenwriter: Nuri Bilge Ceylan
Main Actors: Muzaffer Ozdemir
Mehmet Emin Toprak
Zuhal Gencer Erkaya
Nazan Kirilmis
Feridum Koc
Fatma Ceylan
Ebru Ceylan
DVD Info
Region: 2
Running Length: 105mins
Audio Tracks: Turkish DD 5.1
Subtitles: Turkish, English, French, German, Dutch
Screen Format: 16/9
Extra Features: Making-of feature (42mins - w/ English subtitles); Uzak in Cannes (9mins); Koza (1995) - a short film (18mins) by Nuri Bilge Ceylan; Photographs and stills
DVD Distributor: Palermo
Film Review
Uzak is a glorious film, a classic. However, much like any of James Dean’s three features, watching it should also provoke sorrow for a talent whose life has been cut short. Shortly after the completion of Uzak, one of its lead actors, Mehmet Emin Toprak died, like Dean, in a motoring accident, aged only 28. I should like to pay my own tribute by pointing out that Toprak’s performance, as the unlikely and unassuming moral centre of the film, is one of rarely-seen sensitivity and grace - many actors would do well to learn from his artistry in this film.
Besides its central performances, much of Uzak’s appeal may be attributed to the fact that, as Nick James commented in the July 2004 issue of Sight and Sound magazine, it is “almost the compete antithesis of mainstream, Western cinema” (need I remind you that this is a good thing?). Just how far it diverges from Western cinema is something that I hope will become apparent in the following review:
The basic plot of Uzak is astonishingly simple to describe - Yusuf (Mehmet Emin Toprak), a man from a rural part of Turkey, visits his cousin, Mahmut (Muzaffer Ozdemir), in Istanbul, hoping to find a job there. The cousins share a tense time living together in the same flat until, eventually, Yusuf leaves. All of this unfolds slowly and methodically, in a manner that some viewers and critics have found infuriating. Indeed, at times the film seems to almost revel in its inaction - in particular, hints at possible romantic relationships come to nothing as the girls involved quite literally drift our of the picture. However, I consider the pace and plotting of Uzak to be refreshingly true to life - after all, nothing much really happens in our own lives, and we often sit in silence and stare into space. Besides, in Uzak, every moment of silence and inaction calls out to us just as much as every word spoken, and this makes the film a great joy to watch.
Although not a great deal ostensibly happens in Uzak, a great deal is said by the film - particularly on the topic of modern existence. The film’s characters are almost always depicted as alienated and anaesthetised - Mahmut photographs tiles for a (unsatisfying) living; people hardly talk to each other; watching television seems to be the universal past-time; and even familial bonds have broken down, as Mahmut bitingly refers to Jusuf as a ‘little prick’ and a ‘filthy son of bitch’. The theme of a dehumanised people is crystallized by one recurrent image in the film - that of Mahmut sat recumbent in an armchair, watching TV. This image (always shot from the same angle, always static - much like Mahmut’s life) keeps reappearing; the same each time apart from the differing programmes on the screen. Mahmut’s unerring attention to the television comes despite the fact that, at one point, he complains:
“The god-damned thing has 90 channels but there’s only shit!”
He is clearly a man that has been neutered by TV (porn seems to make up a significant proportion of what he watches), and by the trappings of modernity more generally.
And hence one of the film’s great triumphs is to make alienation recognisable (after all, every one of us sits, from time to time, mesmerized in front of the television); holding a mirror up to our own lives. Indeed, it is remarkable how ‘real’ and true-to-life the film seems - on this matter, I have already mentioned the effectiveness of the slow pace, but I would also draw your attention to the aftermath of the first sexual encounter of the film. In this scene, his mistress having just (wordlessly) departed, Mahmut lies back on the bed only to place his hand in some sticky, sexual residue, which he promptly wipes with a tissue. This is clearly no romanticized view of the world; no Hollywood portrayal of ‘love-making’, but a presentation of the less-than-perfect realities. Ceylan, I would contend, is a documentarian at heart, taking photographs which capture what is there for us all. Indeed, whilst an Antonioni film may convince you that it must be awful to be rich and beautiful, Uzak shows the viewer that (worst thing of all!) it is awful to be human.
