The passing of Kemal Tahir's wife, Semiha Hanim, and Halit Refig's own mother left a profound mark on the director's psyche. It was from this wellspring of grief and contemplation that the idea for "Hanim" (The Lady), a film steeped in the themes of ageing and solitude, took shape. Refig, also influenced by his wife's love for cats, her passion for music, and the isolation she experienced within her own world, decided that the film would be anchored by the presence of Yildiz Kenter, whom he had learned had suffered an accident from a television broadcast. Unfortunately, upon hearing Kenter's name, the producers were less than enthusiastic, and the film's production was delayed for many years.
In 1988, shortly before filming commenced, Esref Kolçak fractured his toes in a traffic accident, yet he bravely carried on with his role in the film, his injury becoming an unexpected part of his character's physicality.
Just last year, I had the opportunity to chat with Cem Özer backstage before a theatrical performance. When I mentioned that I had acquired the DVD of "Hanim," he was incredulous, remarking, "I didn't think anyone remembered that film anymore."
Indeed, Turkish cinema is a repository of countless forgotten films and untold stories. Some films tell compelling tales, while others, like "Hanim," are stories in and of themselves.
With music by the legendary Cemal Resit Rey and Adnan Saygun, and cinematography by Çetin Tunca, "Hanim" stands as one of those exceptional and overlooked cinematic treasures.
The film's narrative unfolds at a leisurely pace, allowing the viewer to fully immerse themselves in the world of Olcay Hanim (Yildiz Kenter), an elderly woman grappling with the specter of mortality and the profound loneliness that accompanies it. Her only solace is her beloved cat, Hanim, a feline companion who becomes a symbol of both companionship and the fear of abandonment.
Kenter's performance is nothing short of mesmerizing. She imbues Olcay Hanim with a quiet dignity and resilience, even as she confronts her deepest fears and anxieties. Her interactions with the other characters, including the enigmatic gardener (Esref Kolçak) and the young woman who enters her life (Fatos Sezer), are imbued with a delicate poignancy that speaks to the universal human experience of connection and loss.
The film's visual style is equally evocative, with its muted color palette and carefully composed frames creating a sense of melancholic beauty. The cinematography captures the faded grandeur of Olcay Hanim's world, while also hinting at the vibrancy of life that still flickers beneath the surface. The music, a blend of classical and traditional Turkish melodies, adds another layer of emotional depth to the film.
"Hanim" is a film that lingers in the memory long after the final credits roll. It's a testament to the power of cinema to explore the complexities of the human condition with grace, sensitivity, and profound empathy. It's a film that deserves to be rediscovered and celebrated, a reminder that even in the face of loss and loneliness, there is always the possibility of hope and connection.
