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UZAK
Neil Young, Film Lounge (UK), 21 June 2004
Faced with the grim prospect of
joblessness in his recession-hit village, Yusuf (Mehmet Emin Toprak) journeys
to a snowy Istanbul. While looking for work on the ships that dock in
the harbour, he temporarily moves in with older cousin Mahmut (Muzaffer
Ozdemir), a professional photographer. But there are no jobs to be had,
and Yusuf spends much of his time wandering the streets in search of romance
- but love is also thin on the ground. His presence gradually gets on
his cousin's nerves. Though relatively well-off financially, the inexpressive
Mahmut has problems of his own. His ex-wife Nazan (Zugal Gencer Erkaya)
is about to emigrate with her new husband, and his mother (Fatma Ceylan)
is taken ill. Pressures mount.
The Fipresci Grand Prix is awarded annually by the members of the international
film critics' federation, and has been won by All About My Mother (1999),
Magnolia (2000), The Circle (2001) and The Man Without A Past (2002).
In 2003 this august company was joined by Uzak, which had previously won
the Grand Prix du Jury (i.e. the runner-up prize, behind Elephant) at
Cannes. Best Actor at the festival was shared between the film's two leads
- Toprak's success was posthumous, as he'd been killed in a car accident
weeks before.
It isn't surprising that Uzak - which Variety magazine called 'an arthouse
film par excellence' - should find such favour among the world's more
highbrow critics. It's been very well-travelled on the world film-festival
circuit, and would therefore have been seen by nearly all Fipresci members.
Ceylan's previous films (The Small Town [1997] and Clouds of May [2002])
established his name, and alongside the works of Zeki Demirkubuz (Cannes
'02 selections Fate and Confession), Turkey seems poised to enjoy a cinematic
prominence not seen since the heyday of Yilmaz Guney - the writer of Yol
(aka The Way) which won the Cannes Grand Prix in 1982.
Guney's arthouse fame derived partly from the remarkable circumstances
of his life. A political agitator - and political prisoner - for many
years, he effectively 'directed' Yol from jail (Serif Goren was officially
credited as director). Ceylan doesn't have quite such an exotic CV - perhaps
inevitable, given how Turkey has made such a smooth transition to (relatively)
prosperous democracy in the last two decades, thanks to the efforts of
Guney and company.
But Ceylan is an admirable and striking 'one-man band' of a film-maker.
As well as directing and writing Uzak, he is the sole producer (the film
is from NBC films - they're his initials, and bear no link with the American
broadcaster) and cinematographer, and he edited the film in collaboration
with Ayhan Ergusel. There's no score in Uzak, but if there had been Ceylan
would doubtless have done the music as well.
Uzak's phenomenal critical reception also derives from the fact that it's
so open to so many multiple interpretations, and to so much intellectual
analysis (which must acknowledge that the film's real 'substance' is ineffable,
mysterious, unsummarisable). Though the 'plot' is quite simple, even the
most casual cinemagoer will be aware that Ceylan is dealing with significant
themes here: the use of an abstract noun for the title is the most obvious
clue to the seriousness of his intent. The word itself surfaces only once
in the script: during a telephone conversation Nazan apologises for having
been somewhat "distant" with Mahmut when they last met face-to-face.
But Mahmut is himself "distance" personified: he's an impassive
closed-circuit, keeping life at one or two removes (which is perhaps how
he's able to get by in the impersonal Big City). When the relatively youthful,
boorish, exuberant (and thick) Yusuf arrives on the scene, Mahmut finds
life getting uncomfortably close - until he's finally forced into evasive
action.
Though the film begins with Yusuf's departure from his village, this is
essentially a character-study of Mahmut: and he's by no means any kind
of sympathetic 'hero'. In fact, he's deliberately presented as an off-putting,
selfish, cold, eminently dislikeable sort, happiest when arranging the
props for his photo-shoots. And these arrangements are conspicuously devoid
of organic life: though he had (and still has) artistic pretensions, Mahmut
makes his living by creating mildly pretentious advertisements for tiles.
Despite moments of unexpected humour, Uzak is very much the gloomy, morose
kind of film which Mahmut would himself have made - he once hoped to be
"like Tarkovsky", and we see him watching a couple of the Russian
maestro's films. Such conspicuous Tarkovsky-referencing represents audacious
and risky strategy from relative-novice Ceylan - but he has the talent
to withstand such a daunting comparison. Both on the small, specific scale
(there's a terrific, straight-from-Tarkovsky silent coup de cinema involving
a falling room-lamp) and the large: Uzak is a beautifully composed piece
of work, with meticulous attention paid to the placement of objects, people
and buildings within the frame.
If his directing and writing skills weren't enough, Ceylan is also a terrific
cinematographer - though he'd surely admit that his efforts here were
undeniably boosted by nature: Istanbul unexpectedly "enjoyed"
its worst (and therefore most picturesque) snowfall for many years during
the course of the filming. Further good fortune arrived in the form of
a large ship run aground on one of the docks - a striking background feature
which, according to the director, every film-maker active in the city
during this period took pains to somehow incorporate.
He certainly doesn't shy away from symbolism: as well as the marooned
wreck, we are invited to ponder on the meaning of such images as a scruffy
black mouse trapped to a gluey piece of paper, wriggling and squealing;
later, Mehmet sits on a park bench as scrap paper and plastic bags swirl
past in the breeze. O tempora, o mores... All very significant, all very
depressing. But while Uzak occasionally strains for its effects, the film
is mostly notable for its austere restraint. The sound design (by Ismail
Karadas - not Ceylan!) is particularly subtle and effective. Even with
eyes closed, viewers will be able to detect the exact mood and tempo of
each scene, so expert is the control of each sound we hear: the nearby
and, most of all, the distant.
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