The festival opened on Friday, there was the exhibition opening cocktail party on Saturday and on Sunday there was the presentation I had to attend. After going around asking everyone what exactly I was supposed to do I learned, at the very last minute, that first I was to just say “there will be a question and answer session after the film with the films director and please join me in welcoming him blah blah” and after the film the audience members were to ask questions which I had to translate. If they failed to ask I would motivate by asking my own questions.
Basically this was a translation job and I have no idea why I was doing it. I mean it was not as if I was putting to use any of my knowledge as a film critic and scholar for it, except may be to the extent that I knew film terminology in both languages very well. The thing went smoothly.
I have translated three books in my life one fiction and two non-fiction and let me tell you that I hate translating. I find it the most tedious job in the world where you end up thinking on a sentence longer than its writer ever did and it is never worth the effort. However this kind of translation was very easy and I enjoyed it thoroughly. I must admit, especially when people referred to other directors or films, I thought someone who did not already know these names could never have been able to get what was going on let alone repeat the names, so maybe after all there is some small wisdom in making us do it, although admittedly we, film critics and scholars, are over qualified for this job.
The result: Provided there is some adequate monetary compensation, I wouldn’t mind doing all the presentations. Though I guess this would necessitate being at different places at the same time and why should the festival pay when they are getting us to do it for free? The real result: never again!
Of course I got to see my first festival film because of this presentation and this is good because if I don’t start early on I usually end up not going to any movie during the festival. I mean there was a time back in my youth when I went to four, even five, movies a day for two weeks straight. I did mention I was very fucked up in my youth, didn’t I? Well this was one of the symptoms, as far as I am concerned. But even then I had an excuse: I wrote what I saw, I was even writing a festival journal for a newspaper at one point. Plus, back then, the festival was the only opportunity to see some films. Whereas now, thanks to DVD and the downloading capabilities of the internet, there is no such animal. And yes my home theatre system beats most of the film theatres of the festival.
All of my fellow film critics still try to see as many films as possible during the festival and it seems so does the university youth (or a predictable portion of it). I knew back then, as I do now, that this is more about the allure of a social activity, ‘festivity’ actually, then the urge to see movies. And the ‘festive’ aspect holds less allure for me as time goes by. I have enough confidence to socialise with people without any pretext and am capable of organising private festivities to my own liking when I happen to get the urge. I cannot get a feeling of contentment by merely saying, “I have seen 25 films” like I used to. In fact given the unavoidable ratio: out of any 25 film 15, at least, will be crap; I would feel I have wasted precious time of my life in which I could have been doing something worthwhile. Let me not get carried away with the ‘getting old’ shit however.
The film was called “The Speed of Life” and I had chosen to present its director for 3 reasons: a) it was an American independent movie and this usually means a predictably nice little film about eccentric characters. b) American independent directors are usually people that are exactly like you and me, with whom you can have a decent conversation, even become friends with, as I have learned from my experience with Bill Morrison c) the film was shot using a myriad of formats ranging from high 8 to VHS d) the film had won the queer lion award at the Venice film festival. The last meant that the director might be gay but it turned out he wasn’t and actually it is quite a bit of a stretch to call this a queer film.
It was, however, a pleasant movie and I enjoyed it a lot. However, since it was shown in ‘digibeta format’, I would have watched it in way better conditions, if I had watched it at home. The director Ed Radtke turned out to be a very easy going and entertaining chap whom I am happy to have known, we went to grab a drink after the session and had a nice little chat. So, my belief that American independent directors are cool people, has been strengthened.
Posts Tagged ‘Istanbul Film Festival
First we (me and Seda, love of my life) had to go to Karakoy where the tiny alternative gallery Hafriyat is located to attend the opening of the lambda (the lesbian, gay, bisexual, transsexual organisation of Istanbul) exhibition, then we had to attend the opening night of The Istanbul Film Festival.
