Zeit der trunkenen Pferde

"Time of Drunken Horses" is an uncompromising film about love and perseverance. It closely resembles the Iranian film, "Color of Paradise", and the Chinese "Not One Less" in its simplicity and its unrelenting message as well as using skilled child and adult actors in real-life settings. Filmmaker Bahman Ghobadi reminds us up front that we in the West don't understand the plight of the Kurdish refugees, numbering 20 million in Iran, Iraq, Syria, and Turkey. "Time of Drunken Horses" is both an important lesson as well as a powerful homage to the suffering Kurdish people. To its credit, the film does depict the suffering as sympathy but rather as heroic and noble. When children have to fight for work in the marketplace, usually carrying heavy contraband on their backs, or when they have to trudge through deep snow to return to their village, or when they sing childhood songs about how they are aging so fast, there is a surprising energy and enthusiasm. The film takes its viewpoint from three children - a teenage boy, Ayoub, placed in charge of a disintegrating family, his younger sister, Amaneh, and the crippled and sick brother, Madi. The father has died in a landmine accident and the step-mother is away leaving the children in the hands of an already burdened uncle with eight children of his own. Madi needs an operation to extend his life another 7 or 8 months; otherwise, he will died soon. The love extended to this midget child is remarkable from the brother and sisters (one even accepts marriage in exchange for obtaining the needed operation) to the kindly doctor who comes regularly to give injections. That is the one irony that this film plainly wants to get across. We are blest with modern medicine is at our fingertips and yet we can decide to withhold care if it appears to be futile. How, then, can we understand, in a society in which there is so little, the determination of one boy to extend the live of someone he truly loves when the odds are overwhelmingly against him. The final scene merely strengthens the powerful message of "Time of Drunken Horses" as the boy and his crippled brother valiantly march off in the snow to a future we know will not be pleasant.

Iran must have a very strong storytelling tradition, because I've seen about 7 movies from there in the last year and (with the exception of The Wind Will Carry Us), they've all been amazing. Next to the White Balloon this one was my favorite. Months after seeing it I still feel awful about complaining about traffic or any of the "problems" in my life when I think of the things a 12 year old Ayoub had to deal with (my big problem when I was 12, my mom threatening to throw my baseball cards away, doesn't quite compare...). It's so rare to see such a display of devotion, perseverance, maturity that doesn't look totally contrived. Add to that that these were all amateur actors and you end up with something from the heart that has a lot of depth. 9/10

In his most recent film, "A Time for Drunken Horses," Director Bahman Ghobadi depicts the hardship of life in the Kurdish region straddling the border between Iran and Iraq.

At the beginning of the film, a truck full of children makes its way through the snowy Iranian mountains. The large group of children sing in Arabic about how the winding road makes them older. You get the sense that they don't really know what they are singing about, but the song is indicative of how many of these children will be thrust into the realities of adulthood with little warning and even less preparation.

A young Kurd, Ayoub, must avert government brutality and raise the money to pay for an operation for his ailing younger brother.

Their father has just been killed by authorities and the teen must work to provide for the rest of the family. The only way he can raise the money is by smuggling goods across the border from Iraq to Iran, risking extremely cold temperatures, land mines and military raids.

Much to his credit, Ghobadi uses locals instead of professional actors throughout the film. The children who portray the three major characters (Ayoub, his sister Amaneh and their young, disabled brother Madi) give brilliant, fresh performances. Ayoub and Amaneh are convincing as a brother and sister attempting to hold their family together.

These children shed real tears. In a particularly impressive moment, Ayoub wrestles to move a drunken mule who won't budge as troops with rifles converge on his convoy. The power of his fear and frustration lights up the screen.

By the same token, some of the adult actors are unprofessional and wooden. Minor characters, like Ayoub's uncle, are painful to watch as they attempt to act. But thankfully these characters are periphery.

As an artistic film coming from the Middle East, one might not expect much from the technical aspects of the film. The cinematography, however, rivals some of the slickest Hollywood productions. The sweeping ice-blue snow that lines the mountains in the film provides a stark contrast with the characters' bright costumes, particularly Madi's trademark, tiny yellow raincoat.

The textured sound design adds depth to the picture. The rich, crisp amplification of even the tiniest sounds are an example of the film's attention to detail. From the buttoning of a coat to the smacking of lips, small sounds stand out and give the film an intimate feel.

The film derives its title from the mules that are given alcohol so they'll traverse the snowy terrain.

At the end of the film, when Ayoub is trying to get Madi across the border, the drunken mules turn out to be a blessing in disguise.

And the ambiguous final shot will make you cringe.

Briskly paced, the film unearths beauty in simplicity. Ghobadi clearly is a talented director, and in this film about growing up too fast he paints a beautiful, sad picture.

Beautiful movie about the Kurdish people, living in the mountains separating Iran, Iraq and Turkey. Strong performances by the children in this movie. Look at Amaneh's eyes and tell me that you don't see the desperation. Another film in the tradition of Gabbeh and The Children of Heaven. Simple but poignant.

This film is about the lose of childhood, a similar theme that is very common among many other Kurdish films, including Karzan Kardozi's I Want to Live (2015), and Yilmaz Gunye's The Wall (1983). These three films reflect the reality of the Kurdish people living under oppression in countries of Syria, Iraq, Iran and Turkey.