Whilst we must thank the filmmaker for this powerful critique of modern life, we must also display our gratitude to the Gods who saw it fit to deliver the harshest weather conditions in living memory to Istanbul. Not only does the snowfall add to the film an uneasy beauty (‘uneasy’ because icicles are so unaccustomed to hanging from the minarets of Haghia Sophia), but it further refines the themes of the film. Each character stands out against the stark, white backgrounds, as they pull up their collars to shield themselves from the (both literal and metaphorical) chill of the outside world. Surrounded by the snow, every person looks like an insignificant dot on a blank page; disconnected and solitary.
The decay on display here is not only spiritual but also economic. Yusuf goes to Istanbul, in search of work, because both he and his father have been told that they no long have jobs in their local factory. However, the city offers little relief from financial hardship - ships lie derelict and rotting in ports along the Bosporus (overshadowing the humans who created them), and the job-seeking process is nothing more than a series of delays, broken promises and refusals. And so Ceylan does not shy away from dealing with the social concerns of modern Turkey; a country in which recent years has witnessed unemployment rates of about one-in-four.
Uzak, however, is not devoid of optimism - we can see this through the subtle redemption of Mahmut which occurs at the end of the film. As should be clear from what has been written above, Mahmat’s life is one that seems to consist wholly of taking photos of tiles; watching television; keeping his flat tidy; and having inconsequential, unfeeling sex. By contrast, there is a certain impulsiveness and innocence to Yusuf (at one point, he follows around a number of girls that he’s interested in), that draws one towards him and demonstrates that he is a more complete and less tormented man than his cousin, despite his (Yusuf’s ) poorer financial situation. We know that Yusuf is correct in his appraisal of Mahmut, when he observes:
“This town has changed you”.
The message seems to be that there is something preferable about the rural ways of Yusuf in comparison to the city ways of Mahmut (if modern life is enervating, then it is obviously more so in the cities, which are the hubs and centres of modernity). Eventually, Mahmut too comes to recognise the extent to which the city has dehumanised him - the moment coming when he witnesses Yusaf’s humane treatment of a dying mouse. Here Mahmut sees a compassion that the city has sucked out of him; a compassion that he must fight to regain. The course of the film thus represents Mahmut’s personal Road to Damascus; although, as befits a film of such subtlety, the moment of conversion is not accompanied by blinding flashes of light and heavenly choruses. (Again, Ceylan captures reality rather then miracles).
In a sense, then, Yusuf completes Mahmut; shining a torch upon the vacuity of his life. And the change that he eventuates is palpable at the end of the film when Mahmut goes to the airport in order to catch a furtive, final glimpse his former wife (whom, we assume, he still loves) leaving for Canada with her new husband. This is the first sign of passion or, in fact, true compassion that we have witnessed from Mahmut. At last he takes the time to watch something worthwhile - this action, whilst seemingly insignificant, is the most human thing that he does in the course of the entire film. What he is watching is not pornographic or needless but something of beauty; a glimpse of love.
Watching so acute and affecting a portrayal of loneliness, ineffectiveness and eventual redemption, the viewer comes to realise that he is being granted special access to the very soul of the filmmaker - only a man who has experienced this trio firsthand can make a film such as this. And, indeed, Nuri Bigle Ceylan made Uzak in what might be called a solitary manner (I like Telerama’s description of him as ‘L’Artisan Solitaire’) - he employed a sparse crew of five, and entrusted to himself many of the filmmaking roles. Not only did he direct this film but he also wrote it, photographed it, co-edited it, and produced it for his own company (nbc films). We even recognise Ceylan in the character of Mahmut - not only does Mahmat drive a car and live in a flat which, in real life, belong to Ceylan, but Ceylan used to also be a photographer. Although I’m reluctant to use a word which is often so casually applied, Uzak is undeniably the work of a true auteur.
But this film does not just represent the maker’s past but also, we suspect, his nightmares. When Mahmut’s friends comment that:
“You used to say you’d make films like Tarkovsky.”
