®
Back - Home - About - E-mail

 Welcome to Kurd Net ® Add URL | Link to us
Web Hosting
Today in the History Chat Online News RSSFree stuffArchiveDownload
Arabic NewspapersCall KurdistanHistory of EventsMoney lineWallpapersGraphicsMusic Box
PersonalArt & MusicMiscellaneousOrganizationsDocumentaryPoliticsPress & Media


 

Want to place your banner here ? send email for details



Search Kurd Net, Keyword or URL

 Filming on the borders of fiction, documentary and identity

 Source : Daily.Star.Lebanon
  Kurd Net is NOT responsible of the content of the article

 


Filming on the borders of fiction, documentary and identity  1.2.2008 
Movie Review By Jim Quilty

 











 

Turkish filmmaker Huseyin Karabey's discusses his first feature 'My Marlon and Brando'.

February 1, 2008


ROTTERDAM: A handheld camera jolts and jerks its way across a film location - somewhere in the mountain vastness of Kurdistan, the audience later learns. It approaches a young woman in a wedding dress and a slightly pompous-sounding voice begins a mock, Oscar-awards interview in English.

"Do you love the Kurdish people?" the cameraman asks, then presents the bride with a plastic sword as a trophy. "We are like gypsies," he says. "As long as we're with our loved ones we can live anywhere."

The prologue for Turkish writer and director Huseyin Karabey's first feature "My Marlon and Brando" is appropriately self-referential.       

Hüseyin Karabey - Director

 The Turkish-Dutch co-production had its world premiere at the International Film Festival of Rotterdam earlier this week. Audiences - apparently curious about this often discussed, if selectively filmed, region - have received it with enthusiasm.

The film follows the efforts of Ayca (Ayca Damgaci), the young actress of the prologue, to see her lover Hama Ali (Hama Ali Kahn). He's also an actor and the couple met on location in Kurdistan. The prologue is a video record of one of their early encounters.

Afterward, Ayca returned to Istanbul to resume her life and work, while Hama Ali went to Sulaimaniyah in Kurdistan 'northern Iraq', where he works as a butcher. Their long-distance relationship is comprised of letters and phone calls from Istanbul and video epistles that double as informal documentaries of his life in Sulaimaniyah. All their communications are, eccentrically it seems, in English.

Hama Ali's letters profess his love in baroque terms and he sometimes splices mock-heroic film clips into them, underlining the letters' comic aspect. He promises he will join Ayca in Istanbul as soon as conditions are right. Conditions are destined to worsen,
www.ekurd.net however. It's 2003, and America is preparing to invade Saddam Hussein's Iraq. When the bombs start falling, Ayca can't stand it and sets out for Sulaimaniyah to be with him.

The balance of the film recounts her journey. Upon arrival at the Turkish-Iraqi border, she learns that the Turkish Army is prohibiting any movement into Iraq. She has no choice but to travel to a town near Sulaimaniyah,
www.ekurd.net just on the other side of the Iranian border. True to road movie tradition, the incidents coloring the journey are as important as the destination itself, both in terms of what Ayca and her audience encounter along the way.

The great strength of "My Marlon and Brando" lies in its verisimilitude. Both Ayca Damgaci and Hama Ali Kahn look more like human beings than fashion models. Indeed, the story at the center of the film is that of Damgaci herself.

This shouldn't be a surprise, given that Karabey, 38, has been making documentaries for the last 12 years. He says verity is central to his aims, although he also professes skepticism toward the truth of film.

"In the old days," Karabey says. "[We Kurds] used to record our letters on tape recorders [because] we don't like to write. Now Kurdish people shoot videos. I knew the film would take Ayca to the Turkish-Iraqi border because ... we want to remind people what has happened in Kurdistan in the past and what's happening there now.

"I believe that documentary is more fictional than fiction film. Some people believe that if you can move 24 frames per second, then what you're seeing must be real. With the video letters in this film, we are trying to show a new kind of reality.

