Drei Affen

Three Monkeys proved to me that Turkish cinema can rub shoulders with the very best in contemporary cinema.

It has a certain maturity and mastery of the medium even if it follows the patterns of Tarkovsky, Terrence Mallick and Zvyagintsev, with its ability to externalize the internal feelings of individuals and catapult those feelings in context with the well-chosen exteriors—sometimes natural environments and sometimes man-made structures. It's a film that makes the capability of a director and art director stand out even to a village idiot viewing cinema.

The title of the film does refer to the proverbial three monkeys; one who refuses to hear, one who refuses to see, and one who refuses to speak. It is an interesting contemporary tale revolving around three adults that make up a Turkish urban nuclear family. The husband drives the car of a politician to make a living, the wife works in a kitchen of a large establishment, and their adult son is a student dreaming of owning a car. It is a tale that could take place in Turkey or any other part of the world suggesting that tales of individual angst fall within some external matrix that a viewer can either glimpse or reject as a cosmic play of dice.

The three "monkeys" are a husband, wife and son living a cohesive, stable life. A fourth character is a typical creepy politician whose actions disrupt the tranquil life of the cohesive trio by a chain of lies, deceit, lust and avarice—all brought about by the ripple effect of an external request. Here is a tale of three essentially good people who become entwined in actions that threaten to break up their happy but mundane middle-class lives.

What is the external request that leads to the domino effect on the family? The politician falls asleep while driving a sedan and knocks down an unknown person on a remote road and the incident is noticed by a passing car. To preserve his political chances at the soon-to-be-held elections, he requests his regular driver to take the rap and go to prison for the crime he did not commit, while the politician promises to continue paying his salary and provide a large sum at the completion of his jail term. The first "monkey" gets hooked to the suggested plan that he hears.

The son dreams of a family car that could be acquired with an advance on the politician's final payment to his father and goads his mother to meet the politician with the request. And you soon have two other "monkeys" trapped by their own innocent actions that spiral into grievous crimes because they choose not to see, hear or speak. Interestingly, each of the three is essentially a well-meaning, ethical individual. However, the external request of a politician to the head of the family of the trio opens up vistas for three good persons to choose a deviant path they might not have chosen otherwise.

The filmmakers go on to suggest that the pattern could spillover to upset another sedate life of a good man at the end. Those affected do not seem to learn from history. The cosmic tale carries on like a Shakespearean or Tolstoyan tragedy, even as dark clouds gather over the magical landscape on the coasts of the Marmara Sea (Black Sea) captured with the digital magic of Gokhan Tiryaki (the cinematographer of Ceylan's Climates as well). Are we individuals truly in control of what happens to us in life? This is the implicit question the film asks of the viewer. Do events in our life force us take paths we never would have taken otherwise? Do we learn from our mistakes or prefer to make bigger mistakes like a "monkey"? Ironically, the film itself is a product of another family—but this one is incredibly talented. The husband and wife team of Nuri Bilge Ceylan (director, editor, and writer of Three Monkeys, and actor of his earlier films Distant and Climates) and Ebru Ceylan (writer and art director of Three Monkeys, actor of Distant and Climates and an award-winning short-filmmaker) team up with Ercan Kesal (actor in Three Monkeys, playing the politician in the movie) to write up this interesting film.

The story is only a small part of the film's broad enjoyment spectrum. Take the art direction—-the building in which the trio live looks imposing at the start of the movie. Only towards the end of the movie as the lives of the individuals fall apart you see the building has an imposing front but is actually a poor tenement with a fabulous view. The railroad becomes a flight path to freedom from the drudgery of the house, but tenants of the house need to cross physical (symbolic) barriers to reach the station. Interestingly, the head (and face) of the son poking out of the train form the poster of the film a shot that is repeated with differing expressions as the film progresses.

In this film, the husband-wife team of the Ceylans stays behind the camera. They introduce a TV actor Hatice Aslan who plays Hacer, the mother/wife role in the film. The performance is nothing short of spectacular. The sudden action of kicking up of her shoes while sitting and breaking into smiles of freedom is unforgettable; the true implications of the scene revealed to the viewer only much later.

Turkish cinema has thrown up great filmmakers. Yilmaz Guney was my favorite Turkish filmmaker from that country. Now I have added Ceylan (and his talented wife) to that list. Guney took up subjects that mirrored politics and got into trouble for that. Ceylan appears to be apolitical except for his dark universal swipe at politicians as a tribe. Or is he?

