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Review | Yol

Yol (1982)
Director: Serif Gören


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From Time Out Film Guide


In Yilmaz Güney's extraordinary Turkish odyssey (filmed by Gören from his script and detailed instructions while he was in jail), five prisoners are allowed a week's parole to journey home. In many ways it's a story about the tragedy of distances: the geographical and historical ones that still separate Turkey, and the distances imposed upon people by a military state and by a heritage that still expects husbands to punish by death wives taken in adultery. A kind of distance, too, makes this a film of the highest order. Its homesickness, for freedom above all, is very particular. Güney can't go home, and completed the film in exile. This perspective gives great clarity to his picture of the state of the nation, a state in suspense where something has to change, which gathers complexity and shifts effortlessly into universal allegory. The film's poetry, its combination of sound and image especially, has an unconscious innocence no longer available to most European and American narratives, and it is inspired by an enormous compassion for the suffering people endure at each other's hands in a world where the strong pick upon the weak, the weak upon the weaker.
Author: CPe
Time Out Film Guide
De­ğer­li ar­ka­daş­lar,

De­ğer­li ko­nuk­lar!..

Bu fil­mi siz­le­re sun­ma­yı, film­den son­ra da film üze­ri­ne ko­nuş­ma­yı çok is­ter­dim. An­cak bi­inen ne­den­ler­den ötü­rü bu­na ola­nak bu­la­ma­dım. Bil­me­ni­zi is­te­rim ki, ne­re­de olur­sam ola­yım, yü­re­ğim hal­kı­mın kav­ga­sı­na ve acı­sı­na ka­yıt­sız kal­ma­yan in­san­la­ra, hal­kı­mın kav­ga­sı­nı ve­ren in­san­la­ra sı­cak­lık­la açık­tır. Siz­le­ri bu duy­gu­lar­la se­lam­lı­yo­rum.

“Yol” Tür­ki­ye-Kür­dis­tan’ı bü­tün so­run ve bo­yut­la­rıy­la an­lat­mı­yor. An­la­ta­maz da. An­cak hal­kı­mın sa­vaş­çı­sı ol­ma­ya ken­di­si­ni ada­mış bir sa­nat­çı ola­rak önü­müz­de du­ran gö­rev­le­rin bi­lin­cin­de­yim. Sa­nat­çı ola­rak dev­rim kav­ga­sı­nın sı­ra­dan bir eri­yim. Yo­lu­muz uzun ve zor. An­cak aşıl­maz de­ğil…

Dev­rim­ci sa­nat dev­rim­ci sü­re­ci an­la­tan sa­nat­tır. Dev­rim­ci sa­nat, top­lum­sal, si­ya­sal, kül­tü­rel de­ği­şim­le­ri ve kav­ga­yı hem ta­nık ola­rak an­la­tan, hem de onu et­ki­le­yen sa­nat­tır. Sa­de­ce ta­nık ola­rak iz­le­mek ve yan­sıt­mak ye­ter­li de­ğil­dir, ay­nı za­man­da bu sü­re­ci et­ki­le­yen bir ni­te­li­ği ol­ma­lı­dır. Bu an­lam­da “Yol”, Tür­ki­ye ger­çe­ği­nin hem ta­nı­ğı, hem de onun de­ği­şi­mi­ni et­ki­le­yen bir ol­gu ola­rak ele alın­dı­ğın­da, dev­rim­ci bir gö­re­vi, iş­le­vi ye­ri­ne ge­tir­mek­te­dir.

