A Tale of Three Sisters - Emin Alper
A Tale of Three Sisters
Awards: Istanbul International Film Festival/ Best Actress; National Competition Cemre
Ebuzziya - Helin Kandemir
- Ece Yüksel,
Best Director; Emin Alper, Best Music; Giorgos
Papaioannou, Nikos
Papaioannou
Sarajevo
Film Festival/ Best Director; Emin Alper, C.I.C.A.E. Award;
Emin Alper
In
a small village in the mountains of northeastern Turkey, three peasant sisters
uneasily reunite under their father’s rustic roof in Emin Alper’s opaque, oddly
theatrical “A Tale of
Three Sisters.” Stunningly lensed in widescreen amidst the rocky peaks,
the film struggles to excite admiration outside the visuals, forcing the viewer
to vainly search for what exactly it was Alper wished to achieve. Bearing no
evident connection to Chekhov’s “Three Sisters” apart perhaps from the girls’
desire, like Irina Sergeyevna, to live in town, this ultimately uninteresting
drama is undermined by characters of little discernible intelligence whose
plight will leave many viewers apathetic, partly due to the way dialogue seems
to be artificially recited rather than naturally delivered. Outside a few
festivals and Turkish showcases, it’s hard to imagine who’ll buy this “Tale.”
Reyhan
was once in the same position, but it’s gradually revealed she was dumped back
home after getting pregnant and then married off to illiterate shepherd Veysel
(Kayhan Açıkgöz) in order to cover up her shame. Veysel is the film’s most
problematic character, a cowardly, nasty idiot whose unpleasantness and limited
dimensionality is the stuff of middling pastoral novels from another era. That
he’s the catalyst for the narrative’s oddly downplayed tragedy is another
hindrance to viewer involvement, since it’s such a challenge to accord him any
understanding or sympathy.
Middle
sister Nurhan (Ece Yüksel) is also back to roost when her foster father Mr.
Necati (Kubilay Tunçer) returns her in shame — she’s been beating her charges
for bed wetting, and her bullheadedness was finally too much for the family.
Even at home she’s a handful, arguing with Reyhan and scraping what looks like
lichen off the stone walls, which she gobbles up, presumably to get even sicker
than she already is and thereby gain sympathy. Meanwhile, Havva’s angling to
take Nurhan’s position with the Necatis. As the three siblings argue or
strategically come together, Şevket (also of limited intelligence) hangs out
with the village headman (Hilmi Özçelik) and tries to figure out what to do
with his daughters. Perhaps there’s a deeper meaning to it all, perhaps there’s
a reason why the characters say their dialogue in such ultra-clear lines, with
no overlapping, that it feels we’ve walked into the filmed version of a play.
Painstaking
technical work builds the tense atmosphere of the finale. DP Emre Erkmen turns
the snowy landscape into a magical world by day and a fearsome metaphorical one
by night hiding unknown dangers, like two poor miners who risk their lives in a
collapsed mine for a bag of coal. Giorgos and Nikos Papaioannou expand scenes
with their sweet, nostalgic music, which includes violins and the lilting tunes
of folk singers.
Director:
Emin Alper
Writer:
Emin Alper
Awards: Istanbul International Film Festival/ Best Actress; National Competition Cemre
Ebuzziya - Helin Kandemir
- Ece Yüksel,
Best Director; Emin Alper, Best Music; Giorgos
Papaioannou, Nikos
Papaioannou
Sarajevo
Film Festival/ Best Director; Emin Alper, C.I.C.A.E. Award;
Emin Alper
In
a small village in the mountains of northeastern Turkey, three peasant sisters
uneasily reunite under their father’s rustic roof in Emin Alper’s opaque, oddly
theatrical “A Tale of
Three Sisters.” Stunningly lensed in widescreen amidst the rocky peaks,
the film struggles to excite admiration outside the visuals, forcing the viewer
to vainly search for what exactly it was Alper wished to achieve. Bearing no
evident connection to Chekhov’s “Three Sisters” apart perhaps from the girls’
desire, like Irina Sergeyevna, to live in town, this ultimately uninteresting
drama is undermined by characters of little discernible intelligence whose
plight will leave many viewers apathetic, partly due to the way dialogue seems
to be artificially recited rather than naturally delivered. Outside a few
festivals and Turkish showcases, it’s hard to imagine who’ll buy this “Tale.”
Reyhan
was once in the same position, but it’s gradually revealed she was dumped back
home after getting pregnant and then married off to illiterate shepherd Veysel
(Kayhan Açıkgöz) in order to cover up her shame. Veysel is the film’s most
problematic character, a cowardly, nasty idiot whose unpleasantness and limited
dimensionality is the stuff of middling pastoral novels from another era. That
he’s the catalyst for the narrative’s oddly downplayed tragedy is another
hindrance to viewer involvement, since it’s such a challenge to accord him any
understanding or sympathy.
Middle
sister Nurhan (Ece Yüksel) is also back to roost when her foster father Mr.
Necati (Kubilay Tunçer) returns her in shame — she’s been beating her charges
for bed wetting, and her bullheadedness was finally too much for the family.
Even at home she’s a handful, arguing with Reyhan and scraping what looks like
lichen off the stone walls, which she gobbles up, presumably to get even sicker
than she already is and thereby gain sympathy. Meanwhile, Havva’s angling to
take Nurhan’s position with the Necatis. As the three siblings argue or
strategically come together, Şevket (also of limited intelligence) hangs out
with the village headman (Hilmi Özçelik) and tries to figure out what to do
with his daughters. Perhaps there’s a deeper meaning to it all, perhaps there’s
a reason why the characters say their dialogue in such ultra-clear lines, with
no overlapping, that it feels we’ve walked into the filmed version of a play.
Painstaking
technical work builds the tense atmosphere of the finale. DP Emre Erkmen turns
the snowy landscape into a magical world by day and a fearsome metaphorical one
by night hiding unknown dangers, like two poor miners who risk their lives in a
collapsed mine for a bag of coal. Giorgos and Nikos Papaioannou expand scenes
with their sweet, nostalgic music, which includes violins and the lilting tunes
of folk singers.
Prepared by: Duygu Söbe
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