mahircayan
14th June 2005, 16:30
Plot Details: This opinion reveals everything about the movie's plot.
This film was my first experience with Turkish cinema. I am very impressed, though I doubt that Turkish cinema as a whole can match the lofty standard set by Yilmaz Güney’s Yol. By reputation, it is one of the very finest films ever made in Turkey. The circumstances under which it was made are arguably every bit as dramatic as the film itself.
Historical Background: Yilmaz Güney was born in 1937 in a small village in southern Turkey, not far from the city of Adana. He attended the universities in Ankara and Istanbul, studying economics and law, but was won over to filmmaking by the age of twenty-one. Up until the late fifties, films produced by the main Turkish film studio, Yesilcam, had consisted mainly of unexceptional melodramas, war films, and adaptations of theater pieces, but by the early sixties, a few of the young directors (dare I say young Turks!), such as Atif Yilmaz, were beginning to make more artistically progressive films dealing with the real life and travails of the Turkish people. Yilmaz Güney eagerly allied himself with this group and became one of its most popular participants, initially as an actor. He had something of a tough guy persona and was given the nickname of “Cirkin Kral,” which translates as “The Ugly King.” He quickly became something of a matinee idol in Turkey, appearing in as many as twenty films in one year. Güney, however, was ardently committed to social change and exploitation of cinema as a vehicle to promote it. He set his sights on directing, initially serving as a screenwriter and assistant director to Atif Yilmaz.
Turkish history during the last forty-five years has been characterized by a high turbulence. In the late 1950’s, a soaring national debt and restrictions on free speech had rendered the ruling party highly unpopular. In 1960, Turkish military forces overthrew the government and took provisional control while a new constitution was drafted, modeled after the French constitution. Free national elections were conducted and the Republican People’s Party received the largest number of votes. Though the early sixties were generally a period of political reform in Turkey, Güney was arrested for a period of 18 months in 1961-2 for publishing a novel deemed to be “communist.” Güney’s relationship with the Turkish authorities further deteriorated in the late sixties. High taxes and runaway inflation fomented political unrest throughout Turkey. Güney, meanwhile, formed his own production company (Güney Filmcilik) and began producing and directing his own films, such as The Horse, the Woman, and the Gun (1966), Bullets Cannot Pierce Me (1967), My Name is Kerim (1967), and The Hungry Wolves (1969).
Throughout the 1970’s, economic conditions in Turkey grew increasingly worse and prime ministers came and went because none of the parties or coalitions could establish a stable government. Strife between various social divisions escalated as well, including conflicts between secular and religious segments of the society and terrorist activities sponsored by the Kurdish minority concentrated in the southeastern mountains adjacent to Syria and Iraq. Güney’s films during this time period captured the mood of the Turkish people, with such titles as Hope (1970), The Hopeless Ones (1971), Pain (1971), Elegy (1971), and Anxiety (1974). The last of those films had to be completed by Güney’s assistant, Serif Gören, because Guney was imprisoned in 1973 for harboring anarchist students. He was released in 1974 as part of a general amnesty, but was soon rearrested for shooting a judge. Güney spent most of the rest of his life in prison but managed to direct six films from inside prison in cooperation with Gören. Güney wrote the scripts, working under very difficult conditions, and provided Gören with detailed technical instructions. During this time period, Güney “directed” some of his best work, including The Friend (1974) and Yol (1982). He also wrote two fine scripts for films directed by Zeki Okten, The Herd (1978) and The Enemy (1979).
In 1981, Güney escaped from prison and fled to France, shortly after army leaders took control of Turkey in still another coup and began clamping down on dissidents and civil liberties in an attempt to control civil unrest. No sooner had Güney arrived in France, than he was greeted with the Palme d’Or from Cannes for his film Yol. Güney then directed one last film in France called The Wall (1983). Güney died of cancer shortly thereafter. Though widely considered by international critics the greatest Turkish director thus far, Güney’s films in Turkey were systematically confiscated and burned. The Turkish people were forbidden to speak his name or to write about him. Nevertheless, as a director, Güney was first and foremost of and for the Turkish people, as many comments at internet sites written in praise of this great man by people of Turkey illustrate: “Yol has a very special place in Turkish cinema. It is a masterpiece in my opinion.” “This film is the proof of the possibility to make great films with limited financial resources.”
