User Reviews

A study of one of those universally familiar, physical and/or emotional states: isolation. I think the film also comments on cultural displacement too.

The film presents the experiences of two Turkish men (cousins). One has money (and the comforts that come of having 'made-it' with a steady income); the other has none and goes in search of work. Neither are happy. Expect no celebration of life here - this is loneliness, warts and all.

The film succeeds in offering a powerfully bleak traverse across the 'low lands' of the human condition. Brave film-making. Well-acted and well-shot in my view (outdoor shots by the harbour being my own favourites). A film that should inspire gratitude in anyone who is not a stranger to happiness and fulfilment in life (not to mention employment); everyone else will find a companion in this film. A film with all the warmth and pace of an ice-floe. Expect a bitter pill, not a 'happy pill.'

This Turkish film was listed in the 1001 Movies You Must See Before You Die book, and it was rated four out of five stars by critics, I obviously hoped for the best with this film and that I would agree with the recommendations, so I watched it out of curiosity. Basically Mahmut (Muzaffer Özdemir) is a forty year old relatively wealthy and intellectual independent photographer living in the big city of Istanbul, but his existence is in crisis after his wife leaves him. Young factory worker Yusuf (Mehmet Emin Toprak) is Mahmut's cousin, and has travelled to Instanbul after losing his job when the factory closes down, he hopes to find another job to support his family, perhaps on board a ship, and in the meantime stay with his cousin, who allows him to stay, but is very distant towards him. The two do not get along at all, and there are no jobs available like Yusuf had hoped for or assumed, and he has no sense of direction, what to do and how to do it, and meanwhile Mahmut shows hardly any sign of improving from his state of despair, as he continues his dull job, photographing tiles which is inartistic, he also cannot communicate with his ex-wife or lover, pretends to be stimulated by other filmmakers, and watches porn when his cousin leaves the room. There is a point when Mahkut does attempt to bond with Yusuk, as well as try to rekindle his love of art, by going on a drive to the Turkish countryside and taking photographs of it, but both the bonding and this hope for inspiration fail, in the end Yusuf leaves without telling his cousin, and Mahmut is left on the docks watching the ships alone. Also starring Zuhal Gencer Erkaya as Zuhal Gencer, Nazan Kirilmis as Lover, Feridun Koc as Janitor and Fatma Ceylan as Mother. This is a rather odd and slightly uncomfortable film, there is hardly any dialogue, and many of the scenes see the two leading characters hanging around the house not doing very much, but that is the intention, conveying the themes of isolation and alienation, and certainly the good reason for the title Distant, I'm not sure if I fully agree with the four out of five stars critics give it, but it is an interesting enough drama. Good!

Uzak is a glorious film, a classic. The basic plot is astonishingly simple to describe - Yusuf, a man from a rural part of Turkey, visits his cousin, Mahmut, in Istanbul, hoping to find a job there. The cousins share a tense time living together in the same flat until, eventually, Yusuf leaves. All of this unfolds slowly and methodically, in a manner that some viewers and critics have found infuriating. Indeed, at times the film seems to almost revel in its inaction - in particular, hints at possible romantic relationships come to nothing as the girls involved quite literally drift out of the picture. Although not a great deal ostensibly happens in Uzak, a great deal is said by the film - particularly on the topic of modern existence. The film's characters are almost always depicted as alienated and anesthetized - Mahmut photographs tiles for a living; people hardly talk to each other; watching television seems to be the universal past- time; and even familial bonds have broken down, as Mahmut bitingly refers to Jusuf as a 'little prick' and a 'filthy son of bitch'. The theme of a dehumanized people is crystallized by one recurrent image in the film - that of Mahmut sat recumbent in an armchair, watching TV. This image (always shot from the same angle, always static - much like Mahmut's life) keeps reappearing; the same each time apart from the differing programs on the screen. Mahmut's unerring attention to the television comes despite the fact that, at one point, he complains:

"The G**Damned thing has 90 channels but there's only sh*t!"

He is clearly a man that has been neutered by TV (porn seems to make up a significant proportion of what he watches), and by the trappings of modernity more generally. And hence one of the film's great triumphs is to make alienation recognizable; holding a mirror up to our own lives. Indeed, it is remarkable how 'real' and true-to-life the film seems - on this matter, I have already mentioned the effectiveness of the slow pace, but I would also draw your attention to the aftermath of the first sexual encounter of the film. In this scene, his mistress having just (wordlessly) departed, Mahmut lies back on the bed only to place his hand in some sticky, sexual residue, which he promptly wipes with a tissue. This is clearly no romanticized view of the world; no Hollywood portrayal of 'love-making', but a presentation of the less-than-perfect realities. Ceylan, I would contend, is a documentarian at heart, taking photographs which capture what is there for us all.

