Having watched Zenne Dancer, I'm surprised the movie made it to Singapore – even if it was only for a very limited run in a tiny cinema for a relatively obscure film festival. It's a brave, honest, bold movie that doesn't shy away from themes that are still regarded as taboo here: the notion of homosexuality, and having to live everyday in a society where that's seen as one of the cardinal sins – where dignity and life can be stripped from anyone who dares confess to being gay. The situation here in Singapore isn't quite as bad as it would be in a staunchly conservative Muslim country – and even in Turkey, the strictures and shame are less profoundly felt than they would be in, say, Iran. But the themes in Zenne Dancer – acceptance (of oneself and others), tolerance, love, shame and family – would resonate anywhere, particularly when presented as masterfully as they are here.
Sadly, the story does not have a happy ending. I don't think this necessarily counts as a spoiler, because the film has become famous chiefly because of the woeful incident that both ends it and inspires it. (Moreover, I went into the cinema knowing how it would all end, pretty much, but found myself moved by the ending anyway – made all the more poignant for what goes before it.) Directors Caner Alper and Mehmet Binay were personally acquainted with a man named Ahmet Yildiz, whose life was tragically cut short on 15 July 2008 when he became the victim of a honour killing – the homicide of someone (typically a woman) who is believed by the perpetrators to have brought dishonour upon the family or community. Ahmet's true-life story was the first time the honour killing of a gay man received widespread publicity in Turkey.
What Alper and Binay have done is present Ahmet's story through the fiction of film: some of the events within the movie are fictionalised, such as Can's close friendship with Ahmet (which is a key element in the plot). The directors have explained that they all knew the real-life Can, but couldn't be certain if the latter had ever known Ahmet. The story built up around the three men nevertheless feels true and organic, and is one of the joys of Zenne Dancer. The movie has a lot to say about very controversial themes, but it's also really a tale of the power and strength of friendship: of the family you choose rather than the family you're born with. The relationships are credible, rich and affecting: whether we're watching Can tease Ahmet (and vice versa), or going along for the ride as both men subject themselves to the humiliation of officially dodging the draft.
In fact, the inner workings of the relationships and characters in this film are laid bare in ways that at once fulfil and confound stereotype. It becomes clear that there's more than meets the eye in Ahmet's fraught relationship with his family, which isn't merely about shame and hatred: it's a story of love twisted by religion and tradition, where duty comes before happiness not just for Ahmet, but also his modern yet dutiful sister. Daniel's troubled past as a photographer in war-torn Afghanistan provides depth to his story and pain, and even minor characters like Can's aunt Sukran (Jale Arikan) get moments to shine when they find love and support in unexpected places.
Zenne Dancer is also a profound study in contrasts: Can quite literally dances through life, a rainbow burst of joy and love, adored by his mother Sevgi (Tilbe Saran) who will do anything to save her baby boy from the trauma visited by military service upon her deceased husband and haunted elder son Cihan (Tolga Tekin).
With a great script and story comes a superlative cast: Kerem Can and Avci are the two focal points of the film, and both are astoundingly good. The former is fey and fabulous, but also manages to be heartbreaking and real in the part: Can flounces through life in a whirl of sequins and gauze, woes and responsibilities apparently sliding off his back with ease except they don't, not really, and Kerem Can makes this clear in moments when he injects a hint of steely resolve into his character that's all the more affecting for how breezy and easy he plays Can the rest of the time. His work is all the more impressive for the fact that he is himself straight – and there is simply no question that he was born to play this part. Avci is just as powerful, in no less effective a way, as a man who's slowly beginning to accept who he is and realising that he needs to be honest about it – however much it will break his parents' hearts. He plays Ahmet's tremulously sad, close relationship with his father particularly well, making it clear that his character could never really blame his parents for the way they think any more than he can hope for them to really accept him for who he is.
Kudos are also due to Silver and Çalışkur, who inhabit rather unsympathetic roles with admirable gusto and, where necessary, restraint.
