All language subtitles for Çirkin Kral Efsanesi (2017) 1080p - Yılmaz Güney, Tarık Akan, Patrick Blossier, Costa-Gavras_ENG_Subtitles01

[quiet crackling]

[man quietly praying]

[wind swirling]

Even if the treasure
is under seven layers of earth,

we'll find it, my son, it will be yours.

Keep your heart pure,
give thanks to God,

and trust in His mercy, my son.

God will not desert us.

[quiet praying]

[tender clarinet music]

[calm string music]

Like you,
I grew up in difficult conditions.

I'm from a very poor family.

In time,

I attained fame and riches.

But neither gold nor fame

is as honourable and respectable

as serving the people.

That's why I renounced riches and fame

so I could stand with the people.

And because I chose to stand
alongside the people,

I spent almost 13 years in prison,

many years in exile,
and yet more years

being followed and spied on
by the police.

[Hüseyin Tabak] Life is a journey,

and on this journey
we search for answers.

I'm searching for the man
who gave me the courage to make films.

His films have accompanied me
since my childhood.

But everything I know of him

seems superficial and mysterious.

I have to start crossing boundaries

in order to find the man behind the myth:

[woman talking in German]

I think it's better
if the surprise is greater.

[Tabak] I'm starting
to write about Yılmaz Güney.

[Haneke] You want to write the screenplay.

Of course Güney
is an atypical figure as a film director.

This combination
of an absolutely extraordinary fate,

an absolutely extraordinary personality,

and a political situation,
that is still very current...

and, of course,
the talent he also had.

And it happens that some countries
suddenly give rise

to constellations of events

that engender such mythical figures.

Güney's films are the essence of life.

But if you show life in pictures,

what's left are pictures,
not the essence.

And of course, for you as a Kurd,

it has a different value
than for someone from Central Europe.

[Tabak] I mean,
I'm still at the beginning...

I've just started research.
He's a very complex figure.

A script...
-That should be the second step.

First of all you need to find out

why you want to make a film about him.

[Haneke] Why Güney
is so important for you.

[Tabak whispering]
"When we left school in the afternoon,

we'd turn into galloping horses,

Ismail and I.

When the others got tired and left,
we'd remain together.

We were two young horses in Yenice.

We'd become horses
for the well-off boys and race.

I came last one day,

and the boy riding me
gave me a beating.

Ismail stared into the distance,
and waited silently.

'Let's not be anyone's horses again,'
he said to me.

[calm piano music]

[Tabak] "A year later, he died.

He had an infection.

My struggle began with Ismail's death."

[cheering and applauding]

Cannes is like Mecca to film-makers.

It's a magic place where,
for two weeks, you think of nothing else.

War could be declared,
you wouldn't even notice.

You immerse yourself completely
in the world of cinema.

That's what Cannes is.

Going to Cannes
is the maximum you can get.

It's totally important.

You don't think about
after or before,

it's the moment.

Then, next week,

you get back into the real world.

Here, it's a fake world, completely.

[whistling and screaming]

[Jacobs] I remember the second day
of the festival in 1982.

Ettore Scola had told me

not to pit his film
against an American blockbuster

which would, he said,
"steamroll my film

and destroy it."

I said, "No, don't worry, I won't.

Your film is going to be THE film
of the second day.

Screening at 7.30pm,
count on me."

So we pitted his film
against a small Turkish production

nobody had heard of,

a film I really liked
but which wasn't a threat to his film.

And then Güney's film turned out to be
THE film of the day.

Everyone was speaking about "Missing".

About winning the Palme.

And then someone called me,
I was in Paris, and said:

"You have a big adversary."

I say: "Who is it?"
He says: "Yol!"

I say: "Who is Yol?"
He says: "Yılmaz Güney."

[solemn music]

[Jacobs] I learned that
Yılmaz Güney was in prison,

and that he had directed his film
from prison,

which seemed impossible to me.