The Story: The story begins in a “half-open” detention facility on the island of Imrali, somewhat like a low-security prison in America. The bored and lonely men eagerly await mail call, hoping for letters from loved ones at home. A few of the prisoners are soon scheduled for one-week furloughs, during which time they can travel home to visit their families. The film then follows the stories of five of the men during their furloughs, weaving back and forth between the threads (not all of equal importance). A lot of film time is devoted to the travel of these men, by train and by bus, across Turkey, making Yol something of a “road film” and a travelogue of the Turkish countryside. Viewers quickly realize that the Turkey of 1980 was pretty much a police state, as the furloughed prisoners and virtually every other male traveler are repeatedly searched at checkpoints and on the trains and required to produce identification.
One of the men, Yusuf (Tuncay Akça), gets minimal screen time because he gets no further than the first checkpoint. Having misplaced his identification papers, he’s soon on his way back to prison, having lost his opportunity for furlough.
A second man, Mehmet Salih (Halil Ergün) is in prison because of his role in a bank heist. He has something of a cross to bear. He had agreed to drive the getaway car for a robbery being committed by his brother-in-law, Aziz, but had panicked and driven away without his partner in crime. The police had then caught up with Aziz and shot him dead. Mehmet’s wife’s family understandably blames Mehmet for the death of Aziz and is seething with hatred for Mehmet. Mehmet’s wife, Emine (Meral Orhonsay), torn between loyalty to her husband and to her family of birth, wants to know the truth in the accusation that Mehmet is responsible for Aziz’s death, but that truth is not good for Mehmet. Mehmet risk’s losing his wife and children and perhaps even his life from violent reprisal by her family. He owns up to his responsibility in Aziz’s death and leaves it to Emine to choose between her husband or her brothers and parents. She opts, in the end, for her husband and they flee together by train, but are tracked down and killed by Aziz’s younger brother. Such is life in Turkey.
Mevlut (Hikmet Çelik) is engaged and looks forward to some quality time alone with his fiancée, Meral (Sevda Aktolga), but there’s no way it’s going to happen. Whenever they are together, they are accompanied by multiple chaperons. They do have opportunity to chat, however, and Mevlut maps out his expectations for their marriage: “As soon as I’m released, we’ll get married. My word will be as good as law. We’ll do everything I say. If I say something’s black, you’ll know it’s black. It’s also out of the question for you to talk or to joke with other men. Otherwise I’ll get mad. Other than your brothers or close relatives, any conversation with me is strictly off limits. You’ll obey my every command. And forget about any fancy dresses, or else I’ll get mad. I myself’ll decide what you should wear or do. Understand?” How’s that for a bit of sweet talk, ladies? Meral looks at him in utter adoration and replies, “I understand. You’re so good with words. Where do you pick all that up, in jail?” Nevertheless, Meral’s brothers and chaperons aren’t going to allow Mevlut to get so much as a hand-holding from his fiancée before their marriage and he finally resorts to a trip to a brothel.
The fourth man, Omer (Necmettin Cobanoglu) is a Kurd but one without any interest in political agendas. He wants nothing more than a life of peaceful tranquility in his village home. Unfortunately, his village is in utter turmoil, as Turkish policemen hunt Kurdish dissidents and terrorists. One of the men the police are after is Omer’s brother, Abuzer. Outside the family’s modest dwelling, the sound of gunfire is almost constant, day and night. Omer takes a shine to a young maiden of the village, Gulbahar (Semra Uçar), and she to him. Abuzer is finally shot to death and unceremoniously dumped in the village like a dog. Kurdish custom dictates that Omer immediately becomes husband to his brother’s widow. “My condolences,” he says to her, after identifying her husband’s body. “You know our traditions. As of now I’m your husband. That’s fate.” So much for his hopes for marriage with Gulbahar!
