Might as well live
The success of ‘Three Monkeys’ depends on what you bring to the table
By Tom Child
Turkish auteur Nuri Bilge Ceylan first attracted the attention of art house crowds with his 1995 short Koza, a film that drew on his compositional talents and attention to qualities of light and shadow, both skills honed throughout a career as a critically acclaimed photographer. Koza was impressive enough earn a nomination for the Golden Palm at the Cannes Film Festival and established Ceylan as a promising talent in the relatively nascent Eurasian film community. With his next four films, Ceylan continued to cement his reputation as a director of distinctive, beautifully composed works, frequently featuring non-professional performers -– sometimes including himself – and a distinctly non-commercial tendency to let scenes play out at their own gentle pace.
So far, that’s led to more critical praise than box-office success. His newest work, Three Monkeys – arguably his most potentially commercial film – involves a plot that in different hands might have resulted in a rather unremarkable noir. But Ceylan utilizes the story’s familiar elements in his meditative way, focusing less on the mechanics of crime and infidelity and more on the effects that secrets, sacrifices and lies have on miserable people caught up in a mess beyond their control.
As the film opens, Servet (Ercan Kesal), a politician, hits and kills a pedestrian while driving down a darkened road. Concerned by what this might do to his prospects for reelection, Servet convinces his driver Eyüp (Yavuz Bingol) to take the rap for him in exchange for his financial support of Eyüp’s wife, Hacer (Hatice Aslan), and son, Ismail (Rifat Sungar), while he is in prison – as well as a generous lump sum when he is released. As Eyüp languishes in jail, Hacer engages in an affair with Servet, motivated by loneliness and genuine affection. Ismail quickly realizes what’s going on and it doesn’t take long for Eyüp to catch on after he returns home from the jail. Unable to communicate beyond yelling and physical aggression – and battling unresolved pain over the death of Ismail’s brother – tension within the family reaches a breaking point.
Three Monkeys’ greatest strengths lie in its cinematography and the quality of its performances. Shot with exacting detail, every frame features a remarkable manipulation of colors – some muted, others enhanced. The film looks as though it is being dreamed onscreen, taking place in a Turkey experiencing not so much the total bleakness of nuclear winter as the eerie tonal polarity of nuclear autumn. The performances are uniformly impressive and natural, characteristic of Ceylan’s work. Such technical prowess goes a long way toward covering the film’s faults – mostly a plot that, while undeniably emotionally heavy, in retrospect feels creatively slight. And while some viewers may relish Ceylan’s oft-praised trademarks – the length of time he takes to explore his themes, the minimal dialogue and static cameras – an equal number are likely to be turned off by these same quintessential art film touches, as well as the film’s ambiguous moral center, deficit of likable characters and uncomfortable lack of agency on the part of Hacer, which at times gives the film a creepily voyueristic feel.
Ultimately, the personal reception for a film that allows this much room for one’s own emotional perspective is dependent on the mindset of the audience. In the absence of clearly defined symphonic cues, inner monologues or exposition in general, most of the perceived depth will be created by the viewer. Anyone going into Three Monkeys expecting a Turkish version of Double Indemnity will be sorely disappointed and probably extremely bored. However, those who enjoy the occasional extended examination of human isolation – especially when presented as beautifully as it is here – will find much to appreciate.
Three Monkeys. Directed by Nuri Bilge Ceylan. Featuring Yavuz Bingol, Hatice Aslan and Rifat Sungar. Opening Friday at the Nuart, 11272 Santa Monica Blvd., Los Angeles, (310) 281-8223; www.landmarkthatres.com. One week only.
Published: 03/25/2009
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