Kosmos: A primal journey for the senses

Reha Erdem’s award-winning ‘Kosmos’ hits the screens, once again taking us on a journey devoid of a sense of time and place. In this bizarre fairy tale, a strange man drifts into a border town, disrupting the stoic and conservative existence of the town’s inhabitants

On the surface, no single film by director Reha Erdem seems to resemble one another. His latest movie is, likewise, a surprise for film enthusiasts.

But each detail in his filmography shows that all of his films, in some way, are complementary pieces or nods to one another. Recurring themes and motifs make more sense with each new movie, which makes watching the older ones a brand new experience.

After watching Erdem’s debut feature, A Ay (Look, the Moon) of 1998, and his 2006 coming-of-age drama, Beş Vakit (Winds and Times), recently, his last two films, Hayat Var (My Only Sunshine) and the most recent, Kosmos (Cosmos), make more sense. They now appear to be distinct films, with visual and narrative gems coming to the surface on their second viewing. And that, I guess, is the ultimate testament to the greatness of a director.

Kosmos wowed audiences and critics at last year’s Golden Orange Film Festival, and won four awards, including best film and best director. The story is hard to pin down – or, rather, the story on paper hardly reflects what the film is about. A stranger drifts into a snow-laden border town. Even though he could easily be run out of town given his appearance as a deranged or homeless man, he makes a grand entrance. He jumps into the cold river to save a drowning boy. In fact, he brings the boy to life right in front of his older sister.

The stranger begins his bizarre journey in the town with the admiration and respect of the townfolk, even if it does not necessarily mean he has won over their hearts. He tells the town that his name is Battal. But for the object of his affection, the little boy’s sister, he becomes Kosmos. He finds his feelings are reciprocated through their bizarre mating ritual, howling at one another across the river. She, in turn, becomes Neptün (Neptune) to him.

With his words of wisdom, occasional small miracles, unique lifestyle (does he eat anything other than sugar cubes?), and refusal to become part of what makes society tick, Kosmos disrupts the stoic, dull and conservative existence of the town. As he prolongs his stay, the town begins to experience robberies.


Kosmos knows what it is to be the ‘other’

Kosmos’s lonely existence in this distant, cold town has the occasional flutter of warmth through his interaction with women with a similar lonely existence: Neptün, the newly appointed teacher, and the limping wife of a sergeant addicted to pain killers. Kosmos connects with these women without much effort, contrasting with his increasingly hostile relations with the town’s men. The women go through their lives with the constant knowledge that they are the “other,” and perhaps that’s why they can easily connect with a man who is also an “other.”

Similar to other Erdem movies, you feel a sense of suspension from time. Beş Vakit was inherently a movie about time, but it was also a movie that unsettled our definitions of time. In Kosmos, the occasional shot of the clock tower reminds us the timelessness of Kosmos’ journey.

The ramblings of Kosmos on life and death, the scenes of death and near death, and the juxtaposition of the older and younger people give us glimpses from his earlier films as well – specifically, A Ay and Hayat Var, with their protagonists made up of children, grandparents and ghosts.

The loss of place, similar to the loss of time, is also similar to previous Erdem movies – but in a totally unique way. The familiar Anatolian town soon becomes a place of make-believe, a land of fairy tales and folk legends. At the beginning of the movie, with wide streets covered with snow and the Russian architecture, you recognize the town to be Kars. But halfway through the movie, the town is longer familiar.

Florent Herry takes the credit for the beautiful cinematography, an integral part of the haunting atmosphere of the film. Meanwhile, the relatively unknown Sermet Yeşil portrays Kosmos as wise and primal at the same time.

Kosmos is a powerful movie, appealing to the senses. There is not much use in trying to dissect the film rationally; and that, in the end, is the beauty of the film.

Originally published in Hürriyet Daily News on 24 April 2010

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