It’s not that I’m indifferent to the new Star Trek movie–I’m so keyed up about it, I can scarcely type, what with my fingers locked in a Vulcan salute–but as the deadline for this article approaches, Paramount has not yet invited me to a screening, so I can’t tell you on which notch the picture’s been set: stun, kill or fizz. What to do? I suppose I’ll have to report that the most exciting new film I’ve actually seen is a hand-crafted, microbudget production featuring four no-name actors speaking Turkish.
Although the doom of the art house lies upon it, this adventuresome film is presented in CinemaScope format, deploys special effects throughout (that is, postproduction adjustments to the photography) and draws you into many strange and mind-altering spaces–so it’s not entirely unlike a science-fiction blockbuster.
There’s even a thematic link to Star Trek, which (according to the trailer) has something to do with a young man’s sense of responsibility toward his father. So, too, does Nuri Bilge Ceylan’s Three Monkeys–although here the comparisons end. The crosscurrents of debts and evasions, guilty secrets and frustrated desires are so dense among all of Ceylan’s characters that they seem to generate an atmosphere of their own: an envelope of heavy clouds shot through with electrical discharges, hanging over an alien world where we all happen to live.
Call it Istanbul. On the outskirts, overlooking the railroad tracks and a sea busy with freighters, stands the stalk of an isolated old apartment building, about five stories tall and one room deep. Here, edging past one another, live a handsome middle-aged woman named Hacer (Hatice Aslan), her layabout late-adolescent son, Ismail (Ahmet Rifat Sungar), and her thick-bodied, gravely mustached husband, Eyüp (Yavuz Bingöl), who works as a driver for a political figure. The family can go up to the roof to watch storms gather or maybe contemplate jumping. They can eat lunch at a table jammed against the window and ignore the framed view of the sea, which resembles a picture postcard of a place they won’t visit, though they’re already there. They can spy on one another. (It can’t be avoided.) And they can experience the change in atmosphere, inside and out, when the husband is subtracted from this place and then returns, almost a year later, having made a sacrifice for Hacer and Ismail–or perhaps having made a sacrifice of them.