And then one day
we learned that he'd either been freed

or had escaped,
I don't remember exactly.

The moment you mention Güney,
a storm comes up.

[Tabak] How was it for him then?

He'd been in jail, locked up,
and then suddenly he was there...

Ah, for him it was very...
it was very special.

Because he hadn't only been in jail,

he was also locked up by us
in the editing room in Divonne,

this back-of-beyond town
on the French side of the Swiss border

where he knew no one.

And then he made
his first public appearance here.

Finally, Vittorio Gassmann

awards the two winners,
Costa Gavras and Yılmaz Güney,

the Golden Palm of the Cannes Festival.

By jointly awarding them a prize,
the film-makers honour

these two directors' contributions
to human rights.

Güney said
he delighted in the company.

To him, "Missing" and "Yol"

both contribute to today's
anti-fascist struggle.

[huge cheers]

I didn't know him.
Nobody had seen him here before.

Just at the festival.

It was a very emotional moment.
I was up there and he came out.

He came directly to me.
He was looking at me and then we hugged.

The great thing was
that a Greek director in exile

and a Turkish,
or Kurdish, director in exile

both won
a Palme d'Or at Cannes that year.

It's unprecedented!

I liked his strength.

It was extraordinary,
the way he was feeling and seeing things.

And he was right speaking about
changing society,

giving the Kurdish people their rights
and democracy.

And I liked his passion very much.

[Keusch] For him, the most important thing
wasn't winning the Golden Palm,

but making an appearance
that would have political consequences.

And that's what happened.

THE LIBERATION WILL BE LIKE AN EARTHQUAKE

[Keusch] It was crazy
for so many Turks and Kurds

to come protest at the Croisette.

We hadn't seen the like since 1968.

And for Yılmaz,
it also had symbolic value.

Because he, as a figure,

was able to unite
these otherwise warring Turks and Kurds

so they could stage a protest together.

[Gavras] At that time, the Kurdish problem
wasn't a problem here.

Nobody would care about it,
nobody knew about it.

In Turkey, I think they were trying
to eliminate him.

[Güney translator] The Kurdish people
in Turkey are an oppressed nation.

Can you conceive of a people
who aren't allowed to sing their own songs

in their own language?

Who are denied the right
to exist as a nation?

To say: "We are Kurdish"?

If I'd remained in Turkey,
I wouldn't have been able

to expose the problems
as I have in "Yol".

It was getting impossible
to make a film from prison.

My contact with people outside
was getting more infrequent.

Then, no one can ensure me,
that my life would be guaranteed.

Further reason is
that my ties with the masses

would be completely broken.

Therefore, rather than go back,

I believe it is more important
to carry on the political struggle here.

That is the most important thing
for me now.

EXILE IN PARIS 1981-1984

[church bells]

[Jack Lang] To us, Güney was an artist,
who was very committed to his cause,

and we took the legal
and technical precautions

for him to come to France
and live in France.

The government back then
was a Socialist government,

a progressive
and internationalist government.

And President François Mitterrand and I
wanted our country to be

a safe haven for all people
suffering under dictatorial regimes.

From 1981 on,

Paris was vibrating with the presence
of these extraordinary artists.

And all those artists would meet
and discuss their experiences.

In France, it was very difficult for us
to talk about being in exile.

Journalists would often ask us,
"What is it, exile?"

We preferred not to answer

because we were afraid
we might start crying.

Because in the end, exile is...

the absence of all the places

that formed our childhood,
our youth, our growing up.

The family got together, sat down.
My father spoke:

"From now on,
your names will be different.

You're going to be called Jenny now.

Your brother Yılmaz will be called Remy.

I'm Jose Martino,
your step-mum Fatoş is Elena.

Our surname is Marquez.

So, you're Jenny Marquez,
and you're Remy Marquez.

We're Colombian."

I said: "We don't speak Spanish!"
He said, "You'll make something up.

