Three Monkeys

The nature of cinema is to deal in lies. But through these surface lies – fictional stories, edited narratives – the nature of cinema is also to reveal some kind of truth. This undercurrent simmers beneath the surface of Nuri Bilge Ceylan’s subtle and fascinating Three Monkeys, a film in which a family’s lies uncover a hidden honesty.

In an opening scene that sets the tone for Ceylan’s exceptional use of light and shadow and extraordinary sound design, we see (or rather hear) a car hit a pedestrian on a deserted road at night. Behind the wheel is a politician, Servet (Ercan Kesal), who persuades his usual driver, Eyüp (Yavuz Bingol), to take the rap in return for a lump sum when he is released from prison. This will be the first of a series of lies in a complex, noir-ish narrative that will see Eyüp’s family – his wife, Hacer (Hatice Aslan), and son, Ismail (Rifat Sungar) – gradually picked apart.

This may be Ceylan’s most accessible work yet – it has something of the Coen brothers about its structure, albeit with more restrained performances from the uniformly excellent cast. Best of all is Hatice Aslan as the cowed wife emerging slowly from her shell. Her lie is the most complex of all, as it leads to a relationship at the core of the film, which Ceylan brutally uses to punish her as things reach a climax. It’s a cruel and jarring leap that sees her exploitation twisted into something entirely different – an excess of passion that suggests, in the end, an almost atavistic fear of female sexuality.

But this is the only misstep in a film that otherwise quite brilliantly plays with its form. Ceylan (a respected photographer) paints the screen in brooding colours – a storm of repressed emotions hanging heavy in the air. Many of the details in people’s faces are obscured by either blinding sunlight or murky dark, which gives way to bold and strangely shocking close-ups at key moments. Wind whistles through the background, and water (whether in showers, sweat, rain or wash basins) is a recurring motif for the stains of guilt both past and present.

By the film’s conclusion, the thin tissue of lies will have torn, revealing a compelling truth after all: you don’t lie because you love; you lie because you hate.

Matt Bochenski

Anticipation:

Ceylan is building a notable body of work.

Enjoyment:

Balances narrative pace, emotional depth and technical virtuosity.

In Retrospect:

The treatment of the wife/mother will leave you with plenty to ponder.