Dev­rim­ci mü­ca­de­le­nin he­de­fi si­ya­sal ik­ti­da­rın ele ge­çi­ril­me­si­dir. Si­ya­sal ik­ti­dar bir son de­ğil, bir he­def de­ğil, top­lum­sal dev­ri­min ilk adı­mı, ka­pı anah­ta­rı­dır. Ya­ni si­ya­sal ik­ti­da­rı ele ge­çir­me­den, ik­na için ge­rek­li zo­ru ele ge­çir­me­den top­lum­sal bir de­ği­şik­li­ği yap­ma­nın ola­nak­la­rı yok­tur. An­cak si­ya­sal ik­ti­da­rın ele ge­çi­ril­me­si sü­re­cin­de, zo­run yal­nız­ca açık düş­man­lar, ya­ni em­per­ya­lizm, iş­bir­lik­çi bur­ju­va­zi, fa­şizm ve onun ku­rum­la­rı de­ğil, ay­nı za­man­da, düş­ma­nı yen­me­mi­zi en­gel­le­yen bü­tün ge­ri­ci ku­rum­lar­dır; örf, adet ve ge­le­nek­ler, ya­ni fe­odal ka­lın­tı­la­rın can ver­di­ği her şey. Biz, esas ola­rak, dev­rim­ci mü­ca­de­le için­de bi­le fe­odal yan­la­rı­mı­zı ye­ne­bil­miş de­ği­liz. Fe­odal yan­la­rı­mız gün­lük iliş­ki­le­ri­miz­den, si­ya­sal tu­tum ve ör­güt­len­me­le­ri­mi­ze ka­dar her şey­de ken­di­ni gös­te­ri­yor. Bu­nu yen­me­miz ge­rek­li. An­cak bu ye­niş, bi­çim­sel de­ğil, öz­den ol­ma­lı­dır. Bi­çim­sel ye­niş­ler ya da öy­le gö­rün­me­ler, as­lın­da dev­ri­me de­ğil, ge­ri­ci­li­ğe hiz­met edi­yor… Bi­çim­sel an­lam­da fe­odal tu­tu­mu yen­mek­ten­se, onu iç­ten bir bi­çim­de ku­lan­mak ve de­ğer­len­dir­mek se­çil­me­li­dir.

“Yol”, hem dev­le­tin ör­güt­len­miş bas­kı­sı­nı, hem de fe­odal ge­ri­ci­li­ğin ka­lın­tı­la­rı­nın can ver­di­ği bas­kı­la­rı an­la­tır­ken, önü­mü­ze sa­vaş­ma­mız ge­re­ken güç­le­rin bü­tü­nü­nü ko­yu­yor. Hal­kı dev­rim­ci sa­va­şa ha­zır­la­ma­nın te­mel yo­lu, onu ge­ri­ci alış­kan­lık, yar­gı ve an­la­yış­lar­dan kur­tar­ma­yı em­re­di­yor. Dev­rim­ci sü­reç bu­na ye­ter­li de­ğil. An­cak si­ya­sal ik­ti­da­rın iş­çi sı­nı­fı­nın ön­der­li­ğin­de­ki hal­kın eli­ne geç­me­si ilk adım ola­cak­tır. Ka­dın er­kek iliş­ki­le­ri, sa­de­ce bir cin­si­yet so­ru­nu de­ğil, sı­nıf­sal bir so­run­dur. Her top­lum­sal ya­pı, ken­di­ne öz­gü bir bi­çim­de ka­dın er­kek iliş­ki­le­ri­ne hu­ku­ki, top­lum­sal ve eko­no­mik bir içe­rik ka­zan­dı­rır. Ve bu top­lum­sal ya­pı için­de­ki in­san­lar, ka­dın er­kek ay­rı­mı gö­zet­me­den, so­ru­na ön­ce­lik­le eko­no­mik ve sos­yal sis­te­min be­lir­le­di­ği açı­dan ba­kar­lar is­ter is­te­mez. Be­nim için so­run, “Yol”da, sa­de­ce ka­dın so­ru­nu de­ğil, ay­nı za­manda er­kek­ler so­ru­nu­dur da. Çün­kü ezi­len sa­de­ce ka­dın de­ğil, er­kek­tir de. Ve asıl ezi­len ka­dın de­ğil er­kek­tir. Bir er­ke­ğin ka­dı­nı ez­me­si, ona bas­kı kur­ma­sı, ken­di­si­nin bas­kı al­tın­da ol­ma­sı­nın bir ifa­de­si­dir. Ka­dı­nın kur­tu­lu­şu, sı­nı­fın, ezi­len sı­nı­fın kur­tu­lu­şu ile müm­kün­dür. Ezi­len sı­nıf iş­çi sı­nı­fı­dır ve bu­ra­da be­lir­le­yi­ci güç er­kek­ler­de­dir. Er­kek­le­rin be­lir­le­yi­ci ol­du­ğu bir sı­nıf­ta, ön­ce er­kek­ler son­ra ka­dın­lar kur­tu­la­cak­tır. So­ru­nu ay­dın şe­ma­tiz­mi için­de ele al­ma­ma­lı­yız. Ka­dı­nın kur­tu­lu­şu, ezi­len sı­nıf­la­rın kur­tu­lu­şu­na bağ­lı­dır.