And I'm a Petroleum Engineer."

"What does a Petroleum Engineer do?"
"You'll make that up, too."

I was 15
when I started living with my father.

Before that,
it was only tiny moments we shared.

Since visiting hours in prison
were short,

we had no chance to form a relationship.

Life in Paris was great in a way,

because for the first time
we had some common ground

as father and daughter.

My father taught me how to cook,
he was good at it.

And along with how to cook,

he taught me other things.

Like: "Do you or don't you salt the meat
or potatoes while they are cooking?

What happens if you add salt,
what happens if you don't?

You have to know the answers,
because that's how life is."

When Yol came out in theatres,
I was at school in France.

The teachers
talked about Cannes and Yol.

And I couldn't say a word.

But I wanted to somehow talk about it.

"I'm Colombian but I lived in Turkey,
and I know this director very well."

I couldn't tell anyone,
no one was to know.

You want to share such joy,
and tell the entire world:

"My father won the Palme d'Or!"
But you can't.

That's the other side of the story.

Because they wouldn't even believe it,
since you're Jenny Marquez.

[dramatic piano music]

[Estrella] The First Lady,
Danielle Mitterrand, asked me,

"Have you seen the film Yol?"
I said, "Yes, it's wonderful."

She said,
"Its author is in Paris.

And he says things
that are very similar to what you say:

That art cannot be dedicated

to an elitist minority,

but has to be for everyone,
it has to be shared."

I learned a lot in prison.

From my friends and companions.

My body still felt
the physical effects of the torture...

But we didn't talk about that
with Güney, either.

We talked about how being an artist

didn't mean being isolated
from people's struggles,

from those
of the poorest members of society.

We had this idea of working together.

I said to Yılmaz,

"One day I will go to your country
and play the piano.

And one day you will come to Argentina
and show your movies.

But together we can achieve
something even greater."

[Estrella] Come back, Yılmaz. Come back.

[tense music]

[Güney] Today is a very
important day for me.

For eleven years
I've been sequestered from film-making.

Today is the eve of the day

on which a patriotic,
democratic and revolutionary film-maker

who swore to better
his people's conditions

will again take his place
behind the camera.

Tomorrow,
we'll begin shooting a new film

that will deal a blow to
the fascist dictatorship in my country.

I have faith in you.
Trust me and have faith in me.

[applause]

[birds twittering]

It's an unbelievable feeling.

My mind is a total mess.

I can still hear Yılmaz Güney's voice.

It's as if time had stood still.

It was the first time
I'd acted in a movie.

Yılmaz Güney
actually wanted to work 24 hours a day.

He got up every morning around five.

I'd always see him doing exercises here.

Then every day
he'd start working at eight o'clock.

It was very hard for the French
to adapt to his way of working.

But we didn't care,
we could have worked 24 hours a day, too.

Come on, don't laugh.

Look, this is what you'll do,

raise your arm like this
and make the gesture.

Action.
-[man] I'm writing a petition, too,

requesting Izmit Prison.

I wrote one for a friend too,
he's in court tomorrow, he asked me to.

Why Izmit?

You can see the road from the window.

Taxis, cars, buses, trucks.
You can even see the sea.

My ass they'll allow it!

Well done, very good.

It's a very old story for me.

Because we shot that film in '82.

That's more than 30 years ago.

And...

I have strong memories
of how I shot the documentary.

I didn't know anything about him.

I was going to make a documentary
about a locked-up Turkish film crew.

But soon I realised I had to make a film
about this character.

He was a God to the Turks,
but they were also afraid of him.

This was much more
than just shooting a film.

Since Güney had decided
to recreate his prison in an abbey,

he had the walls
of the prison courtyard built

and locked everyone in:

Children, adults, staff.

Everyone
participating in the film was locked up.

Professional actors
were few in number.

Professional set operators
were few in number, too.

Yılmaz Güney didn't have more
professionals on set than you have here.