The last of the five furloughed prisoners, Seyit Ali (Tarik Akan), is distraught because his wife, Ziné (Serif Sezer), who is also his cousin, abandoned their child and took off while Seyit was in prison, despite having assured him that she would wait faithfully for him. To make matters worse, her brothers tracked her down in a brothel. For this religious family, she has dishonored them all and the only acceptable penalty is for her to be put to death. The only reason she hasn’t already been killed by her own brother, Sevket (Hikmet Tasdemir), or father, Cinde (Enver Güney), is because Seyit has the higher “right” to do so, he being the most injured party. In the meantime, Ziné has been chained in the stable “like a dog” for eight months and provided nothing but bread and water. Seyit has to travel five hours through a mountain pass, Shepherd’s Rock Canyon, in deep snow and bitter cold, to reach the home of his wife’s father, where she is being held. Seyit’s cousins and father-in-law don’t particularly care who kills Ziné, so long as she is duly put to death to remove the stain on the family’s honor. Even Ziné’s sister and her son, Mirza (Engin Çelik), take no pity on her. Seyit is torn between hatred and pity, but tells his cousin (Ziné’s brother), “I made my decision a long time ago. It’s my duty.” Still, he can’t help thinking about their happy days together and how much she used to enjoy listening to him play his lute.
Themes: Yol is a powerful portrait of tyranny, repression, and inhumane chauvinism. By focusing his story on furloughed prisoners, Güney skillfully demonstrates the parallels between life in the half-open prison and the prison-like atmosphere of life throughout Turkey for the supposedly free citizenry. The presence everywhere of police and the military, the repeated searches and demands for identification papers, the imposition of curfews, and the brutal military activity in the Kurdish provinces create the distinct impression that life on the outside is barely distinguishable from life in prison. Though each of the five prisoners hopes to find a sense of community and normalcy, they find only pain, strife, frustration, and bitterness.
Güney’s approach to his topic goes way beyond simplistic finger-pointing however. It goes without saying that a leftist like Güney is going to be critical of the repressive government and military elements in Turkey, but, surprisingly, Güney saves his most scathing attacks for some of the more archaic values and traditions of the people of Turkey. He places a great deal of the blame on the nature of the society and its belief systems. This is a society that badly mistreats its women. Even though this film is composed of five nearly independent storylines, they add to each other’s strength by their interactions. Viewers can’t help but to recognize, for example, the terrible inconsistency between Mevlut’s trip to the brothel and Ziné being murdered for selling her flesh. These are men who will kill their own sister for engaging in prostitution yet will happily buy the services of someone else’s sister.
While making these political and sociological points, Yol also shows viewers a marvelous cross-section of the scenic wonders and cultural mix of Turkey. Turkey is composed of a variety of ethnic groups, of which the Turks constitute about 85% of the population and the Kurds 10%. The remaining 5% includes Arabs, Caucasians (in the original sense of the word – people from the Caucasus Mountain region), Greeks, and Armenians. The Turks and the Kurds in particular share little in common other than mutual hatred for one another. Yol gives a new, richer meaning to the concept of “road film.”
Production Values: There is no wasted footage in this film whatsoever. Its bleak portrait of a troubled Turkey is sparse and elegant. The cinematography is vivid and varied. The soundtrack is outstanding, capturing a wide variety of indigenous sounds of Turkey integrated with Turkish music. This is a very special film that is true to the character of its country of origin. It makes no concessions to the filming conventions of Hollywood or any other national cinema other than its own.
The performances are all excellent – very natural and convincing. Several performances are truly outstanding, including Tarik Akan as Seyit, Necmettin Çobanoglu as Omer, Serif Sezer as Ziné, and Halil Ergün as Mehmet. My only problem with the film was keeping the characters straight initially. Watching it a second time, I had no trouble recognizing the various threads, but it was difficult during the first third of the first viewing.
Bottom-Line: Yol is a magnificent work of art, easily worthy of the Palme d’Or it received, and a personal triumph over brutal adversity for Güney. It’s as close as I ever want to get to touring Turkey, especially given what this film reveals of its savagely repressive customs and chauvinistic mores. I highly recommend this film for those of you interested in authentic experiences with other cultures. Yol is in Turkish with English subtitles and has a running time of 111 minutes.
