In a courtroom drama that progressively becomes a thriller, and then a character study of a female lawyer, Selin Gürel judges a film that depicts both a wreck of a person as well as a system. Furthermore, in trying to understand what motivates her actions, this becomes another reason why the film so intrigues.
In the national competition, we watched partially good movies, as well as completely lost ones – those that desperately showed off and those that somehow drifted off. However, there was one film that didn’t fit into any of these categories: Hesitation Wound (Tereddüt Çizgisi). When reflecting on this film, it’s impossible not to think about the very slow transformation and improvement of modern Turkish genre cinema.
It is always interesting to consider why a country’s cinema might avoid certain genres due to purely sociological reasons. This provides insight into what shapes, affects and restricts that particular society. In Turkey’s case, that genre is definitely courtroom dramas. This is one of many reasons why Hesitation Wound as a well-made addition to that genre is an exceptional film. It dares to enter a Turkish courtroom and stay there as long as it can, highlighting a wreckage that is a part of a decayed justice system. Director Selman Nacar consistently uses visual metaphors to portray that decay, leading the audience to the constant feeling of ‘no way out’ which is typically found in modern Romanian cinema. This is not surprising, as his debut film Between Two Dawns (İki Şafak Arasında) is also an atmospheric work circling around a moral dilemma, and he has collaborated with Romanian cinematographer Tudor Vladimir Panduru on both of his films. Together, they create a courtroom that literally falls into pieces as we watch: Small spaces, low ceilings, leaking walls, constant construction noise and a discomforting, anxious wait as if something bad is about to happen; all within a highly male-centric environment.
The most important part of this cinematic experience is the main character, Canan (Tülin Özen) whom the audience follows from a very close distance throughout the film. As soon as we see her, it is clear that, as a lawyer, she is very good at what she does; she is strong, resilient, independent and obviously too modern for a small town. Her dialogues suggest that she studied abroad, leading others to assume that she looks down on them and clearly does not belong there. The interesting part is how this cliché of the unlikeable and unwelcomed city girl is turned upside down, without changing her persona throughout the film. Actually, what motivates her actions is the biggest secret of the film. In a case where she seems to save a working class man from a murder charge against the upper class, she conveniently appears to be a hero of justice. Yet the film suggests that she is not, which is very refreshing. She isn’t at the center of the film only to serve as the audience’s eyes. She isn’t just a window, she possesses the secret potential of a manipulator, or not…
In today’s Turkish cinema, where films driven by multi-dimensional female characters are rare, Canan fills a significant void. She could have easily been created as a simply ‘strong’ female character. In a male-dominated environment where she is constantly sidelined, she could have heroically defended a wrongfully accused working-class prisoner against powerful tycoons, wielding her sword against the system’s mills solely to uncover the truth, ultimately overcoming all obstacles, and transforming herself in the process. However, Canan is not this heroic lawyer. Yes, she struggles not to be crushed by the wheels of justice in a small town just because she is a woman, but her notable feature is not this victimhood. That’s why she is extraordinary and unpredictable.
Hesitation Wound derives its near-perfect rhythm from its obsession with timing. In court, it is the most important hearing of what seems to be a long trial. There is immense pressure on Canan regarding whether her key witness will show up. Meanwhile, as everything in the courtroom literally falls apart, she also has to deal with her mother, who has been in a vegetative state for some time and is considered a suitable candidate for organ donation, which Canan strongly opposes. She is not ready to let her go and it might not be about her love, but her greed to control things, even life and death. Additionally, time is running out for the judge’s niece, who desperately needs new kidneys to stay alive. It seems that Canan’s mother’s donation might save her life. As timing proves to be crucial to the story, the film transforms into a thriller that keeps us on the edge of our seats towards the finale, which shows that the question is not whether the defendant is guilty or not. Because the film does not center merely on the case itself, it entirely revolves around Canan and her ambiguous intentions. We constantly seek to uncover other aspects of Canan’s life, what she is like outside of the courtroom or hospital. As we get to know her up close, we start to think that she is just a human with flaws in a corrupt legal system and who is very hard on herself. But she is more complicated than that and we will never fully understand her. Just as in real life. And the film’s dedication to this fact is everything that matters.
Selin Gürel
Edited by Steven Yates
© FIPRESCI 2024