We were the ones who kept the set running
and oversaw its safety.

We carried guns as well.

We feared the Turkish Secret Service,

because they were assaulting
Armenians in France at the time.

We were armed in case
they attacked us as well.

Shooting the film was hard
under such conditions.

Are you ready?

Attention!

There was a scene
where people donate blood.

Yılmaz Güney divided the group in two
for aesthetic reasons.

If we were a day behind schedule,
we'd lose maybe 40,000 francs,

which was a lot of money at the time.
We had to make deadlines.

But the group walked the wrong way.

Yılmaz Güney said to the translator,
"Call yourself a translator?"

And the translator brushed him aside
with this gesture:

"Go away!"

Why are you going through there?
-We were told to!

By whom?

What did the director tell you?

[Yildirim] To me, a director
is the on-set god at such times.

If you fail in this,
it's the end, you won't finish the film.

Yılmaz Güney was pretty charged,
so he hit him.

Get lost!

Get lost!

It's okay, now it's okay.

Provocateur!

Camera here!

He was actually

a very caring, very sensitive person.

In his work he was very goal-oriented.
He knew exactly what he wanted.

Fill your eyes with tears
like you're about to cry. Understand?

Will you do it, my dear?

Will you?

I don't know.
-You don't know?!

We start now...

[Blossier] He never kept me
from filming anything that happened.

Further back, I said!

I wasn't shocked
by how he treated the children

during the shoot.

It was...
somehow part of the game.

You donkey! Is that it?

Is that how you're meant to act?

Is that how you act?

You're keeping everyone waiting
with your incompetence!

Good!

Those at the back, come on.

Yes!

Glance ahead.

Yılmaz loves you with all his heart.

He loves you truly.

That's why he behaves like that.
-Are you angry with me?

Sometimes I am quite harsh with you.
But believe me, I have no choice.

If I get mad,
I forget it at the end of the day.

You're all my brothers.

It's impossible for me
to hold a grudge against you,

or remain angry, or feel resentful.

Why?
Because I love you all.

Thank you very much!

[traditional music]

[dynamic piano music]

[man] We saw almost all of his movies:

Yol, Duvar, Sürü, Arkadaş.

To us he was an idol, a hero.

We wanted to be like him.

He means a lot to us,

he's our Ugly King.

The first thing that comes to mind
about Yılmaz Güney

is that he was a brave man.

He was very brave.

You can't find another man
like him in Turkey.

The late Ahmet Kaya, Yılmaz Güney,

we looked up to those men.

Their lives were ruined
thanks to our land.

Military dictator Kenan Evren
announced officially:

"I want Yılmaz Güney, dead or alive."

He was bellowing it.

After Yılmaz went abroad,

he was a person
who was trying to bring together

all the various democratic
and revolutionary political fractions.

That was what he worked towards.

His aim was
to start a revolution in Turkey:

"The National
Democratic People's Revolution"

is what he called it.

That was his one goal.

[Yildirim] We sincerely believed
in the possibility of a revolution.

That's why we came together.

Before I joined him, the revolution
seemed to lie a bit further abroad.

[Sezgim] When Yılmaz Güney was here,
he spent all his waking hours

trying to coordinate
the revolutionary movement in Turkey.

I FIGHT FOR REAL DEMOCRACY

[Tabak] Did he ever think about
returning to Turkey?

Yes, his plan depended on being
able to go in and out of the country.

He said, "If we aren't in the country,
we can't analyse the situation correctly.

We have to be there in person."

From the start,
the left-wing movements in Turkey

always viewed the Kurdish movement
as NOT being part of them,

and considered it
an outcast in the Turkish revolution.

The problems are not merely national,

the shared interests of the peoples of
Turkey, Iran, Kurdistan, Syria and Iraq

must be considered.

Yılmaz Güney was a militant socialist.
He believed in the socialist revolution.