Recommended
Yes
Video Occasion: Fit for Friday Evening
Suitability For Children: Not suitable for Children of any age
This film was my first experience with Turkish cinema. I am very impressed, though I doubt that Turkish cinema as a whole can match the lofty standard set by Yilmaz Güney’s Yol. By reputation, it is one of the very finest films ever made in Turkey. The circumstances under which it was made are arguably every bit as dramatic as the film itself.
Historical Background: Yilmaz Güney was born in 1937 in a small village in southern Turkey, not far from the city of Adana. He attended the universities in Ankara and Istanbul, studying economics and law, but was won over to filmmaking by the age of twenty-one. Up until the late fifties, films produced by the main Turkish film studio, Yesilcam, had consisted mainly of unexceptional melodramas, war films, and adaptations of theater pieces, but by the early sixties, a few of the young directors (dare I say young Turks!), such as Atif Yilmaz, were beginning to make more artistically progressive films dealing with the real life and travails of the Turkish people. Yilmaz Güney eagerly allied himself with this group and became one of its most popular participants, initially as an actor. He had something of a tough guy persona and was given the nickname of “Cirkin Kral,” which translates as “The Ugly King.” He quickly became something of a matinee idol in Turkey, appearing in as many as twenty films in one year. Güney, however, was ardently committed to social change and exploitation of cinema as a vehicle to promote it. He set his sights on directing, initially serving as a screenwriter and assistant director to Atif Yilmaz.
Turkish history during the last forty-five years has been characterized by a high turbulence. In the late 1950’s, a soaring national debt and restrictions on free speech had rendered the ruling party highly unpopular. In 1960, Turkish military forces overthrew the government and took provisional control while a new constitution was drafted, modeled after the French constitution. Free national elections were conducted and the Republican People’s Party received the largest number of votes. Though the early sixties were generally a period of political reform in Turkey, Güney was arrested for a period of 18 months in 1961-2 for publishing a novel deemed to be “communist.” Güney’s relationship with the Turkish authorities further deteriorated in the late sixties. High taxes and runaway inflation fomented political unrest throughout Turkey. Güney, meanwhile, formed his own production company (Güney Filmcilik) and began producing and directing his own films, such as The Horse, the Woman, and the Gun (1966), Bullets Cannot Pierce Me (1967), My Name is Kerim (1967), and The Hungry Wolves (1969).
Throughout the 1970’s, economic conditions in Turkey grew increasingly worse and prime ministers came and went because none of the parties or coalitions could establish a stable government. Strife between various social divisions escalated as well, including conflicts between secular and religious segments of the society and terrorist activities sponsored by the Kurdish minority concentrated in the southeastern mountains adjacent to Syria and Iraq. Güney’s films during this time period captured the mood of the Turkish people, with such titles as Hope (1970), The Hopeless Ones (1971), Pain (1971), Elegy (1971), and Anxiety (1974). The last of those films had to be completed by Güney’s assistant, Serif Gören, because Guney was imprisoned in 1973 for harboring anarchist students. He was released in 1974 as part of a general amnesty, but was soon rearrested for shooting a judge. Güney spent most of the rest of his life in prison but managed to direct six films from inside prison in cooperation with Gören. Güney wrote the scripts, working under very difficult conditions, and provided Gören with detailed technical instructions. During this time period, Güney “directed” some of his best work, including The Friend (1974) and Yol (1982). He also wrote two fine scripts for films directed by Zeki Okten, The Herd (1978) and The Enemy (1979).
In 1981, Güney escaped from prison and fled to France, shortly after army leaders took control of Turkey in still another coup and began clamping down on dissidents and civil liberties in an attempt to control civil unrest. No sooner had Güney arrived in France, than he was greeted with the Palme d’Or from Cannes for his film Yol. Güney then directed one last film in France called The Wall (1983). Güney died of cancer shortly thereafter. Though widely considered by international critics the greatest Turkish director thus far, Güney’s films in Turkey were systematically confiscated and burned. The Turkish people were forbidden to speak his name or to write about him. Nevertheless, as a director, Güney was first and foremost of and for the Turkish people, as many comments at internet sites written in praise of this great man by people of Turkey illustrate: “Yol has a very special place in Turkish cinema. It is a masterpiece in my opinion.” “This film is the proof of the possibility to make great films with limited financial resources.”
