QUICK AND DIRTY: LIVE FROM SAN SEBASTIAN

Tülizar (Ecem Uzun) is a quiet and introspective 20-something-year old woman about to leave her native Turkey in favour of Kosovo, where her future husband Emre (Bekir Behrem) eagerly waits for her. Her sister gives her a collar as a memento of her family, while her mother decides to flank Gülizar on her journey into a brand new married life. The old woman is turned away on the border because her passport is nearing its expiry date, leaving our protagonist to finish the travels on her own. Before she reaches her final destination in charming mountainside city of Prizren, she gets raped.

Unable (or perhaps unwilling) to share the knowledge of the assault with her loving husband, Gülizar allows the wedding preparations to go ahead as planned. Her enthusiastic mother-in-law takes her on a tour of the city, while also helping her to shop for the perfect wedding dress. The awful truth eventually emerges, sending the local vigilantes – particularly the zealous Emre – on a frenzied search for the culprit. Gradually, the terrified Gülizar breaks free from her shell. She crucially questions her husband, in the movie’s most significant line: “why did they tell you but not me [that they may have found the rapist]?”, revealing a latent sense of indignation. Perhaps her laconic demeanour was purely a defence mechanism. Perhaps it is time men allow Gülizar to speak up and make decisions for herself. Otherwise, she may take matters into her own hands.

It is not entirely clear whether Gülizar’s marriage to Emre was arranged and by whom. They seem to know each other very little, and yet they share some sort of affection. And it is never explained why and when Emre left his native Turkey in order to settle in the young Balkan nation. This ambiguity dilutes the strength of the film. Does the young Turkish filmmaker (who also penned the screenplay) believe that arranged marriage is a type of violation, akin to rape, or does she think that such matrimonies are an integral and respectable part of her culture?

With a duration of 84 minutes, and at an undecided pace oscillating between conventional storytelling and slow cinema, Gülizar is dogged by plot holes and ruminative incoherences. At times, the lines are contrived and the acting is stilted, inevitably disengaging the less attentive viewers. A cow on her way to the slaughter is a trite symbolism, A more explosive finale does little to rescue this story of women’s trauma and liberation from banality. As a consequence, the reflections around the female body and quiet emancipatory gestures do not reach their full potential. This is a sombre and subtle little film hampered by its own hesitation to make a more robust statement.

Gülizar just premiered in the New Directors section of the 72nd San Sebastian International Film Festival.