Never mind Ozgurcd's review of this film, he or she is not reviewing the film (who knows if he or she even saw it) but merely spouting political views about a touchy subject in Turkey. I'm Turkish and know all about Turkish victimization paranoia. I would rather judge the film on its own merits and perhaps acknowledge and discuss the politics also. This film is less about the Turkish-Kurdish divide as it is about class and the issues of migrant workers in Istanbul. This plot could happen anywhere in the world. Here's my review: "Journey to the Sun" is an almost perfect film, but hurt by the stilted acting. God, why can't Turkish people act in film? Either it's over-dramatic (as if they've confused the camera lens with a theater audience) or it's so understated to be nonexistent. This film suffers from the latter. I know this happens with non-actors and though I have always loved the Italian neo-realists, I have also always thought they could have used a hefty dose of the Actors' Studio.
But back to the movie, Journey has a lot in common with the neo-realists, by attempting to show the stark reality of migrant life in Istanbul. We first get a glimpse of this in the opening scene, in the form of shots of people unrelated to the film, and most likely just faces in the crowd of the busy neighborhood of Eminonu.
This is the story of two friends, one Kurdish (Berzan) and one not, but who is so dark-skinned as to be mistaken for one (Mehmet). Mehmet is from Tire on the Aegean Sea coast while Berzan is from a village near the Iraqi border. They are both migrant workers, trying to eek out an existence. The tragi-comic circumstances in which they meet work as an eerie foreshadowing for the events to come. A band of drunk hooligans attempt to beat up a man they think is Kurdish and Mehmet and Berzan save him. They then have to run to save their own asses.
All goes well until one day Mehmet is mistaken for a Kurd through a plot twist I won't go into here and is taken to the police station, tortured, and then let go. The treatment he gets after that brings him on a multi-tiered journey: of political and social enlightenment, of identity, of geography (he ends up going to the East). Berzan is certainly working with some underground organizations, but this is never made clear. We see him as Mehmet sees him, Mehmet being the non-Kurd and representing the non-Kurdish audience that Ustaoglu must, in some way, think is watching this film. This aspect is somewhat problematic. Would Berzan somehow be less sympathetic to us if we knew what he was up to? I don't know, and can't say for sure.
This is, however, a beautiful film, with the more serious threads punctuated with moments of humor and touching detail. The mise-en-scene is so exquisitely rendered, so detail-oriented that the director must have spent time with the everyday people that we normally just passed by. I love seeing women directors creating such important and moving work, it gives me hope. What's the point of highlighting injustice if there is no hope? I dare not be a nihilist. And while the the penultimate scene at the submerged Kurdish village is close to heartbreaking, like many scenes in the film (Mehmet dying his hair blonde in an attempt to seem less Kurdish then reversing his identity and taking on Berzan's own identity) it never totally breaks you because the characters are never totally broken.
cococravescinema.blogspot.com
But back to the movie, Journey has a lot in common with the neo-realists, by attempting to show the stark reality of migrant life in Istanbul. We first get a glimpse of this in the opening scene, in the form of shots of people unrelated to the film, and most likely just faces in the crowd of the busy neighborhood of Eminonu.
This is the story of two friends, one Kurdish (Berzan) and one not, but who is so dark-skinned as to be mistaken for one (Mehmet). Mehmet is from Tire on the Aegean Sea coast while Berzan is from a village near the Iraqi border. They are both migrant workers, trying to eek out an existence. The tragi-comic circumstances in which they meet work as an eerie foreshadowing for the events to come. A band of drunk hooligans attempt to beat up a man they think is Kurdish and Mehmet and Berzan save him. They then have to run to save their own asses.
All goes well until one day Mehmet is mistaken for a Kurd through a plot twist I won't go into here and is taken to the police station, tortured, and then let go. The treatment he gets after that brings him on a multi-tiered journey: of political and social enlightenment, of identity, of geography (he ends up going to the East). Berzan is certainly working with some underground organizations, but this is never made clear. We see him as Mehmet sees him, Mehmet being the non-Kurd and representing the non-Kurdish audience that Ustaoglu must, in some way, think is watching this film. This aspect is somewhat problematic. Would Berzan somehow be less sympathetic to us if we knew what he was up to? I don't know, and can't say for sure.
This is, however, a beautiful film, with the more serious threads punctuated with moments of humor and touching detail. The mise-en-scene is so exquisitely rendered, so detail-oriented that the director must have spent time with the everyday people that we normally just passed by. I love seeing women directors creating such important and moving work, it gives me hope. What's the point of highlighting injustice if there is no hope? I dare not be a nihilist. And while the the penultimate scene at the submerged Kurdish village is close to heartbreaking, like many scenes in the film (Mehmet dying his hair blonde in an attempt to seem less Kurdish then reversing his identity and taking on Berzan's own identity) it never totally breaks you because the characters are never totally broken.
cococravescinema.blogspot.com