His political goal was

to create Kurdistan
within a Turkish Federation

through a revolution in Turkey.

He always said: "I am a Kurd.

But the Kurds alone
can't bring down the regime in Turkey.

Because Turkey is a member of NATO
and a strong state.

The Kurds, Democrats and Socialists
in Turkey must all work together."

I'd rather die a freedom fighter

than live like a slave.

Long live the fraternity and resistance

of the Turkish,
Kurdish and Arab peoples!

[Yildirim] How does the saying go?
Humanity is still raw.

In the words of a poet friend of mine,

"My love, in this world we're masters
of war and novices at love."

[Fatoş Güney] We never
had time to ourselves.

I used to say,
"I got married, but I had no husband."

He filled his short life
with so many important things,

it could be no other way.

But he always promised:

"Someday it'll be just the two of us,"
he'd say.

"We'll have picnics with our son,
and have kebabs.

We'll run around the hills
and fly kites.

And the revolution
will certainly come someday."

He conceived of projects
involving other countries.

Latin America, Spain,

Iraq, Iran, Kurdistan.

He had no time to sit around
and feel sorry for himself

because he lived in exile.

He never had time.

[Tabak] Duvar was the last film he made
before he died of stomach cancer.

On set, did he ever feel like
it was the final story he was telling?

No, no, no. Never.

He never lost hope.

He wore his name well,
"Yılmaz" means "invincible".

No setback or oppression
could hold him back.

Nothing could hold him back.

Our house
had a small garden in front of it.

He would get up in the morning
and pace up and down the garden.

He would jog and do exercise.

"I will overcome,
I will overcome this, too."

He believed with utter conviction
that he'd return to Turkey one day,

and he believed
that the revolution was inevitable.

That's what my father lived his life by.

Or, more precisely...
it's what he lived for.

Yes, my father
gave his life to the revolution.

[melancholy music]

[whistling and chanting]

Those who died, died fighting,

and they were buried within the sun.

There's an exodus,
an exodus into the sun,

We will conquer the sun,
The sun's conquest is at hand!

We'll keep your name alive by fighting!

[calm music]

AMBITIOUS DIRECTOR

REVOLUTIONARY

WHO IS YILMAZ GÜNEY?

I'm not speaking about Yılmaz Güney,
I'm speaking about Yılmaz Pütün.

For me, he was always Yılmaz Pütün.

I never thought of Yılmaz
as this great figure.

Of course I'm proud of him,
and I adore him,

but not as an actor or a politician.

As my brother.
That's who he is for me.

And we had a unique bond.

Yes.

[Tabak] What sort of notes did you make?

Just some stuff,

I don't have
anything in particular in mind.

Are you ready?

We had very little,
even pencils were in short supply.

When the pencil got this small,
he would attach a nail to its top.

That's how he wrote.

It delighted me
to read the stories he wrote.

Travelling cinemas visited the village.
I wouldn't go, but my brother did.

He'd demonstrate to me
what he saw there.

We secretly took a few pieces
of our mother's fabric

and fashioned them into a screen.
We hung them up with skewers.

That was our cinema.

Behind the screen,
he'd cast shadows with his hands.

My father came from Siverek,
my mother from Muş.

My mother is Kurdish, my father Zaza.

My father would read books about heroes.

Would he tell stories, too?

My mother would tell the stories.

My brother would always say
how well our mother told stories.

On winter days,
my brother and I would listen to her.

The neighbours would visit,
and they'd listen too.

She knew a snake-tale
interspersed with poetry.

She'd recite it
and shed tears at the same time.

My brother and I would lie on her lap,
and cry along with her.

[tender clarinet music]

My brother's films
contain details from his life.

You feel this watching them.

And you think,
this might be a period from his life.

You make my head ache!

We can't feed ourselves
and you bring them in!

For three days
all he's done is pray and pray.

Watch your mouth!
Apologise!

When we were in middle school,
Hodjas began coming to our house.