The Story: The story begins in a “half-open” detention facility on the island of Imrali, somewhat like a low-security prison in America. The bored and lonely men eagerly await mail call, hoping for letters from loved ones at home. A few of the prisoners are soon scheduled for one-week furloughs, during which time they can travel home to visit their families. The film then follows the stories of five of the men during their furloughs, weaving back and forth between the threads (not all of equal importance). A lot of film time is devoted to the travel of these men, by train and by bus, across Turkey, making Yol something of a “road film” and a travelogue of the Turkish countryside. Viewers quickly realize that the Turkey of 1980 was pretty much a police state, as the furloughed prisoners and virtually every other male traveler are repeatedly searched at checkpoints and on the trains and required to produce identification.
One of the men, Yusuf (Tuncay Akça), gets minimal screen time because he gets no further than the first checkpoint. Having misplaced his identification papers, he’s soon on his way back to prison, having lost his opportunity for furlough.
A second man, Mehmet Salih (Halil Ergün) is in prison because of his role in a bank heist. He has something of a cross to bear. He had agreed to drive the getaway car for a robbery being committed by his brother-in-law, Aziz, but had panicked and driven away without his partner in crime. The police had then caught up with Aziz and shot him dead. Mehmet’s wife’s family understandably blames Mehmet for the death of Aziz and is seething with hatred for Mehmet. Mehmet’s wife, Emine (Meral Orhonsay), torn between loyalty to her husband and to her family of birth, wants to know the truth in the accusation that Mehmet is responsible for Aziz’s death, but that truth is not good for Mehmet. Mehmet risk’s losing his wife and children and perhaps even his life from violent reprisal by her family. He owns up to his responsibility in Aziz’s death and leaves it to Emine to choose between her husband or her brothers and parents. She opts, in the end, for her husband and they flee together by train, but are tracked down and killed by Aziz’s younger brother. Such is life in Turkey.
Mevlut (Hikmet Çelik) is engaged and looks forward to some quality time alone with his fiancée, Meral (Sevda Aktolga), but there’s no way it’s going to happen. Whenever they are together, they are accompanied by multiple chaperons. They do have opportunity to chat, however, and Mevlut maps out his expectations for their marriage: “As soon as I’m released, we’ll get married. My word will be as good as law. We’ll do everything I say. If I say something’s black, you’ll know it’s black. It’s also out of the question for you to talk or to joke with other men. Otherwise I’ll get mad. Other than your brothers or close relatives, any conversation with me is strictly off limits. You’ll obey my every command. And forget about any fancy dresses, or else I’ll get mad. I myself’ll decide what you should wear or do. Understand?” How’s that for a bit of sweet talk, ladies? Meral looks at him in utter adoration and replies, “I understand. You’re so good with words. Where do you pick all that up, in jail?” Nevertheless, Meral’s brothers and chaperons aren’t going to allow Mevlut to get so much as a hand-holding from his fiancée before their marriage and he finally resorts to a trip to a brothel.
The fourth man, Omer (Necmettin Cobanoglu) is a Kurd but one without any interest in political agendas. He wants nothing more than a life of peaceful tranquility in his village home. Unfortunately, his village is in utter turmoil, as Turkish policemen hunt Kurdish dissidents and terrorists. One of the men the police are after is Omer’s brother, Abuzer. Outside the family’s modest dwelling, the sound of gunfire is almost constant, day and night. Omer takes a shine to a young maiden of the village, Gulbahar (Semra Uçar), and she to him. Abuzer is finally shot to death and unceremoniously dumped in the village like a dog. Kurdish custom dictates that Omer immediately becomes husband to his brother’s widow. “My condolences,” he says to her, after identifying her husband’s body. “You know our traditions. As of now I’m your husband. That’s fate.” So much for his hopes for marriage with Gulbahar!