“Yol”, bir­çok­la­rı açı­sın­dan ezi­len ka­dın­la­rı an­lat­mak­ta­dır. Oy­sa, ezen cin­si­yet ola­rak gö­rü­len er­ke­ğin de ezil­di­ği­ni an­la­mak is­te­me­mek­te ya da bu ko­nu­da ka­yıt­sız kal­mak­ta­dır.

“Yol” Tür­ki­ye-Kür­dis­tan üze­ri­ne bir tar­tış­ma ve eği­lim ya­rat­tı gös­te­ril­di­ği yer­ler­de. Bu bir adım­dır; ge­liş­ti­ril­me­si ve de­rin­leş­ti­ril­me­si ge­re­ken bir adım. Her na­mus­lu in­sa­nın bu ge­liş­me­ye kat­kı­da bu­lun­ma­sı in­san­lık gö­re­vi­dir. Hep bir­lik­te hay­kır­mak, in­san­lık su­çu iş­le­yen­le­ri la­net­le­mek ge­re­kir.

Kah­rol­sun As­ke­ri Fa­şist Dik­ta­tör­lük!

“Yol” hal­kı­mın sus­tu­ru­la­ma­yan se­si­dir!

Se­lam… Bin se­lam!..

Article | Yilmaz Güney: spirit of vengeance

PROTEST WEEK / FILM
Yilmaz Güney: spirit of vengeance
Posted by Ben Sachs on 02.22.12 at 08:00 AM
Last Saturday I saw the Turkish film Elegy (1972) at Doc Films’s ongoing Yilmaz Güney series (which continues tomorrow night at 7 PM with the director’s most widely celebrated movie, Yol). I liked it for its suspense, but I had trouble understanding the plot. I asked one of the programmers afterward if he could explain why gendarmes were hunting down the main characters, who are never shown doing anything illegal. Was this bad storytelling or had I missed something in the dialogue? A scholar of Turkish history interrupted us (good thing the movie was playing at the University of Chicago!) and settled the matter in seconds. “Those people were Kurds—the Turkish government was trying to deny their existence at the time. The government banned this movie, just like they did most of the films Güney directed.”
A major movie star, novelist, and director, Güney came from a mostly Kurdish region in southeastern Turkey (the name for which he was known was in fact a pseudonym; güney is Turkish for “south”), though he didn’t openly embrace his ethnic background until the early 1970s, when the Kurdish nationalist movement gained momentum with support from the militant Turkish left, with which Güney was also affiliated. One can understand his apprehension to identify publicly as a Kurd. The Turkish government’s ongoing persecution of the ethnic minority resulted in the death and imprisonment of millions throughout the 20th century—a crisis that only intensified during Turkey’s periods of military rule that coincided with the height of Güney’s popularity. As J. Hoberman noted in a 1982 profile of Güney (included in his collection Vulgar Modernism):


The words “Kurd and “Kurdistan” are [currently] banned from Turkish history books and dictionaries; the Kurds are officially termed “Mountain Turks,” who speak Kurdish—itself illegal—because they have forgotten their mother tongue... Identity grows existential when the statement “I am a Kurd” brings a mandatory two-and-a-half stretch in a Turkish can.

Seen in this context, Güney’s Kurdish films are remarkable acts of protest, defying a national code of silence on the plight of many. Hoberman went so far as to call Yol “a movie so explosive that were it shown in his homeland it would signal the prelude to a revolution.” He added that the film “is about the essential, unspeakable Kurdishness of Turkey . . . it asserts that, under military rule, all Turks are now Kurds—the oppressed of the oppressed.” Their cruder qualities only betray a sense of urgency, as if Güney would have undermined the films’ impact had he devoted more time to their construction. The images of Elegy tend to be blunt and immediate: the ones I expect to remember longest are of lone figures running across dusty steppes, only to be shot down in their flight by agents of the law.


Yol (1982)
Does art become a more effective instrument of protest as it becomes less nuanced? Probably. When a crowd of thousands is chanting the same thing, you’re so impressed by their collective might that you don’t try to make out individual voices. Güney’s straightforward images can be similarly overwhelming, suggesting basic conflicts that may be understood—and thus related to others—by anyone. (That’s not to say that protest cinema must be blunt to be successful; Jafar Panahi’s nuanced films The Circle (2000) and Crimson Gold (2003) raised international awareness of injustice in Iran and were good enough to be banned at home.) As one of the most famous Kurds of his era, Güney used his celebrity to speak for millions; and as this current Doc series attests, their anger still resounds powerfully.