They'd sit down
and recite prayers and so on.

Why?
A treasure.

We sat down by the water.

Look closely,
tell me what you see in the water.

[Demirezen] I stared. There was nothing.

They blamed the djinns.

"If the djinns permit, she will see
the treasure's location in the water."

Naturally we saw nothing,
but couldn't say so.

At the same time,
the hodjas ate all our food.

That's how it was.

This went on for days.

He had two pomegranate sticks
in his hand.

The stick had prongs,
they interlocked like this,

and each would hold one end.

They'd pray, and pray,
using the sticks to find the treasure.

[suspenseful music]

[man] The treasure
might assume other forms to escape.

If you touch it,

it'll sink down
and revert to its original form.

White sacks were sewn,
to be filled with gold.

So they were certain of it?
-Absolutely. They were going to find it.

My father went away,
I don't know for how long.

But there was no treasure of any kind.

The treasure, it's escaping.

The treasure is escaping!

The treasure, the treasure...

Hodja, I caught it!
But it's not treasure, it's a snake!

A snake!
A snake!

A snake!

It's not treasure, it's a snake!

Jabbar, get a hold of yourself!
-Son, calm down.

We had good times and bad times, Hüseyin.

I yearn for those days sometimes.
It was nice in spite of everything.

My father loved us very much,
we were very close to him.

Until he married a second wife.

After the concubine moved in,

the house turned into a battlefield.

The day of the marriage,
the concubine came with her parents.

It was winter.

We had a charcoal stove.

When they came in, my mother poured
the glowing charcoal over her head,

screaming "My soul is burning!"

My brother and I hugged and cried.

[Şule Demirezen] My mother
and uncle were very close.

If it had been in a novel,
it would've been hard to read,

so deep ran their love.

They suffered much together
and found it hard to be apart.

My mother even sewed his shroud.
No one else could've done it,

For the first time,
I saw how a shroud is made.

It must be terribly hard
to sew a shroud for one's brother.

Afterwards, my mum
wouldn't sleep on the bed. Why not?

She couldn't.
"The bed hurts," she said.

"While he's under the ground,
I can't lie in a bed."

She never dyed her hair again.
She never groomed her eyebrows.

My mother is still in mourning.

When my uncle died,
my grandmother was in Adana.

Everyone we knew in the city would have
rushed to offer her condolences.

We were very worried it would kill her.

So, they got her in a taxi to Izmir,
West Turkey.

When she arrived there
in the afternoon,

only a few people knew,
we kept it a secret.

My grandmother didn't ever know.

We didn't want her to suffer the pain
of losing a son.

Come here, dear.

You...
-Is it done?

It'll keep on recording.

If you want to tell Yılmaz anything,
say it.

I'll send it to him.
He'll watch it there, just like TV.

He'll see us now?
-Yes, it's recording.

He'll see us both?
-Yes.

That's good, good.
Send it to him. I can't say anything.

What should I say?

He should come
and see me like this, Tahir.

If you like, I'll go out
and you can talk to him on your own.

Don't you want to say anything to him?

My son,
look what a fool he's making of me!

I'm leaving, go on, talk to him.
It's recording.

I would die for you, Yılmaz.

Sometimes, on my way to Taksim,

I see a sign reading:
"Yılmaz Güney isn't dead."

Did you see it?

Why? Because he lives on
in the hearts of the people.

They tried to erase Yılmaz Güney
from history. They're still trying.

They never promote his work
or show his films.

His films were good,
even today's youth would watch them.

I tell my kids,
"Live like Yılmaz Güney did."

To be honest,
This is what Turkey needs now!

I'll play the Sicilian Defence.
Here you go.

I hear Yılmaz Güney
used to play a lot of chess.

He was the kind of person
who stuck with things to the end,

an interesting character.

Not because he didn't want to be a loser,
it went deeper.

If he won something, he wanted that
to be the limit, nothing more.