All in all, Zenne Dancer is a towering achievement: it's a fantastic story, with great characters, told in an arresting, thought-provoking fashion – but never in a cheap, sensationalistic way. Instead, the tale rings sadly, horrifyingly true, and reminds us that there's a long way to go yet before societal mores and the sanctity of human rights can co-exist in the way they should. This is an important work, touching on issues of freedom, choice, identity and love. For a film that's ostensibly about being gay, Zenne Dancer possibly has even more things to say about what it is to be human.
Sadly, the story does not have a happy ending. I don't think this necessarily counts as a spoiler, because the film has become famous chiefly because of the woeful incident that both ends it and inspires it. (Moreover, I went into the cinema knowing how it would all end, pretty much, but found myself moved by the ending anyway – made all the more poignant for what goes before it.) Directors Caner Alper and Mehmet Binay were personally acquainted with a man named Ahmet Yildiz, whose life was tragically cut short on 15 July 2008 when he became the victim of a honour killing – the homicide of someone (typically a woman) who is believed by the perpetrators to have brought dishonour upon the family or community. Ahmet's true-life story was the first time the honour killing of a gay man received widespread publicity in Turkey.
What Alper and Binay have done is present Ahmet's story through the fiction of film: some of the events within the movie are fictionalised, such as Can's close friendship with Ahmet (which is a key element in the plot). The directors have explained that they all knew the real-life Can, but couldn't be certain if the latter had ever known Ahmet. The story built up around the three men nevertheless feels true and organic, and is one of the joys of Zenne Dancer. The movie has a lot to say about very controversial themes, but it's also really a tale of the power and strength of friendship: of the family you choose rather than the family you're born with. The relationships are credible, rich and affecting: whether we're watching Can tease Ahmet (and vice versa), or going along for the ride as both men subject themselves to the humiliation of officially dodging the draft.
In fact, the inner workings of the relationships and characters in this film are laid bare in ways that at once fulfil and confound stereotype. It becomes clear that there's more than meets the eye in Ahmet's fraught relationship with his family, which isn't merely about shame and hatred: it's a story of love twisted by religion and tradition, where duty comes before happiness not just for Ahmet, but also his modern yet dutiful sister. Daniel's troubled past as a photographer in war-torn Afghanistan provides depth to his story and pain, and even minor characters like Can's aunt Sukran (Jale Arikan) get moments to shine when they find love and support in unexpected places.
Zenne Dancer is also a profound study in contrasts: Can quite literally dances through life, a rainbow burst of joy and love, adored by his mother Sevgi (Tilbe Saran) who will do anything to save her baby boy from the trauma visited by military service upon her deceased husband and haunted elder son Cihan (Tolga Tekin).
With a great script and story comes a superlative cast: Kerem Can and Avci are the two focal points of the film, and both are astoundingly good. The former is fey and fabulous, but also manages to be heartbreaking and real in the part: Can flounces through life in a whirl of sequins and gauze, woes and responsibilities apparently sliding off his back with ease except they don't, not really, and Kerem Can makes this clear in moments when he injects a hint of steely resolve into his character that's all the more affecting for how breezy and easy he plays Can the rest of the time. His work is all the more impressive for the fact that he is himself straight – and there is simply no question that he was born to play this part. Avci is just as powerful, in no less effective a way, as a man who's slowly beginning to accept who he is and realising that he needs to be honest about it – however much it will break his parents' hearts. He plays Ahmet's tremulously sad, close relationship with his father particularly well, making it clear that his character could never really blame his parents for the way they think any more than he can hope for them to really accept him for who he is.
Kudos are also due to Silver and Çalışkur, who inhabit rather unsympathetic roles with admirable gusto and, where necessary, restraint.
All in all, Zenne Dancer is a towering achievement: it's a fantastic story, with great characters, told in an arresting, thought-provoking fashion – but never in a cheap, sensationalistic way. Instead, the tale rings sadly, horrifyingly true, and reminds us that there's a long way to go yet before societal mores and the sanctity of human rights can co-exist in the way they should. This is an important work, touching on issues of freedom, choice, identity and love. For a film that's ostensibly about being gay, Zenne Dancer possibly has even more things to say about what it is to be human.