They have seen empires rise and fall
and the city shrink and grow
Though cared for by many, they live without a master
And whether adored, despised, or overlooked,
they are undeniably a part of everyone’s life.
The above text is our introduction to director Ceyda Torun’s 2016 film Kedi, a documentary that also serves as a love letter to the thousands of felines roaming the streets of her hometown.
Istanbul is the largest city in Turkey, and for centuries its citizens have shared this ever-changing metropolis with their four-legged friends. Throughout Kedi, Torun and her chief cinematographer Charlie Wupperman intersperse shots of everyday life with those of prowling felines, showing us time and again how cats have become part of the city’s landscape.
Along the way, we are introduced to a number of individuals - from shop owners to local citizens - who have come to love these animals, and do what they can to care for them. We also get to know a fair number of the film’s real stars: the cats themselves. Bengu has just given birth to kittens, and while her caretaker has no idea where she’s hidden her litter, Torun’s camera follows the elusive feline to her hiding place, and watches as she angrily protects her offspring from another cat when it ventures too close to the “nursery”. Each of the cats featured in Kedi has its own unique personality, and the bonds they share with their human counterparts are front and center throughout the film.
In fact, as Kedi shows us time and again, it’s often the caretakers who benefit most from these interactions; one gentleman talks of how he suffered a nervous breakdown a few years earlier, and considers it therapeutic to feed the many cats that live along the waterway. He even purchases medicine to treat one kitten’s infected eye.
Featuring beautiful imagery (there are shots that would undoubtedly make Istanbul’s tourism council beam with pride), Kedi is a thoughtful, upbeat, even touching motion picture about the loving relationship that exists between people and cats, and it will warm your heart like few documentaries have before.
Rating: 9 out of 10
Hidir (Yilmaz Güney) makes a living smuggling livestock (mostly sheep) across the border. He is well-respected by the people in his village, yet the most important thing to Hidir is that he build a better future for his son. Though it angers his fellow smugglers, Hidir befriends the local military commander Lt. Zeki (Atilla Ergün) and lobbies for his tiny village to be the first in the area to construct a schoolhouse, where teacher Ayse (Pervin Par) will use her skills to show local kids there’s more to life than breaking the law.
But just as Hidir’s plans for his community are taking shape, he becomes embroiled in a tense situation by agreeing to help farmer Hasan (Osman Alyanek) move his sheep across the border, igniting a feud between himself and fellow smuggler Ali Cello (Erol Tas) that is destined to end in violence.
With its documentary-like approach and social commentary, Law of the Border had more in common with Italian Neorealism (Rome Open City, Bicycle Thieves) and the French New Wave (The 400 Blows) than it did the cinema of its own country. Up to that point, most Turkish movies were shot in a studio; by setting his story (which he co-wrote with star – and future director - Yilmaz Güney) out in the open, audiences could see first-hand the crippling poverty that rocked these areas.
Bringing social issues such as hunger and crime to the forefront, Akad established himself as one of that country’s most prominent filmmakers, and helped usher in what became known as Turkey’s “director’s era”. Though well-acted by Yilmaz Güney and Erol Tas (who two years earlier played the lead in Dry Summer), it’s Law of the Border’s realistic approach that will resonate with viewers, and the plight of its characters that will stay with them.
The truth is, we are lucky to have Law of the Border at all. Following a 1980 coup d’etat by the Turkish military, all prints of this film and many others, which were deemed “unflattering” to the new ideals, were gathered up and destroyed. Only a single, badly-damaged print of this movie remained, which Martin Scorsese and his World Cinema Project worked tirelessly to restore. Though rough around the edges (missing frames and audio issues abound throughout, and a grainy Betamax copy was used to fill in a missing reel), the film’s groundbreaking cinematic style as well as its central messages ring loud and clear. Kudos to Scorsese and his team, without whom this movie would have been only a rumor. Make it a point to see Law of the Border, because it’s a miracle that you still can.
Rating: 9 out of 10
Despite the objections of his younger brother Hasan (Ulvi Dogan) Osman (Erol Taş) builds a dam on his property to prevent the water in his nearby spring from flowing down into the village. Naturally, his neighbors aren’t happy about this, and try to convince Osman that he does not own the water, which they call “The Earth’s Blood”.
As Osman is battling it out with the locals, Hasan is busy romancing Bahar (Hülya Koçyiğit), a pretty young woman he eventually marries. But along with his desire to control the water, Osman finds himself falling in love with his new sister-in-law, setting in motion a chain of events that may tear both his family and the entire village apart.
Though it won the top prize at that year’s Berlin International Film Festival, Dry Summer met with backlash in its native Turkey, where censors banned the movie for its frank depiction of sexuality (the love scenes between Hasan and Bahar, as well as Osman’s growing obsession with Bahar, are fairly racy for a 1963 film).
But there’s more to Dry Summer than sex; throughout the film, director Erksan tackles the very serious subject of property, and what it means to “own” a basic necessity. Osman’s selfish attitude towards the water on his land sets him up at the outset as - at best - an anti-hero. He feuds constantly with his neighbors, sometimes violently, and seems to enjoy the fact that he alone controls their livelihoods (they are also farmers, and need the water for their crops). By the time his obsession with his sister-in-law Bahar intensifies, Osman has cemented his position as the film’s most loathsome character (at one point, he even sucks on the teat of a cow as Bahar looks on, in a vain attempt to enflame her passions).
While presenting these social and familial conflicts, director Erksan utilizes a robust visual style; from the opening moments, where Osman guides his two mules through the village streets, to the scene where Hasan playfully chases Behar into some tall reeds, Dry Summer is as much an artistic triumph as it is a dramatic one.
Despite a few disturbing moments (angered by his refusal to share the water, a farmer shoots Osman’s dog, and it’s obvious the animal was killed in real-life) and a despicable lead character, Dry Summer is an amazing motion picture, a glimpse at an oft-unexplored area of the world created by a filmmaker skillfully blending art and social commentary into a very satisfying whole.
Rating: 9 out of 10
