yusufpiskin

The year is 1948. A few years have passed since World War II ended, a war that erupted before the wounds of World War I had even healed. Meanwhile, the film industry, once a tool for wartime propaganda, was busy searching for new narrative expressions.

Even though films were still in black and white, movie theaters remained the best way to add color to life.

The cultural war that began after the great war continued in cinema. American cinema, or Hollywood as it's known, consistently churned out box office hits, yet artistically, it always lagged behind European cinema.

In that same year, while the whole world gave a standing ovation to Vittorio De Sica's Ladri di Biciclette, films like Fred Zinnemann's The Search-shot largely in Germany and with interior scenes completed in a Zurich studio in Switzerland-and many others, remained what we'd call "underrated" today. Of course, De Sica deserved all the accolades and more; that's not the point here.

Despite grossing nearly three times its budget ($300,000 vs. $800,000), MGM, for whatever reason, shelved this epic anti-war film and barely looked at it again.

The film premiered in Turkey in 1958, a decade after its global release. My father watched it when it was shown on state television back then, and that's how he recommended it to me. That's how I first got acquainted with the film.

Fred Zinnemann is, after all, a Hollywood legend. One can only hope that some institution or organization will restore this film and pull it out of the dusty archives, because MGM, now owned by Jeff Bezos, clearly has no such intention.

It's a known fact to anyone following cinema that while William D. Wittliff often delivers mediocre work as a screenwriter, he occasionally transcends the average and nails some truly solid projects. This film? It's one of those.

James Horner is simply the man for this kind of score; I won't even bother praising him here since he's already a grand master. ''May he rest in power.''

Wolfgang Petersen has been one of my favorite directors since childhood, and with The Perfect Storm, he's delivered one of the best works of his career alongside his collaboration with Barry Levinson. John Seale, too, is a name that deserves pages and pages of accolades.

But there's something different about this film. Hollywood, especially lately, has repeatedly shown us just how awful ensemble cast films can be.

It's exactly like that old saying: "If the best camera could shoot the best film, then the best typewriter would write the best books." You can't just throw all the "best" ingredients together and expect the perfect movie.

Yet... this film... Even Roger Ebert, of all people, gave it a pretty high score for him-3.5 out of 4-and reviewed it positively. He called the film "a pure sensation movie" and noted it didn't need complex characters or a sophisticated plot. According to Ebert, the film essentially hinges on the storm's power and the struggle at sea; character development is secondary, and that's not a flaw because the film is primarily about the storm and the fight for survival.

I'm with Ebert on this one. The film is so good, you can even tolerate Mark Wahlberg, despite his extensive screen time!

While critics have grumbled about the film's characters being shallow, it's worth remembering that this is a book adaptation (I haven't read it myself), and the character depths aren't all that different from William D. Wittliff's other screenplays.

Ahh, George Clooney, a cinematic soul I deeply admire... And here, he's excellent again as Captain Billy Tyne, the Ahab who sets out to hunt his own Moby-Dick of an ego.

And the film's real, silent star: the state of Maine.

It's crystal clear why Stephen King can't leave that place. It's a state with oddly deep blues and blacks, where you truly never know what the sea will throw at you.

The 1997 film A Casa might just be one of the most captivating films I've seen in recent memory. Watching it felt like strolling through the Louvre, spending a decadent evening with Victorian bourgeoisie in a candlelit manor, or witnessing Renaissance paintings come alive in slow motion.

Following a cold yet emotionally charged monologue about the fractured communication between a mother and her son, the film mostly retreats into silence-only to fill that silence with bizarre, visually arresting scenes. For those, like me, who have a soft spot for the Gothic, this film is deeply satisfying. A co-production between Lithuania, Portugal, and France, its artistic sensibility feels unmistakably French from the very first frame.

We follow a lone protagonist wandering through the decaying halls of a crumbling mansion: a female dog with engorged teats scavenging scraps at an empty table; a room full of naked children lost in obscure games; the remnants of bourgeois dinner parties; and a blooming, almost surreal garden. What initially plays out like a meditation on the hidden chambers of the subconscious morphs, by the final scenes, into a full-blown metaphor for Lithuania-made literal with the arrival of military tanks.

Ahhh, so many scenes brought to mind those infamous bohemian gatherings Lord Byron once held in his homes...

Sharunas Bartas, it turns out, is a remarkably compelling filmmaker. This film was my introduction to his work-and knowing myself, this is only the beginning of the journey.