The history of this film’s production and its maker, writer / director Yılmaz Güney, is just as riveting as the film’s multiple stories involving prisoners given a week-long leave before they must return to lives behind bars.
One of Turkey’s top actors, Güney became a director in the mid-sixties, and evolved into a dynamic writer / director / producer / actor, but with the freedom to explore his own views of politics and social ills within Turkey came brushes with the law, landing him in jail several times for either publishing the wrong thing, being vocal about the frictions between Kurdish and Turkish cultures, or shooting a judge in 1974, the latter sentencing Güney to a 19 year stay in prison.
During that lengthy period, Güney wrote several scripts and directed films by proxy via his assistant Şerif Gören, including Yol. In 1981, Güney escaped from prison, and in France completed Yol, which was released in 1982, after being honored with several laurels won at the Cannes Film Festival. One would think Güney would’ve benefitted from his new freedom, but after making The Wall (1983), he died of cancer a year later.
The sad irony of Güney’s career is that in spite of his prolific work as an actor and director, none of his films are available on home video in North America, making him a director ripe for rediscovery. Yol, his biggest international hit, did enjoy a VHS release via Columbia, but the film has since vanished, although a 1999 restoration at least ensures a print of the film, in what may be its best possible shape, exists for theatrical venues.
Yol’s concept is quite simple: the journey of five men is initially followed as they’re awarded prized leaves, take a ferry to the mainland, and head towards their intended goals by bus and train - some to meet long-suffering wives, others families in various states of disintegration.
Early into the journey, one man immediately declares he’s not going back and is willing to risk the dragnet that’ll be sent after him; another is arrested en route for losing his papers, being unable to give his wife the small bird he nurtured in prison.
With two lesser (but still compelling characters) gone from the narrative, Güney focuses on Seyit (Tarik Akan), who travels to the mountains to fulfill an honor killing when he’s told his wife Zine (Serif Sezer) disgraced the family by becoming a prostitute; Mehmet (Halil Ergun) must confess his cowardice in a robbery-gone-bad that led to his brother-in-law being shot by police; and Omer, a Kurdish-Turk, who travels to his village, with the intention of escaping across the border to Syria.
Omer’s saga allowed Güney to film a character interacting with his family, and film scenes in Kurdish, a language reportedly then illegal to capture on film, whereas Mehmet’s tale of steeped guilt provided a dour glimpse at the squalor of the poor and underprivileged who have nothing left except to maintain familial honor. The Mehmet strand also allows Güney to depict aspects of honor, which becomes the central theme in the third and most powerful tale of Seyit, as he discovers his wife’s errant behaviour, and wrestles with killing a woman he clearly loves, and who fathered a son.
The bleakness of the story strands ensures the film is very heavy – Omer’s decision is affected by a sudden death and a new responsibility, whereas revenge ultimately decides the fate of Mehmet’s efforts to save his brutalized family – but what’s sure to bristle western audiences is the depiction of women in Turkish society (circa 1981) as virtual chattel, and of their fate being tied to the honor or dishonor of their men.
Omer’s new responsibility is due to tradition (in this case, accepting the role of family head when his brother is killed), whereas Seyit's decision to trek to the isolated town where his harlot wife is chained up comes from a bullheadedness to confront a truth he doesn’t want to accept: her betrayal, his humiliation, and a family insult he's taken upon himself to fix. When he does finally engage in a dialogue with Zine, Güney tries to offer a balance of responsibility: Seyit’s incarceration caused his wife to prostitute when there was no income, and perhaps she allowed herself to become lost to other men due to depression, and seething sexual needs.
The film is decidedly from a hard male perspective, and certainly isn’t flattering towards any female character, but one senses Güney wanted to create a docu-drama glimpse into serious social problems tied to the retention of antiquated traditions, politics, and conservative mores. The tough part for viewers is whether the film is accepted as a discolored snapshot of a bygone period, or reinforces the stereotype of Turkey as a brutal country. Is it an artifact that captures the filmmaker’s biased view of a society with which he was in combat, or social commentary designed to provoke and outrage audiences into more progressive politics, and revision of old cultural practices?
From a filmmaking stance, Yol is pretty gripping in the way Güney integrates his docu-drama camera with the roughly hewn actors, and the use of massive jump cuts to expertly condense whole events into tight montages. The opening sequences in prison leading up to each of the three final characters reaching their initial destinations is a marvel of narrative condensation, and Zulfu Livaneli’s all-synth score nicely compliments the emotional arcs that have been compacted and fractures by Güney in an elaborate cross-cutting scehem. The film’s finale is grueling to watch, particularly because Seyit’s son has been brainwashed into thinking everything that’s been meted out to his mother, and what follows, is just.
There are some confusions with certain character issues, however, as the 1999 English subtitles aren’t wholly accurate nor consistent; in particular, the clarity of Omer’s desire to escape to Syria is bungled by bad subtitling. The three main leads also bear similar physical builds and all sport heavy mustaches, which sounds trivial, but makes it challenging in the early scenes to distinguish specific story strands. (The one consistency that is clear is the high level of smoking among the men, although a specific sequence showing kids puffing away at a cigarette could be read as another stark critique by Güney.)
The available print (screened at the TIFF Bell Lightbox in January of 2012) also seems to be a peculiar recombination of film and digital elements, as though the best available film elements were transferred to HD, cleaned up and subtitled, and bounced back to film, as the print is preceded by a prologue that also contains a video clip of Güney accepting his main award at Cannes.
The new sound mix is very dynamic, and features generally effective surround sound mixing, with Livaneli’s score being notably resonant. (Although vintage eletronica, the score has aged surprisingly well, perhaps due to the infusion of acoustic instruments and distinctive rhythmic patterns.)
Reported conflicts over the ownership of Yol have perhaps delayed efforts by third party labels to release the film, but it’s time Güney’s best-known work is given a proper HD restoration and international distribution, although its impact is far more potent on the big screen.
© 2012 Mark R. Hasan
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