QUICK AND DIRTY: LIVE FROM TALLINN

The setting is sombre and bleak, in the cold and barren mountains on rural Turkey. The gloom is gently captured by the fiery lens of Mexican DoP Claudia Becerril Bulos, who successfully transposes her Latin America sensibility onto a region of the planet where the colours are far less vibrant. It is in this harsh environment that Beko (Sermet Yesil) forces his son Musa (Alpay Kaya) to be pretend that he has a learning impairment,. He wants the child to join an educational institution for mentally disabled children. So Musa twerks and kicks proficiently as if he had cerebral palsy.

Musa is not alone in his dramatic predicament (“dramatic” in both senses of the word: his performances are both sad and theatrical). In fact, the majority of the other children – perhaps even all of them – are feigning disability. That’s because their parents wish to access a significant public money pot (the precise reasons are never revealed in detail). Musa finds comfort in the friendship that he develops with Nergis, a girl around his age with some particularly sophisticated acting skills, and ready to share her knowledge.

Parallel to his human connections, Musa associates with the rabbits. The fluffy animals are literally made to run for their lives, in a very cruel sport somewhere between fox hunting and greyhound racing. Beko is a huge fan: this type of entertainment is very fitting of his ruthless and sadistic personality. Maybe this is where he spends all the cash he gets from govenment. Dogs of different breeds, each one tied to a luminescent collar, chase the poor creature at night. Viewers are spared the exact moment of capture, instead being offered a peek into the huge rabbit holes where they encounter safety, supposedly dodging death. Musa too finds redemption in such places. Both the child and the small mammals are evading a threatening environment, where they serve merely a functional purpose. Grown-ups have little regard for the physical and psychological integrity.

Musa’s bond to Nergis eventually ruffles some feathers, plunging him into further isolation. This is a sexist society where segregation is mandated even amongst the youngest. In other words: boy and girl shall not be friends. Meanwhile, one of the dogs goes missing, triggering a momentous search, as well as some tension amongst the highly aggressive and competitive adults. The symbolism of Empire of Rabbits is plain to see: children and rabbits share the traits of vulnerability and compassion, while adults (particularly the heavily-bearded macho type taught to conceal their sentiments and manipulate others) could learn a thing or two from their children. What about dogs? They stand somewhere in between. They can easily switch from the role of the tormentor and victim.

A charming parable, just not remarkably profound and revealing. An auspicious reflection about the dynamics of oppression, entirely devoid of socio-political connotations. The precise geography of the story is never revealed, and I have no idea whether the strange sport and the practice of forcing children to feign disability is as widespread as in the film. The dark tones of the cinematography invite meditation, never horror and indignation. The dialogues are as scarce as daylight, ensuring that the film stays firmly on allegorical territory, far removed from realism. At times, the plot in thin is hardly discernible. Turkey is a country where overt criticism of state authoritarianism can get filmmakers into deep trouble, and these artists have no rabbit holes to hide. So expect a very poetic, fairly quiet and mostly anodyne movie.

Empire of the Rabbits just premiered in the Official Competition of the 28th Tallinn Black Nights Film Festival.