The decay on display here is not only spiritual but also economic. Yusuf goes to Istanbul, in search of work, because both he and his father have been told that they no long have jobs in their local factory. However, the city offers little relief from financial hardship - ships lie derelict and rotting in ports along the Bosporus (overshadowing the humans who created them), and the job-seeking process is nothing more than a series of delays, broken promises and refusals.

Uzak, however, is not devoid of optimism - we can see this through the subtle redemption of Mahmut which occurs at the end of the film. As should be clear from what has been written above, Mahmat's life is one that seems to consist wholly of taking photos of tiles; watching television; keeping his flat tidy; and having inconsequential, unfeeling sex. By contrast, there is a certain impulsiveness and innocence to Yusuf (at one point, he follows around a number of girls that he's interested in), that draws one towards him and demonstrates that he is a more complete and less tormented man than his cousin, despite his (Yusuf's ) poorer financial situation.

Watching so acute and affecting a portrayal of loneliness, ineffectiveness and eventual redemption, the viewer comes to realize that he is being granted special access to the very soul of the filmmaker - only a man who has experienced this trio firsthand can make a film such as this. And, indeed, Nuri Bigle Ceylan made Uzak in what might be called a solitary manner (I like Telerama's description of him as 'L'Artisan Solitaire') - he employed a sparse crew of five, and entrusted to himself many of the film-making roles. Not only did he direct this film but he also wrote it, photographed it, co-edited it, and produced it for his own company (nbc films). We even recognize Ceylan in the character of Mahmut - not only does Mahmat drive a car and live in a flat which, in real life, belong to Ceylan, but Ceylan used to also be a photographer. Although I'm reluctant to use a word which is often so casually applied, Uzak is undeniably the work of a true auteur. But this film does not just represent the maker's past but also, we suspect, his nightmares. When Mahmut's friends comment that:

"You used to say you'd make films like Tarkovsky."

We see clearly what Mahmut is: that is, the failure that Ceylan feared he might become. The references to Tarkovsky that are littered throughout the film thus become more than, say, the 'nods' and ejaculations of some art-film Tarantino - they are an integral part of so personal a story. Whilst it is true that Ceylan is influenced by Tarkovsky, I would argue that, in a certain respect, the references to the Russian master's work are far from flattering - in Uzak, watching a Tarkovsky film is seemingly no worthwhile pursuit but the sad remnant of a forgotten dream; something that can be switched over for pornography (as Mahmut does). It bravely asks: can't mere film-watching be enervating and soulless; a barrier to true human experiences? Shouldn't we be going out and making our own films? One suspects that Ceylan, as someone who has literally been saved by film-making, would answer with a resounding 'Yes!' to these questions.

The first time I saw the poster, I was stunned by its tranquility and beauty. Then the city of Istanbul has been haunting in my mind ever since.

Not much dialogue, not much music, the whole film was shot as elaborately and aesthetically like a sculpture. It itself is a landscape.

Actually there are a lot of things going on in the film, but the director deliberately omitted most dramatic parts and leave them to our imagination, thus creating a really flat life. **(mild spoiler)One can see Mahmut's ladylove crying in the toilet and then going out without a word but not their fight; one can see Mahmut accompanying his mother in the hospital but not her struggle from illness. The most dramatic scene in the film to me is Yusuf laughing out loud for the toy soldier he bought for his niece,** and that's when it almost broke my heart to see this boring, lonely life bursting out in such a way.

With all the trivialities in life weeded, the story presents us with pure inner world of all the characters, their sadness, anxiety, loneliness, regrets...And as the story unfolded, I sort of finally grasped their desperate situation where their emotions were really no way out if no outer things intervened, which is exactly every loner tries to keep at all cost, especially for an irresponsible artist like Mahmut.

I've just finished my second watching. Last night, I crouched into my quilt, had some Vodka beside my bed and went through the whole film in a trance. I felt two real lives going on, one outside the screen, one inside the screen. I felt free from all those loneliness and anxiety 'cause the people inside were experiencing it. I just had myself removed from all those things.

We cannot deny the universal problem of communication, and loneliness even puts us far towards it, and it becomes a vicious spiral. I bet Mahmut still didn't figure out a way of living in the end. That's why he stepped out of his room to try to find the answers from the outer world, the coldness and landscape.