"We didn't want to define the reality of things but to raise questions about this reality. This is the main question in Turkey right now. The state's policy has always been to ignore our identity, to call us 'Mountain Turks.' It's more important to raise questions about these statements than to make our own didactic statements."

Karabey has made a film with both Turkish and foreign viewers in mind, but a skeptical audience may misread the codes he uses. The extensive use of English in the film seems an effort to appeal to anglophone audiences, renowned for their distaste for subtitles. He says the Turkish-Kurdish couple communicates in English because this is the only language they share.

"There are different [narrative] circles in the film," he continues. "The outermost circle is the simple love story that anyone can understand. There is also a second circle that people who have a small knowledge of Turkey and Kurdistan can follow. Then there's the inside circle for those who know the region very well.

"The early shots show street scenes of Istanbul, for instance, but the soundtrack music is Kurdish. Filming the ancient capital of the Turks with Kurdish music has never been done before.

"Later, when Ayca drives to the Iraqi border, she talks with her Kurdish taxi driver about identity. They stop at a ruined village so he can clean an old grave there. This may mean nothing to foreigners but all Turks will know the village as one the Turkish army destroyed 17 years ago because it occupies strategic high ground. There's no need to name it.

"I didn't plan to shoot that scene originally," Karabey laughs, "but when we came to the site, we found the security detail that usually guards it was between shifts. So we stopped and filmed the scene in an hour."

Several recurring motifs seem to mark the film as something other than fictionalized documentary. Ayca's neighbors in her Istanbul flat are a pair of fretful, elderly ladies who gawk out their window all day and greet her every time she comes home, taking the opportunity to remind her to lock the door as she enters the building.

Throughout her journey, Ayca's various taxi drivers all want to play the music of pop singer Ibrahim Tatlises. She doesn't mind at first, but ultimately asks the driver to play something else, only to find Tatlises is all he has.

The foreign audience may appreciate these motifs for the comic relief they provide. Those closer to the story will find another layer of meaning.

"Turkish audiences will recognize Ayca's downstairs neighbors are Armenians," Karabey says. They are funny but their fear sends a signal about the place of Turkey's Armenian community in the country.

"Ibrahim Tatlises," he laughs, "is a huge pop star all over Turkey and Kurdistan. The point is that people are listening to the same silly music, despite the borders between them. Ayca's finds people in Iran are watching illegal Turkish television but she can't cross the border to be with her lover."

Borders are a not uncommon motif in the recent work of Kurdish filmmakers. An otherwise very different film, "Half Moon" - the award-winning 2006 feature by Iran's Bahman Ghobadi - also follows Kurdish characters unsuccessfully trying to cross into Iraqi Kurdistan. Borders reflect the political reality of Kurds being dispersed among four different countries - Syria and Iran as well as Iraq and Turkey - and impose identity politics upon Kurdish filmmakers, whether they want it or not.

Karabey is ambivalent about the matter. "On one hand we don't care about borders," he says. "We're not all saying there must be a unified Kurdish state. But the borders are a reality. I've seen villages cut in two by the Iranian and Turkish border. Many people are trying to stir up hatred among people. We say you must look at these matters with humor and compassion and humanity.

"I don't want to ignore my identity or to use it be a successful filmmaker. I'm trying not to forget where I come from, just to fight this policy of ignoring who we are. My father speaks four languages - Kurdish, Turkish, Farsi and Arabic. Today people turn their backs on this [cosmopolitanism]. But it was a good thing, no?"

The International Film Festival of Rotterdam continues through February 3. For more information on Huseyin Karabey's "My Marlon and Brando," please check out www.asifilm.com

Dailystar com.lb   

Top

 

 
 

Copyright © 1998-2008 Kurd Net® . All rights reserved. ekurd.net
All documents and images on this website are copyrighted and may not be used without the express
permission of the copyright holder.