Winter Sleep {Drive In}

A timid dust of fog veils the landscape every now and then and people walk briskly, efficient robots fleeing from the grip of the rising cold. Surprisingly enough, the movie Winter Sleep aired on one of these days, matching the mood, the hues and the willingness to contemplate every single branch and stone, leaving none unturned. Even the ugliest ones.

Winter Sleep is about the hurtful remains of a family sharing the same roof under the cavernous walls of Anatolia; the central character is Aydin, a former actor married to a younger and very beautiful wife, Nihal. He now owns what tourists think is an authentic troglodyte hotel that becomes the hub of turbulent family relationships and unspoken suffering between husband and wife, and Necla, Aydin’s sister. As winter muffles the region, shutting down most communication channels, contacts with fellow human beings become rare; the main character, his wife and his sister share a limited space and few discussions, sparse and tense. They talk, they do not listen. They do not understand each other, they’ve grown far away from each other. 

A wintry and steel like veil descends on each of them, snow piles up, mountains of solid rock spurt from the arid ground making all true and deep contacts a hardship burying hearts and souls. Sometimes, the truth painfully breaks through and unsettles the rocks, shakes the ground and the innermost convictions of the characters. Aydin is self-assured, proud to the point of disdaining his wife’s true nature, to the point of being blind to the sensitivity, frailty and needs of others. He hasn’t turned out to be as famous as he hoped - as his family hoped - so the hotel has become his own stage, his kingdom surrounded by souvenirs - posters on the walls, books… He feasts on his wife’s submission and silent energy, until the day she fiercely shows her independence by making her own choices and wanting to preserve her own world and friendships, being able to express herself, freely and under no judgement. She’s a volcano shut down for way too long. 

What is freedom in an isolated land with no escape, surrounded by a handful of nosy neighbors, weighted down by traditions while pride and family history tug at you? The rooms of the hotel are dark, warm and somewhat cosy, in stark opposition to the outdoor landscape, vast, rough and demanding. The inner comfort is just a tricky hideout, four walls encasing the immuable order Aydin relies on. The movie ends with a silenced Nihal and Aydin back to his computer, in his beloved office; his face is the still portrait of unchallenged satisfaction. Everything - from objects to humans - is back to its rightful place as if no ripples ever appeared on the surface, no earthquake shaped a new landscape. Like a book, a poster, a computer, every one is back to its initial place; roles and priorities have not shifted. Aydin is reassured: his quiet life and writing of articles for a local newspaper can resume as if nothing ever happened, his pride back on the throne. No matter how much destruction he leaves behind. 

The movie is touching: it shows how communication between human beings who share the same space becomes disrupted, painful and simply impossible. In this world of forced silence and occasional outbursts, winter is the backdrop to isolation. Still, it looks attractive: it is stark, clearcut and harsh - somewhat true to its nature, making it the only truthful character of the movie. Some of the scenes look like paintings, inviting us to contemplate how we communicate with our loved ones, how we trip, fall and stand up again despite the slippery slopes and muddy soil on our front door - or at least how we try to. Do watch this slow, intimate movie. Take your time, forget the rest of the world - it is three-hour long- treasuring each word, every droplet of heavy silent and each snowflake and mud splash on the screen.

Credits: DeathToTheStockPhoto (edited by TheDaydreamer)