Another example of poetic, scenic, slow Turkish cinema. An old man drags after himself the burden of mortality to utter exhaustion, dragging alongside a girl who's forced to face it prematurely. There's little dialogue except strangers' meaningless chatter. The two are alone amid the barren winter landscape. Adding to the desperation is an existentialist monologue heard on the radio about the meaninglessness of life and the relief of unborn children being spared the torment, not falling short of Beckett-esque "nothingness". And yet, amidst it all, there's the kindness of strangers and the girl's artistic talent, thriving in cavemen conditions. Occasional hallucinations are born out of primordial fear, hope, or indeed, Love. Is it only a vow that makes the old man risk his life and jeopardise his granddaughter's, or something which transcends a duty, to persevere in nothingness? The film ends with what sounded like an enthralling instrumental rendition of Neset Ertas', the "Poet of the steppe"'s most famous song, Leylam. I don't know Turkish, but the lyrics of the original song can't be too far from this:
My summer turned to winter/ My house and village crumbled/ My words are frozen/ They don't change a thing
You are the curtain on my eyes each second/ I see you everywhere I look/ I hope that God won't bring apart/ Birds flying in the sky
To be away from the beloved is to die/ Tell me what's happening to me/ Uncanny destiny/ Befalling me like snow.