Although ambitious and picture perfect, the feeling of exaggeration cannot be shaken from "Üç Maymun", a drama set in Turkey following the exploits and heartbreak of a nuclear family. Thwarted desires and desire-less characters are plenty; Nuri Bilge Ceylan helms the film that feels it has more style rather than substance. Could possibly be taken more as a meditative form of tragic cinema, it still cannot compare to the likes of Ki-duk Kim, also going for the same moody dialogue-less craving audience. In competition at Cannes 2008, creates more intrigue rather than a cinematic full circle.

Film follows a surname-less nuclear family as they come to grips with the paternal character, Eyüp (Yavoz Bingol), who goes to prison for 9 months with either altruistic or financial reasons in mind. He leaves his wife Hacer (Hatice Aslan), who clearly needs more than what her husband can deliver and son Ismail (Ritaf Sungar), an overgrown teenager who cannot find any sort of direction in life, eventually leading himself to lethargy and apathy. Characters are definitely flawed and are interesting, however delivery of the family on celluloid still seem to be somewhat lacking.

Technically, the film triumphs as it conveys more towards the plot than the characters. Cinematographer Gőkhan Tiryaki paints the image with a dull rusty palette perfectly mirroring the doom and depression the characters wear on their sleeves. Also, by the camera angles itself, film clearly wants its audience to be as disjointed to the characters as possible making them feel more voyeuristic rather than empathetic. Certain scenes filled with dramatic desperation are filmed behind the bushes, both making moments like that intensely private but nevertheless distant.

As with the stylish overcast weather this universe is subjected to, the film is intensely meditative as it strictly confines these characters to themselves through limitations of the spoken word. Almost half of the film is indulged in shots that are introspective and deeply personal. It works to an extent as it diverts the thinking to the audience, although picture doesn't really have much to allow the audience to chew on. Like the sky, filled with clouds desperate to rain, audiences will be left wanting to connect with these characters. It does rain, although it only pour before the end credits. A point of liminal, it doesn't make it clear though on what's there to be liminal about.

Picture's ace is Hacer. Played with much desperation by Hatice Aslan, she remains the only character with an overwhelming desire to be happy. Character takes the opportunity to explore happiness whilst her husband is away. But, the thing is, this source of pleasure is normally deemed as unorthodox even if it gives her a reason for being. Once this source of contentment is stripped off, clear anxiety strikes her as she borderlines the bathetic. Indeed a flawed character, she still becomes the reference point to the masculine characters who desire something more tangible.

"Üç maymun" is a cinematic experience that gets richer in retrospect. Definitely not a form of transient entertainment, it caters to a specific audience devotedly. However, feeling of an overstretched plot on a surrealist setting can be a hindrance to full appreciation. It also feels rather indulgent. Extended shots could have been excised, taking with it the impression of a pretentious, not a nirvana-driven, production.

When I saw Distant (2002) by the same director, Nuri Ceylan, I was suitably impressed with his cinematic technique: sparse dialog, enclosed simple sets, very long takes, long static shots, little or no music sound track, minimal cast of characters – and essentially allows the story to unfold by simply observing what people do. The next film of Ceylan's I saw, Climates (2006), used similar techniques and followed a similar pattern; but I liked Distant more, at that time.

With this one, Nuri Ceyaln has proved that he is truly a master of visual story-telling. Moreover, this is a more compelling and a more intense story than the above two because it delves into the daily, banal evil that occurs – and is often covered up – in families in all cultures in real life, all of which is implicitly contained within the title. Curiously, as a boy long ago whenever I visited my paternal grandmother, I would almost always pick up the same ornament – a trio of monkeys in a row and in appropriate poses – with the words Hear No Evil, See No Evil, Speak No Evil inscribed in the base. At that time, I thought it was quite funny to look at...

This story illustrates those frailties when Servet (Ercan Kesal), a local businessman and wannabe politician, accidentally kills a pedestrian with his car at night and desperately pressures his chauffeur, Eyup (Yavuz Bingol) to take the rap for him – for a good price – which inevitably leads to the spiral of doubt, distrust and evil that eventually overshadows Eyup, his wife, Hacer (Hatice Aslan) and his son, Ismail (Ahmet Sungar). And throughout the story, the lack of dialog heightens the disconnect that grows between the father, mother and son, all of whom live at the top of a reasonably affluent blocks of apartments overlooking a railway which parallels a freeway, and with the open sea as a backdrop .

