Tempo de Embebedar Cavalos

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.

I wasn't sure where this movie was going for the first 15 minutes, but before long I was drawn into the story like the rest of the audience. This could be considered in the "Indy" film class, but whatever rough edges it might have only add to the impact of the story. Reason tells me it was fiction, but I really had the feeling we were there, or at least that one of the characters was filming the whole thing with a handicam.

The filmmaker did what he set out to do: He make a film that makes us care about some of his people. The conditions these people struggle under are appalling, and are made all the more difficult by politics. My girlfriend and I left the theatre wondering where we could find out more about these people and what can be done for them.

The young actors, especially Madi, are as good as - and perhaps better than - any $20 million Hollywood superstar. This is Film, not a Hollywood formula flick, and the story is worth seeing, however bleak it may seem at times.

As can be determined by the almost unbelievably coarse

and heartless "reviews" of A TIME FOR DRUNKEN HORSES seen here on the IMDB's "external reviews," the

Shooting Gallery had quite a task on their hands in selling

Americans on an Iranian film about a Kurdish brother and

sister smuggling contraband on mules to pay for their crippled sibling's life-saving operation. The tony, elderly

Westwood audience I saw HORSES with seemed put out that such an unpleasant experience interrupted their usual

flow of Landmark Cinema Cultural Time-Outs; those with

stronger constitutions will be offered as compensation

images that will stay seared in your heart for the rest of your

life.

A scene in the snow, in which an extended family decides

the fate of the dwarfish younger brother, has an operatic

severity that suggests a closer approximation of the dramatic quality of the Old Testament than any movie based on the Bible. The ending is so amazingly courageous one cannot imagine a brace of dentist-investors, much less an American studio, standing

for its effrontery.

The Iranian cinema is not just reinventing the experience of

movies; it is rediscovering the moral dimension of telling

stories.

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.

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.