The last of the five furloughed prisoners, Seyit Ali (Tarik Akan), is distraught because his wife, Ziné (Serif Sezer), who is also his cousin, abandoned their child and took off while Seyit was in prison, despite having assured him that she would wait faithfully for him. To make matters worse, her brothers tracked her down in a brothel. For this religious family, she has dishonored them all and the only acceptable penalty is for her to be put to death. The only reason she hasn’t already been killed by her own brother, Sevket (Hikmet Tasdemir), or father, Cinde (Enver Güney), is because Seyit has the higher “right” to do so, he being the most injured party. In the meantime, Ziné has been chained in the stable “like a dog” for eight months and provided nothing but bread and water. Seyit has to travel five hours through a mountain pass, Shepherd’s Rock Canyon, in deep snow and bitter cold, to reach the home of his wife’s father, where she is being held. Seyit’s cousins and father-in-law don’t particularly care who kills Ziné, so long as she is duly put to death to remove the stain on the family’s honor. Even Ziné’s sister and her son, Mirza (Engin Çelik), take no pity on her. Seyit is torn between hatred and pity, but tells his cousin (Ziné’s brother), “I made my decision a long time ago. It’s my duty.” Still, he can’t help thinking about their happy days together and how much she used to enjoy listening to him play his lute.
Themes: Yol is a powerful portrait of tyranny, repression, and inhumane chauvinism. By focusing his story on furloughed prisoners, Güney skillfully demonstrates the parallels between life in the half-open prison and the prison-like atmosphere of life throughout Turkey for the supposedly free citizenry. The presence everywhere of police and the military, the repeated searches and demands for identification papers, the imposition of curfews, and the brutal military activity in the Kurdish provinces create the distinct impression that life on the outside is barely distinguishable from life in prison. Though each of the five prisoners hopes to find a sense of community and normalcy, they find only pain, strife, frustration, and bitterness.
Güney’s approach to his topic goes way beyond simplistic finger-pointing however. It goes without saying that a leftist like Güney is going to be critical of the repressive government and military elements in Turkey, but, surprisingly, Güney saves his most scathing attacks for some of the more archaic values and traditions of the people of Turkey. He places a great deal of the blame on the nature of the society and its belief systems. This is a society that badly mistreats its women. Even though this film is composed of five nearly independent storylines, they add to each other’s strength by their interactions. Viewers can’t help but to recognize, for example, the terrible inconsistency between Mevlut’s trip to the brothel and Ziné being murdered for selling her flesh. These are men who will kill their own sister for engaging in prostitution yet will happily buy the services of someone else’s sister.
While making these political and sociological points, Yol also shows viewers a marvelous cross-section of the scenic wonders and cultural mix of Turkey. Turkey is composed of a variety of ethnic groups, of which the Turks constitute about 85% of the population and the Kurds 10%. The remaining 5% includes Arabs, Caucasians (in the original sense of the word – people from the Caucasus Mountain region), Greeks, and Armenians. The Turks and the Kurds in particular share little in common other than mutual hatred for one another. Yol gives a new, richer meaning to the concept of “road film.”
Production Values: There is no wasted footage in this film whatsoever. Its bleak portrait of a troubled Turkey is sparse and elegant. The cinematography is vivid and varied. The soundtrack is outstanding, capturing a wide variety of indigenous sounds of Turkey integrated with Turkish music. This is a very special film that is true to the character of its country of origin. It makes no concessions to the filming conventions of Hollywood or any other national cinema other than its own.
The performances are all excellent – very natural and convincing. Several performances are truly outstanding, including Tarik Akan as Seyit, Necmettin Çobanoglu as Omer, Serif Sezer as Ziné, and Halil Ergün as Mehmet. My only problem with the film was keeping the characters straight initially. Watching it a second time, I had no trouble recognizing the various threads, but it was difficult during the first third of the first viewing.
Bottom-Line: Yol is a magnificent work of art, easily worthy of the Palme d’Or it received, and a personal triumph over brutal adversity for Güney. It’s as close as I ever want to get to touring Turkey, especially given what this film reveals of its savagely repressive customs and chauvinistic mores. I highly recommend this film for those of you interested in authentic experiences with other cultures. Yol is in Turkish with English subtitles and has a running time of 111 minutes.
Recommended
Yes
Video Occasion: Fit for Friday Evening
Suitability For Children: Not suitable for Children of any age