Those who know Ceylan's films know he likes long, static takes in either extremely long shot or medium to extreme close up; so, viewers won't be disappointed at all. Coupled with Ceylan's proclivity to have the actors face on to the camera more than any other director I've seen (and without breaking the fourth wall), viewers can savor and even wonder at the effect the actors have upon them as they watch – an effect so strong that I, at least, actually have the feeling of being there; and in this film particularly.

Complications continue, though, when Hacer thinks she is falling in love with Servet (who is married, of course) after he seduces her just once; thereafter, she won't let him go, much to his displeasure and despite his threats directed to her. And, after Eyup is released from prison nine months later, things really go down the toilet when he begins to suspect what we, as voyeurs, know already; and they reach rock bottom when Servet is found dead, murdered. Meanwhile, young Ismail attempts to make his way in the world while silently witnessing his parents' difficulties.

Overshadowing the family's problems is the poignant memory of the son who apparently drowned while still very young – a recollection that still affects all three.

One thing, of course, always leads to another. But here, not only is the resolution of the murder a surprise, but the aftermath is what really got me: a totally unexpected, but deliciously ironic narrative closure that makes diabolical sense in yet another oh-so-real-life story about the devil's playground viz. human relationships.

Do see this movie from one of the best directors in the world today. And take note of the quality of the actors and the stunning photography – particularly the long, final shot of Eyup atop his apartment as he looks out to sea – while you are entertained with a story as old as antiquity. I look forward to seeing Once Upon a Time in Anatolia. I hope you also feel the same.

Highly recommended – but definitely not for action/thriller fans and rev-heads.

March 8, 2012

Driving in the dark of night, in the middle of nowhere, a car takes a right turn and disappears. Descending. Not to death. Hell is one word for it. Another is role-playing. Another is the seer. The opposite of which, is the monkey. Three Monkeys is one of the greatest films of the year from a country that is not in its cinematic golden age, but which we ought to applaud for one of the greatest efforts of contemporary cinema. In a world wherein art has no place whatsoever, the world of the film, where death is as close as stupidity and narrow-mindedness, love forgotten and humanity reduced to means, this film attempts to rekindle a glimpse of hope for those who see it. But it is as fragile as the ghost of a child that haunts its inhabitants. A brilliant cast, almost flawless cinematography and a poetic direction reminiscent of the great works portraying Hell, this film welcomes a refreshing take on realism with surrealist brush-strokes that in my opinion could only benefit from one single element: a return of the gaze. Unfortunately, this film may be lost in the torrents of mainstream audiences. It is also to be respected then, for not making any effort, not pretending, and in my view, ultimately disregarding, any aspirations to popularity. This is fully in accord with the atmosphere of the film itself. And this, if anything, demands critical appraisal.

The three monkeys in the title of this film refer to both the classic "See No Evil, Speak No Evil, Hear No Evil" maxim and to the compact family of three depicted in the film. These three characters are Eyup, his wife Hacer, and their son Ismail. Each of these people seem to live by the maxim of the monkeys so much that they hardly talk to each other at all. Events unfold with a tragic inevitability after Eyup agrees to confess to a crime committed by his boss Servet to shield him from political disgrace in exchange for a large payoff. The shattered family then attempts to go on about their lives as if nothing had ever happened, even when more things do happen. Problems that normally would be relatively routine when faced by a united family thus become a devastating cycle that threatens to destroy their lives.

The material here is good but it likely would have devolved into histrionic melodrama in the hands of a less restrained director. Ceylan is a minimalist and as such he tends to allow the actions of the character to speak for themselves. In a way the lack of exposition puts the viewer in a similar situation to that of the family; we don't know exactly what they are thinking either.

Ceylan's greatest strength is in visuals: his landscapes look unlike anyone else's. The colors are often desaturated; I generally think this visual technique is a mistake but it looks great in his films. Like all Ceylan films, Three Monkeys is worth seeing for the indescribable visuals alone, but this film in particular also offers a perfectly executed family tragedy. Ceylan really outdid himself this time, this is one of the best films of the decade.