By Christopher Sharrett.
It occurs to me that the best (the only?) films seriously challenging the current international War on Women come from Europe, Asia, the Middle East, often by women filmmakers either unknown by many without access to foreign films, or quickly forgotten, because they cannot afford a second or third film, or because their most significant films don’t make it out of the large cities of the U.S. I don’t wish to sell short American filmmakers like Kelly Reichardt, Courtney Hunt, and Alice Granik, all of whom have produced important work, but I can’t think of anything as uncompromising, as harrowing, on the torment of women as Gett: the Trial of Viviane Amsalem (2015), or Catherine Corsini’s Partir (2009). There are some men making important films about the disaster facing women, notably Romanian filmmaker Cristian Mungiu, whose 4 Months, 3 Weeks, 2 Days (2007), and most especially Beyond the Hills (2012), are uncompromising works. We tend, I think, not only to miss such art but, perhaps worse, take it for granted and think that in some way it will keep coming. Some weeks ago, Will Dodson informed me of the death of Ronit Elkabetz, the co-director of Gett and its stunning, extraordinary lead actor. I was and am heartsick over the sudden loss. Gett, along with Partir and Beyond the Hills, establish, without reservation or embarrassment, the idea of women imprisoned by the domicile or other institutions (religion) of patriarchal society. This work is now complemented by Mustang, which develops adroitly the literal imprisonment of the female.
Mustang, by Turkish-French filmmaker Deniz Gamze Erguven (with a script by Alice Winocur, a felicitous assistance), enjoyed recognition at its release (at festivals and award ceremonies), guaranteeing nice Blu-ray releases (in Europe by Curzon Artificial Eye, in the U.S. by Cohen Media Group), but will it be forgotten as it is overwhelmed by the usual deluge of blockbusters? Whatever fate awaits it, Mustang is a work of distinction.
Five sisters return from their boarding school for summer holiday. Interestingly, the school is portrayed as a place of solace rather than indoctrination; the sisters, especially Lale (Gunes Sensoy), are extraordinarily beautiful, since they express life in all aspects of their being, from their long, flowing hair (the film’s title associates the young women with wild, untamed horses) to their perceptive eyes. It is life doomed to extinction, but the extent of the destruction is by no means telegraphed. When they leave school, they enjoy a sojourn on a beach with some boys. This is followed by a scene with the girls taking apples from an orchard. They are without boys now; this is an Eden without Adam, but it has God the Father in the form of an angry farmer brandishing a shotgun, driving them away.
The return home is the beginning of the end. The sisters are raised by a grandmother and uncle, their parents having died years earlier under circumstances that aren’t explained. What is most significant about their situation is the manifestation of patriarchy in an especially sclerotic, calcified form. The sisters’ overseers are already informed that the young women were romping on the beach, “pleasuring themselves” by riding on the boys’ shoulders (in an innocent kind of tug-of-war). The key issue here is “pleasure” on the part of women outside of marriage (there is always a similar proscription for boys, but one less closely policed), and sexual pleasure as beyond the pale for the woman, whose sexual “purpose” is to procreate. The idea of the stimulation of the female genitals so as to give pleasure is an assault on God, the ultimate patriarch, who gives the woman a specific role (in all “Abrahamic” religions and others) in the use of the body – as property of the male order.
The grandmother (a typical case of the internalization of patriarchy) goes into action, making drab clothing (rightfully called “shit colored”) for the sisters, then instructing them on how to win a suitor – and please a husband – by filling his stomach: the woman as mother figure and domestic slave. The sisters are put to work in the kitchen. The uncle – who becomes an abuser of the young women – goes to work turning the house into a literal prison by putting iron bars on the windows.
The narrative becomes hellish, as the uncle and friends arrange marriages for the sisters, monitor their every attempt at personal joy (like going to a soccer match – it looks like their desire is as much to scream their heads off out of anxiety and anger as to watch the game). It is instructive that Erguven, according to an interview, watched Salo, the 120 Days of Sodom (1975) on a loop, the cinema’s stunning examination on the ever-present threat of fascism and oppression/repression. Pasolini necessarily benefits Erguven’s vision, since the form of tyranny in the uncle’s house isn’t accompanied by black uniforms and jackboots, but by the prosaic, at least in terms of the conservative Islamic household (we could substitute Christian or any other belief system). Erguven informs us that much of the film is drawn from her own early life; the personal note makes palpable and immediate what the sisters face, which is the suffocation of unwanted marriage, the repression of their sexual expression, and ultimately death (the sister Ece [Elit Iskan] takes her life after her uncle’s abuse). Lale and Nur (Doga Zeynep Doguslu) flee, with the aid of Yasin (Burat Yigit), a friendly (and non-exploitative) young trucker, perhaps a symbol of the potentials of a future generation. The two younger sisters make it to Istanbul, and the arms of their loving – and progressive-minded – teacher.