We see clearly what Mahmut is: that is, the failure that Ceylan feared he might become. The references to Tarkovsky that are littered throughout the film thus become more than, say, the ‘nods’ and ejaculations of some art-film Tarantino - they are an integral part of so personal a story. Whilst it is true that Ceylan is influenced by Tarkovsky, I would argue that, in a certain respect, the references to the Russian master’s work are far from flattering - in Uzak, watching a Tarkovsky film is seemingly no worthwhile pursuit but the sad remnant of a forgotten dream; something that can be switched over for pornography (as Mahmut does). Further, as I have already commented above, it strikes one that, when Mahmut goes to see his former wife at the airport he is at last watching the things he should do rather than sitting in front of a cold, unresponsive screen. In this manner, Uzak puts the film-watching process under the microscope, as it bravely asks: can’t mere film-watching be enervating and soulless; a barrier to true human experiences? Shouldn’t we be going out and making our own films? One suspects that Ceylan, as someone who has literally been saved by film-making, would answer with a resounding ‘Yes!’ to these questions.
Uzak should thus be inspirational to filmmakers, and to all of us (if it’s true, as I believe it is, that all film-lovers are filmmakers at heart). It is, in some respect a ‘call to arms’; a call to creativity. Further, the manner in which the film was made (i.e. largely through the efforts of one man) acts as an additional incitement to filmmaking. Watching a mainstream Hollywood film, we think “I could make that if I had millions of dollars, state-of-the-art equipment, and the correct phone numbers!”. Watching Uzak we think (in the best possible way) “I could make that with my friends and a movie camera!”. Ceylan makes us realise that, as Martin Scorsese has said of John Cassavetes (see Scorsese on Scorsese), ‘there are no more excuses’; we should not hold back. In the most sublime contradiction to ever appear in films, Uzak thus tells us to stop watching and start making, but how can we stop watching when what we see is so transcendent?
In the end, it is apt that Uzak be pervaded by as many contradictions as the city in which it is set. Apart from that referred to above, I have in mind that it is a quiet film which somehow screams loudly at us, and that it is a subtle film with immeasurable power. In the end, these apparent contradictions are no negative thing but are instead what set Uzak apart from every ‘mainstream, Western film’ and, indeed, almost every film ever made. Highly commendable too is the very realistic tone that the film manages to create - we recognize ourselves in the characters, and what we see should shock us. Given this, Uzak fully deserved its Grand Prix award at Cannes, just as its two lead actors deserved their joint Best Actor award - however, the greatest prize for this film would come in it being watched and digested by every film-lover across the world. For it is films like Uzak, which look like a gentle breaker but have the power of a tidal wave, that can wash away the excesses of modern cinema.
Technical
The video quality of this Turkish DVD release is far from perfect, with plenty of dirt, specks, and blemishes. However, this does not detract from a viewing of the film.
The Turkish 5.1 DD audio track is subtle and superb.
On the subtitles front, a selection of optional Turkish, English, French, German and Dutch subtitles. The Extra Features are also subtitled in English.
Extra Features
The disc comes with a mediocre ‘Making-Of’ feature, which is mainly useful in showing us Ceylan and his minimal crew at work.
The ‘Uzak at Cannes’ is somewhat bizarre, being just a series of short, soundless clips of the Uzak team in Cannes, set to music.
By far the best extra on the disc is the inclusion of Ceylan’s first film, Koza - a short film (of 18mins) which will get its own review article in the coming days.
As usual, this Region 2 DVD is available from www.tulumba.com. However, for UK readers, it may be easier to track down a copy of the UK Region 2 disc published by Artificial Eye or the US Region 1 Disc published by New Yorker Films - as far as I’m aware, these DVDs are same as the Turkish release.
Comments»
[…] Here’s my thoughts on Nuri Bilge Ceylan’s first filmic effort - Koza (Cocoon) (1995), a short film (18mins) that is included as an extra feature on the Uzak DVD. For those who haven’t already done so, I would recommend that you read my original Uzak review before dipping into what follows. […]