'Sivas': Ain't No Lassie

Kaan Müjdeci's “Sivas,” the first debut feature by a Turkish director to compete in the Venice Film Festival, stirred up a certain national pride with local critics and filmmakers alike in Venice this year. In fact, when the film received a Special Jury award at said festival, many were expecting that Müjdeci would also land the Antalya Altın Portakal International Film Festival's top award for best film earlier this month.

But let's face it, there's nothing certain when it comes to festivals, and when Kutluğ Ataman's “Kuzu” (The Lamb) received the Best Film Award in Antalya there was a certain level of surprise that Müjdeci had to remain content with yet another Special Jury prize.

Putting aside all the festival hustle and bustle, one has to admit that Müjdeci has brought to us one of the freshest and most intriguing films in the past decade of Turkish cinema. I recall talking with a handful of fellow film critics several weeks ago, who concurred that the last time they were so excited to come out of a first film was when Seren Yüce's “Çoğunluk” (Majority) had screened in Antalya in 2010.

“Sivas” is indeed a brutal but familiar tale of testosterone-driven violence and an honest portrayal of the stifling feeling of growing up within a closed and male-dominated society in rural Turkey. The film drives its course through the most dangerous and risky choices in filmmaking: working with animals and children. Yet Müjdeci plunges in and manages to pull off a stellar performance not only from his young protagonist but also from the fight dog named Sivas (whose real name is Çakır).

Müjdeci's egalitarian camera acts an invisible companion to Aslan (Doğan İzci), a young boy who goes to primary school in the outskirts of Yozgat. Aslan wants the role of the prince in a school re-enactment of "Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs." He doesn't get the part, and ends up playing one of the dwarves. But Aslan's not going to stop, as he needs to be top of everything -- he needs to be an "Alpha." Because even at home, with his father and noticeably older brother, he's just the Omega being kicked around. Aslan's a mischievous and clever boy, so his huge ambitions do not pose the slightest surprise; in fact, we are curious about what he's going to do next.

One day he watches from afar a dog-fight organized by the men around the village. He sees that the beaten dog is just left to die, so he decides to adopt this huge beast that is twice his size. The two strike up a friendship as Sivas finds salvation with Aslan, and Aslan shows off to all his friends his new protector. A sequence in which Aslan unleashes Sivas on a another dog for the entertainment of the other children is so well shot that it sends chills down your spine with its evocation of “Lord of the Flies.”

And possibly, this is exactly where the problems begin, for the relationship between the dog and the boy, which had begun out of mutual need, transforms into a transactional one as Aslan's father and brother want to continue to exploit the dog for dogfights and Aslan also wants to prove his alpha-maleness by taking control over Sivas. Poor Sivas becomes the tool of the greedy and power-hungry men around him.

This is not a maudlin story. Müjdeci specifically refrains from the wishy-washy style of “oh look how cute the little doggie is” or the “unconditional love between species” approach, and bluntly reveals to us the unapologetically exploitative behavior of man versus dog. He also does not shy away from showing the bloodbath that is involved in dog fights. The feeling brought about during the viewing of this film is one of awe at Müjdeci's bold directorial choices.

It is the natural acting of young Doğan İzci that immediately pulls us into the film; the boy is not a professional actor but the way he is so comfortable in front of the camera reminds us of our own volatile self at that same age, whether we are from the provinces or the city.

“Sivas” is a must-watch in Turkish cinema this year. Despite several gaps in its storyline, the culmination of the experience it presents until the rapturous end scene is worth contemplating about.

EMİNE YILDIRIM (Cihan/Today's Zaman)