He came to Istanbul in October 1957.

He was accepted at the university,
the economics faculty,

where he encountered the literary world.

He really wants to be an author,
to write stories and novels.

But at 13 he'd already started working
as a cinema projectionist.

And he watched the films
along with the audience.

Back then,
the film prints would often tear.

The material those days was very bad,

and some prints would tear.
And what did he do?

He'd go on stage and act out
the scenes that were damaged.

Imagine watching the same films
every day, again and again.

He basically became a film analyst.
And he watched people's reactions.

He became one with the audience.
I'll add this,

on my research I asked Tuncel Kurtiz
about his friend Yılmaz Güney,

and he answered me with his dreams.

He said:
"I can't get rid of this man."

Almost thirty years had elapsed,

but in his dreams he'd discuss
every critical point in his life

with Yılmaz Güney.

He was alive in his head.

[jazz music playing]

[man imitates a cock crowing]

Denizli roosters lean back
and lie down when they crow.

[cock crowing]

You can do better than that!

I've tried to create a good life
for myself here after turning 76.

Next is 86,

then 96.

I wonder if I'll get that far.
But I'm already 76 and life goes on.

You must live
as if you're never going to die,

and work every day.

Burhan Oğuz
taught me the best toast of all:

"To those who succeeded by working."

[classical guitar music]

I wouldn't want to depict Yılmaz
as the pinnacle of a certain idea.

Because I knew him very well.
He gambled like a man,

and knew how to use a gun.

He could be
the noblest person in the world.

He would fall in love,
he would get drunk.

It's wrong to idolise a person
and think he had no faults.

But he preserved
the essence of his character.

[Kurtiz from off] I met Yılmaz
as he was writing short stories.

He was a student
and he wanted to make films.

So he became the assistant
to the famous director, Atif Yılmaz.

He had a typewriter, a table, and a bed.

His room resembled a prison cell.

We were on the left, politically,

and believed
that we needed to make films

that were free and close to our hearts.

Now, we had to work
with other production companies,

because if we were to shoot,
produce and distribute our own films,

we'd be destroyed by the market.

We had to improve
our business skills first.

His first films were
Ala Geyik and Bu vatanin Cocuklari.

He acted in those films.

Then Yılmaz was jailed.

That was in 1961,
after he acted in the movie Tütün Zamani.

His crime was publishing his short story,

An Inequation of Three Unknowns,
in a left-wing magazine.

[calm guitar music]

AN INEQUATION OF THREE UNKNOWNS
A STORY BY Y. PÜTÜN

[Tabak whispering] "'I don't
want to lose you,' I said slowly.

'Then give me two liras,' she said.

'Yes, you're a clean, nice looking boy.

But your goodness and niceness
are no use to me.

I'm telling you again, I'm a prostitute.'

I couldn't accept this truth,

and couldn't believe
that she wants money for a kiss.

'Look at me,' I said.
She looked at me.

'Don't ask me for money,' I said.

'When you do,
you humiliate yourself in my eyes.'

She got up, our gazes met.

'You're a good boy,' she said.
'Not everyone is like you.

Not everyone
can overlook these details.

If they could,
this place would be paradise.

Like paradise.'"

1961-63, IN JAIL FOR COMMUNIST PROPAGANDA

THERE HE DILIGENTLY PREPARES HIS CAREER
-THE UGLY KING-

[announcer] Yılmaz Güney is...

Çobanoğlu, Satilmiş, Durali.

Yılmaz Güney
plays three different characters!

Surrender, Hıdır!

His films were the top box-office hits
in all cities apart from Istanbul,

where they forbade his films
from being screened.

Because he wasn't an attractive man.

It's unbelievable.

Yılmaz wasn't classically handsome,
compared to the stars of the day,

Ayhan Işık, Tamer Yiğit, Ediz Hun, etc.
who were handsome, charismatic men.

I made him into the ugly king.

