Storytelling is a compromise. It can be no more than a mirror to life, and a distorted one at that. The storyteller has to choose what information they're going to use, and how they intend to present it, in order to tell the story they wish to tell.
The reason for this bald assessment is that Fatih Akin does a few things which felt overcooked, and yet in spite of this, he's created a film which has a growing, brooding weight. By the time Nejat completes the journey he's been intermittently taking since the film's opening frames, the audience has been sucked in to Akin's overarching narrative. And the overcooking is forgiven, or perhaps this was never overcooking, merely high stakes seasoning, a key component in the film's success.
The overcooking, to hang on to the metaphor, involves the more schematic elements of the narrative, set between Germany and Turkey. A girl hoping to find her long-lost mother overtakes her on the motorway, without realising she is so close and yet so far away. The man who befreinds the girl's eventual protector is the same man who was with the mother on the motorway. This Dickensian use of co-incidence highlights the presence of the auteur, pulling the characters' strings to his own effect. It is either unwieldy or beguiling, depending on your point of view.
Akin constructs a portrait of a restless world full of exchanges, gains and losses. A demonstration in one country will have ramifications in another (two of the film's three chapters open with scenes of key characters at demos). The film's German title translates as 'On the Other Side' - and the other side, (and there are many 'other sides' within the film), is much closer than we are inclined to realise.
Through it all, the cultural divisions of Europe and Asia, muslim and christian, first and third worlds, the film suggests we are unified by common themes of humanity: how to be a parent, and how to be a child. Akin gives his performers room to breathe and flesh out the learning the film and the world continually demand. Hannah Schygulla and Tuncel Kurtiz give brave performances, creating characters who, even as they reach old age, are still wrestling with the consequences of their flaws.
The Edge of Heaven does not feel cinematically groundbreaking: there are few tricks and in spite of its non-linearity, the narrative retains a European orthodoxy. However, it possesses a humane boldness in its composition and scale. Like a good novel, the further in you get, the more rewarding it becomes. Akin identifies the big stories, something cinema should do but rarely does, and tells them with conviction. And that's enough.
The reason for this bald assessment is that Fatih Akin does a few things which felt overcooked, and yet in spite of this, he's created a film which has a growing, brooding weight. By the time Nejat completes the journey he's been intermittently taking since the film's opening frames, the audience has been sucked in to Akin's overarching narrative. And the overcooking is forgiven, or perhaps this was never overcooking, merely high stakes seasoning, a key component in the film's success.
The overcooking, to hang on to the metaphor, involves the more schematic elements of the narrative, set between Germany and Turkey. A girl hoping to find her long-lost mother overtakes her on the motorway, without realising she is so close and yet so far away. The man who befreinds the girl's eventual protector is the same man who was with the mother on the motorway. This Dickensian use of co-incidence highlights the presence of the auteur, pulling the characters' strings to his own effect. It is either unwieldy or beguiling, depending on your point of view.
Akin constructs a portrait of a restless world full of exchanges, gains and losses. A demonstration in one country will have ramifications in another (two of the film's three chapters open with scenes of key characters at demos). The film's German title translates as 'On the Other Side' - and the other side, (and there are many 'other sides' within the film), is much closer than we are inclined to realise.
Through it all, the cultural divisions of Europe and Asia, muslim and christian, first and third worlds, the film suggests we are unified by common themes of humanity: how to be a parent, and how to be a child. Akin gives his performers room to breathe and flesh out the learning the film and the world continually demand. Hannah Schygulla and Tuncel Kurtiz give brave performances, creating characters who, even as they reach old age, are still wrestling with the consequences of their flaws.
The Edge of Heaven does not feel cinematically groundbreaking: there are few tricks and in spite of its non-linearity, the narrative retains a European orthodoxy. However, it possesses a humane boldness in its composition and scale. Like a good novel, the further in you get, the more rewarding it becomes. Akin identifies the big stories, something cinema should do but rarely does, and tells them with conviction. And that's enough.
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