Eleştirmen yorumları

An intimate and caustic commentary on the spheres that women occupy in contemporary society and the haunting spectres of their dreams that inhabit these spaces and their bodies, Yesim Ustaoglu’s Clair Obscur is a slow burn that must be seen for the discomfort it causes in its viewers — a thought-provoking narrative about the binding character of contrast itself, the multiplicity of female experience, and the ionic bonds forged thereof.

Ustaoglu’s films are deeply concerned with discrimination and otherness, especially in relation to migrants. In Clair Obscur, women are the victims of physical, sexual and psychological violence. While we sympathize with the victims, we also catch glimpses of the world that participates in their victimization. We never lose sight of the society which permits these injustices to occur.

For Ustaoğlu, of course, “Clair-Obscur” isn’t simply an issue-based film. “It’s not just for women,” she insists. “It’s for everyone.” But at the story’s heart is a visceral evocation of Turkish womanhood and sexuality, told with a candor not commonly seen in local films.

Ustaoglu masterfully uses the natural setting of the Mediterranean coast to reflect the two women’s inner state of mind, captured by the mesmerising cinematographic style of Michael Hammon, with whom the director worked on Araf - Somewhere in Between. The unrestful sea and storms invade the space, encouraging the women to take control over their own nature.

The degree of psychological depth and nuance in Clair Obscur is its strongest feature, and it extends beyond Chenaz and Elmas to provide a kaleidoscopic perspective of mores and morality in Turkish – and human – society.

Anchored by a strong performance from Funda Eryigit and the gorgeous cinematography work by Michael Hammon, Ustaoglu allows the tension to build at a leisurely pace. This not only lets the themes truly sink in, but also gives Ustaoglu several opportunities to catch the viewer off-guard with some truly uncomfortable and unexpectedly powerful moments.

The film’s emotional heartbeat comes from the performances of the two stars. Ecem Uzun is unnervingly convincing as a girl left traumatised by her marriage, catatonic in her silences and raging like a trapped animal in panic and terror at what fresh ordeal might lie ahead. Funda Eryigit has the less showy role but is no less impressive as a woman forced to take a fresh look at a life she thought she could call her own.

We watch tragic scenario after tragic scenario, both women growing smaller and smaller as the days go by. Eventually they converge, but I’ll leave this collision’s origins to the film. Just know that the moral complexities of what’s depicted never diminish and the torment never disappears.

The story should have special appeal for female viewers who will sense the honesty of the protags as they reveal their deepest, most intimate feelings about their relationships and sex lives. That these matters are discussed so openly and frankly in a Turkish context, and include explicit sex scenes, seems surprisingly radical in itself.

...Ustaoglu establishes each woman's relationship to the patriarchy; by focusing on minute details that encapsulate the different ways it can manifest, the director tells a story that stretches beyond the frame.While it moves at a glacial pace with some occasionally stilted, forced scenes, Clair Obscur is thoughtful, meaningful and beautifully shot.

...Clair Obscur turns into a fascinating two-hander as they [Chenaz and Elmas] are removed from their respective home lives and brought together within the neutral confines of a hospital. There, away from the material evidence of their differences, Chenaz’s empathy for Elmas’ plight crystallizes her growing dissatisfaction with her own personal relationships, and Ustaoglu effectively collapses her initially superficial binary of female.