This was a bit of a tricky business in terms of transportation. Interestingly Karakoy is walking distance from our house and even Lutfu Kirdar, the place where the festival was to open, can be reached on foot from our house, though admittedly, a longer walk then to the gallery. I must have mentioned in a previous entry how centrally our house is situated. However to get from Karakoy to Lutfi Kirdar in time, especially during rush hour, is another business altogether. Especially since you had to consider the fact as the festival was going to be broadcasted live on the national television, you had to be there on time or you wouldn’t be able to get in. We didn’t have a plan, we only knew we couldn’t say long at the exhibition.
We had a bit of a problem getting dressed. This is what occasionally happens with two women living together. Even if you are going to just wear jeans and shirt you might end up agitating each other and turning the whole thing into a big deal but we managed to go out in time and walked down to Karakoy.
The gallery is on a street that is jammed with traffic at that hour and because it is tiny most of the people were out on the pavement. So it was a weird picture: the exhibition people crowded on the pavement drinking from plastic cubs while commuters crowded in buses looked down on them.
Plus there was a performance happening, a part of which, was also on the pavement. The performance was by ‘Ciplak Ayaklar Kumpanyasi’, which translates as ‘Naked Feet Company’. There was one man, with literally naked feet, sitting on the pavement with a bucket on his head and a gismo that sent drops of water on the bucket. (I believe this is what is known as Chinese torture) There was a woman in the same situation right inside the gallery and one on the upper floor.
The place inside, as well as out on the pavement, was packed full with people and inside it was quite claustrophobic. In fact I believe the situation inside the bus on the street and that inside the gallery quite mirrored one another and we shared the experience of claustrophobia with the performers under their buckets. Since it was a huge problem even to move, we very soon realised, we won’t be looking at the artwork and decided not to try and that we would come back some other time for it.
Actually people were, for the most part, ignoring the performers as well as the the other works and I was reminded of some of Maria Abromovich’s performances and how she was rescued, from near death, by attentive spectators. No such luck for our performers if they happened to have any medical problems.
The first friend we saw was Inanc who directed us towards Aykan, Gencay, Cicek and Bawer. They were all eating penis shaped ginger cookies, which I believe must be some sort of edible art. Bawer introduced me to a woman saying, “this is Aykan’s mother and she is teaching us how to eat a penis”. The woman gave me a cookie and said they are quite nice; I took one saying “not that I would know”. It turned out she was indeed Aykan’s mother. Aykan is the curator of the exhibition and has one work exhibited as well, though we never got to see it.
Since it was impossible to move around and since Cicek was leaving already we didn’t stay long and joined her, thinking we might as well start our journey towards our other appointment. As we walked, we met another friend Zeynep, who was just arriving unaware of what kind of crowd awaited her at the gallery.
things to come
I keep on receiving complaints that it has been ages since my last blog entry. I really haven’t got hold of the rhythm of this thing yet and don’t know if I should (or for that matter could) be writing every two days or once a week or whenever I feel like it.
This week, at least, the answer is: whenever I can find a quiet moment to myself. The week started of with a day of meetings. On Monday I had my first meeting at nine and went from one meeting to the next until 18.30. The week will end with the opening of the lambda (the lesbian, gay, bisexual and transsexual organization in Istanbul) exhibition, followed by, the opening gala of the Istanbul Film Festival.
The week doesn’t end there and there is yet another exhibition opening I need to attend to on Saturday, since this exhibition, entitled “L’aventura Reedited” bears the signature of two of my friends Selim Eyuboglu and Esen Karol.
On Sunday I have to go on stage before a screening at the festival to present the films director ask him a few questions, do all this in English AND translate the dialogue to Turkish for the benefit of those who do not know English.
I do not believe in doing a job that should have been done by an expert and translation is certainly an expertise. However this festival, which is huge - too huge for its own good, really - prefers to get the most out of you whenever possible. I remember distinctly how back in 1999 I was one of the jury members for the national competition and had to translate the entire jury session as well as participate in, what turned out to be, one of the most heated jury debates I have ever encountered. This is what we call “ala Turca” and no doubt I am contributing to this by periodically accepting to do it. When I refuse, this doesn’t get my point across, at all. Whatever I might say, they simply decide, “I am being difficult”. So I alternate between years when I am being “difficult” and years when I finally relent and nothing changes because this how things are done in this country.
In any case the weekend promises many blog entries if only I have the time to write.
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