I will be coming back to Samet's final monologue quite regularly because of how exquisitely it's written, and Ceylan is the master of subtext. As for Ceylan, some time in my life, I will make the trip to Istanbul or wherever the fuck he's staying and ask him what the fuck that bathroom scene was about.
My rating has improved since the rewatch. Dea Kulumbegashvili has solidified her status as one of the most important filmmakers of our generation. Any discourse on world cinema would be lacking without mention of her work. Truly inspiring stuff. I bite my fist in envy whenever I think of certain frames in this movie.
This review may contain spoilers. I can handle the truth.
Wake up to the radio at 6
Take a bath.
Give your child a kiss.
Eat breakfast.
Get a car wash.
Drop wife at work.
Work.
Reach home for dinner.
Sleep.
Repeat.
Rinse.
Recycle.
Restart.
Remain.
then...
Something clicks.
You don't know what it is. But it clicks.
It comes flooding back to you. This unfamiliar ache. This pang of confusion. This sudden melancholy. It makes sense. And you realise the unbearable weight of your existence. It weighs deeply.
You…
A village elder warning children to not dig up the earth.
An FW 189 fighter, ominously watching over the Belorussian fields.
A boy and girl frolicking in the rain amongst towering trees.
The severed foot of a soldier blown off by a mine.
The twitching eyeball of a slaughtered cow.
Bullets whizzing over a barren field, red-hot and relentless, mowing anything in its path.
Burning buildings
Screaming men, women, children
Soldiers
Blood.
Mud.
Gasoline.
Corpses.
The face of a boy…