There are some especially notable moments in this film. The sisters are often photographed at play with each other, the camera overhead, the women entwined, laughing. We could call the scenes of a “lesbian” character if we accept the definition supplied by Robin Wood in his discussion of Tokyo Story (1953) in Sexual Politics and Narrative Film. The women find not only joy, both physical and spiritual in each other, but a form of solidarity in the face of the male-imposed misery in front of them.
There is a joint wedding of two older sisters, Sonay (Illayda Akdogan) and Selma (Tugba Sunguroglu). Sonay says she will marry only her “true love,” while Selma is forced into an arranged marriage. At the wedding party, Sonay is happy and dances about while Selma sits glumly. On the morning after the “wedding night,” the family demands to see Selma’s bloody sheet, the proof that she was a virgin for her betrothed (virginity and its “proof” appears earlier in the film; one of the sisters says she has “fucked the whole world” in a gesture of defiance as she is forced to have a doctor inspect her hymen). The moment inspires chills, as the female body as property could not be more explicitly rendered – and she sheds her blood to keep the family confident and intact. But where is Sonay? One gets the sense that her wedding produces the same scene, and that joy over her true love is self-deception. The two women mirror each other in their endurance of ritual; the bogus freedom of one is rendered a delusion in the other.
Where in the current summer crop of blockbusters is there a film with anything like this kind of integrity and intelligence? I recently saw Nicholas Winding Refn’s The Neon Demon (2016). I had great hopes for this director after seeing his Pusher films. His last accomplishment was Drive (2011; but I may be deluded here – his last important film may be Valhalla Rising, 2009), after which he has played to the gallery. The Neon Demon, about the gaudy, depraved world of high-fashion photography and its traps for the female (traps which Refn enjoys portraying), seems to have no cognizance of the photographs of Helmut Newton, nor of the fact that this tale has been noted decades ago.
Christopher Sharrett has taught film for many years at Seton Hall University. He is a Contributing Editor for Film International.
Another stimulating and thoughtful review recognizing important work existing beyond the margins of corporate distribution. No, we cannot expect any film “with this kind of integrity and intelligence (THE FREE STATE OF JONES being one exception that will display any type of alternative vision beyond the blood and circuses of the U.S. Convention ridden society.
Chris, Another fine review with your habitual incise reading of the film text. One worrying yet accurate observation you make is: “We tend, I think, not only to miss such art but, perhaps worse, take it for granted and think that in some way it will keep coming.” Writer/director Darren Bousman remarked to me in a recent interview: “As a filmmaker and as an artist it’s hard because you are only judged at that moment. It’s all about perception and Hollywood is a fickle place.” Of course you are talking about films produced outside of Hollywood and the American cinema, but it speaks of how filmmakers and their films are reliant on support from audiences. And therein it is paramount that we must never take these important films for granted as a given that they’ll keep on coming. It actually addresses the influence we can have as an audience, although one that requires that we explore cinema more freely, not allowing the marketing of mainstream film to narrow our vision, but to seek out important works to support distributors such as Curzon and Cohen Media Group who are willing to pick up these films for distribution. It is the tragedy for so many filmmakers, talented individuals who if given the chance could contribute any number of important works to cinema and yet are deprived the chance to do so. But art is a fickle and ruthless entity, and we live in an international community where talent is forever being devalued and dismissed – one needs look no further than our own profession of film criticism to find an example. It becomes increasingly vital that certain filmmakers, critics and distributors work together to give quality and important films a chance to live when they are sent out into the world (borrowing here a little from Terence Davies).
It is interesting that you mention Nicholas Winding Refn. I was thoroughly unimpressed with Drive and while I did enjoy Only God Forgives, I’d be inclined to agree with you that Valhalla Rising is Refn’s last important film. Looking ahead I find it hard to conceive him making another, as he is focused on himself as a product rather than retaining focus on the work, which is all that should count. I often ask whether Refn a filmmaker that has been manufactured by the critical establishment – I believe there is a case to be made in support of this. He is fundamentally playing a character, and with the critics that interview him being as gutless as they are, they pander to this performance to ensure they are invited back for a chat when his next film is released – looking after future readership statistics over critical integrity one might say?
Not to digress from Mustang, it is a thoughtful piece in which the connections to religious imagery as well as the reading of the individual responses to imprisonment within a collective are raised and discussed with precision.
Tony and Paul,
You are both very kind —and good observations !
Chris