Yol | Lincoln Center

YOL
ŞERIF GÖREN, 1982
TURKEY/SWITZERLAND/FRANCE | TURKISH WITH ENGLISH SUBTITLES | FORMAT: 35MM | 111 MINUTES
Winner of the Palme d’Or at Cannes, this most famous of all Turkish films starts in a prison, where those prisoners who have served at least a third of their time are given a week’s furlough to go home. Yet, as the film makes shockingly clear, going outside the prison walls doesn’t necessarily end one’s personal incarceration. Directed from a highly detailed screenplay by Yılmaz Güney (who was in jail at the time) by his close collaborator Şerif Gören, Yol renders each of its five principal stories with sympathy and clarity, creating a vibrant, visceral sense of prisoners’ world, while offering insights into their dreams and fears.  Rarely has a film so effectively communicated an atmosphere defined by daily oppression, yet Yol is not without hope: grave as their family or romantic problems might be, each prisoner knows they must be addressed squarely.


SERIES: THE SPACE BETWEEN: A PANORAMA OF CINEMA IN TURKEY
VENUE: WALTER READE THEATER

CFI | Yol

Yol
(The Way)


dir. Yılmaz Güney & Serif Gören
Turkey  1982
114 minutes
English subtitles
The Way Home: The Films of Turkish Master Yılmaz Güney


Auditorium, Library and Archives Canada
Thursday, February 16, 7:00 pm


This story tells the stories of five prisoners allowed a week to return home. Seyit Ali must contend with the fact that his wife has been discovered working as a prostitute and her family is holding her for Seyit to perform an honour killing. Thief Mehmet Salih must tell his wife that he abandoned her brother while he was being shot at by the police, much to the ire of his in-laws. Ömer, a man from a border village, has to face the consequences of the rampant smuggling and tensions with the army. In this dramatic tale, tradition is as much of a prison as a jailhouse itself. Winner of the Palme d'Or at the 1982 Cannes Film Festival.

Presentation and QandA in Toronto

TIFF | Yol

Saturday January 28
06:30 PM
Details
Country: Turkey
Year: 1982
Language: English
Runtime: 111 minutes
Rating: 14A
Principal Cast:
Director: Serif Gören
Yilmaz Güney’s masterpiece — a majestic story about five prisoners released for a week-long furlough whose individual odysseys unite to form a grand allegory for the state of modern Turkey — won the Palme d’Or at the 1982 Cannes Film Festival and became a worldwide cause célèbre.


Notes


"The latest masterpiece from Turkey's leading filmmaker, Yilmaz Güney" (J. Hoberman, The Village Voice). Güney's most celebrated film, directed by proxy from prison (footage was smuggled to Switzerland and edited in Paris), Yol was rapturously received the world over and received countless prizes, including the Palme d'Or and the International Critics Prize at Cannes. (France granted Güney temporary exemption from extradition to attend the awards ceremony, where he had to be accompanied by an entourage of bodyguards to prevent kidnapping or assassination.) Following the fates of five prisoners given one-week furloughs from the island jail of Imrali, Güney fashions their individual, parallel odysseys into an encompassing metaphor for the state of Turkey, where freedom is scant, poverty and oppression rampant. Breaking one of many taboos in the film, Güney includes a Kurdish character who travels home to his village on the Syrian border, and has him speak the hitherto forbidden language of his people. Sweeping in every aspect — music, landscapes, performances — Yol makes most other films look puny by comparison. "It moves the spectator to tears. Greek tragedy is no less sentimental, no less moving" (Jay Scott, The Globe and Mail).


We are pleased to welcome Erju Ackman, film curator and organizer of the Yilmaz Güney retrospective, who will introduce our screening of Yol and place it in the context of Güney's life and career.

Film Notes from Harvard Film Archive | Yol

Yol
Directed by Serif Gören. With Tarik Akan, Serif Sezer, Halil Ergün
Turkey 1982, 35mm, color, 111 min. Turkish with English subtitles

Despite the fact that it was actually shot by his associate Serif Gören, Yol remains Güney’s best-known and celebrated film. One of his darkest films, Yol offers an important summation of Güney’s cinema with its tale of a group of released prisoners. Ironically, their release is only temporary and may not even be a blessing, for each return home only to find themselves as imprisoned as when they were in jail. Yol makes clear that life in Turkey under military rule was itself a kind of Kafka-esque prison, with prisoners their own jailers, keeping each other in check through despotic families and constricting social mores - trapped between fascism and what Güney called “the moral debris left behind by feudalism and patriarchy.”