And he became the nation's sweetheart.

Hey, what's going on?

Looking for trouble?
-You'll see what trouble is.

I told him to wear a tuxedo
for "The Ugly King".

"No, please," he said.

"I've never worn anything
but traditional loose trousers.

You want me in a bow-tie while fighting?"
"Sure," I said.

You'll dirty your suit, baby.
Those whites are like a field of daisies!

Come here and see
if they're daisies or nettles.

I said, "But fight them like this:

You'll be on the bonnet of the car,
and instead of using your fists,

you'll kick them
as if you're doing ballet."

He said, "Okay, let's do it."

[groaning]

[Tabak] Leading roles were taken
by Turks with Europeans looks, right?

Back then, men with beautiful faces,

lightish skin
and small moustaches

were in demand.
They were the stars.

But then this guy appeared.
He fitted everywhere!

In the mountains,
as a smuggler, as a mafiosi...

And since he could play anyone,
the others became pretty dolls.

There was no part of the population
he didn't know. He united them all.

In the mirror he saw all these people.

He brought their being to the screen.

Yılmaz was so much a Yılmaz.

How to explain cinema?

Even after working as a professor
all these years, it's difficult.

Cinema isn't picture or sound.

It's the ability
to express one's humanity in depth.

It's made with images, cameras
and lenses, but they aren't important.

If you have it in yourself,
they'll obey you.

When you follow that feeling,
it becomes a film.

We had an actor
by the name of Sami Hazinses,

who was an Armenian
who hid his true identity.

He wasn't very well known.

Yılmaz and I were very close,
we ate, drank, and fought together.

"Let's become blood brothers," he said.
I said "Okay."

So he cut himself, so did I.

We looked up, saw Sami Hazinses
watching us from a corner.

"I'd like to be blood brothers, too,
but you won't want me," he said.

"Come here, you idiot!" said Yılmaz.
So he cut his arm as well.

Thus an Armenian, a Kurd, and
a half-Laz Turk became blood brothers.

We were overjoyed, we embraced.

A film set doesn't differentiate
between Armenians, Kurds, and Turks.

They are indistinguishable
in their worth.

How time flies.

[woman] Come in.

[harmonic music]

Did you want to say something?

No.

I wasn't going to say anything.

When making films, we improvised

and said whatever came from within.

We didn't plan extensively
or follow a strict programme.

Especially when Yılmaz was there.
He'd go between different film sets.

There was no time
to set out everything in detail.

[Tabak] When you shot
"I Live as Long as I Die",

he was making films
with lots of violence and no depth.

I saw a new Yılmaz Güney in your film.
-You are right.

That film was like a bridge for him.

We talked about it.

He realised he couldn't just remain

the star of those mainstream films
with fighting and violence

whilst not improving in his art.

He had to move to another level,

no matter how difficult or dangerous
it might have been.

[Tabak] How many films did you make?

Yılmaz did 114 films, I think.

I was involved in about 80 of them.

He didn't have his own
production company then?

No, not yet.

He worked in films on a freelance basis.
As an actor.

About a week
after I started working with him,

he gave me power of attorney,

so that I could represent him
in every capacity.

But we didn't have an office.
We worked from a coffeehouse.

Yılmaz didn't have any money,
he gambled it away.

All we could afford
was food and drink.

Yılmaz never liked money
and he never had any.

I was in Istanbul at the tax office.

I filed an application
and signed on Yılmaz's behalf,

since I had power of attorney.

Thus "Güney Film",
Yılmaz Güney's film company, was born.

[wedding march]

"We're masters at war and novices at love."

I would say...

When we were married,
Yılmaz would tell me,

"If you ever need
to talk about me one day,

talk about the bad as well as the good,

mention the failures
as well as the successes.

Talk about me as I really was.

Whatever I did.
Nothing but the truth."

So it's easy to talk about.
He was very difficult on set.

When he got really annoyed,
he'd pretend to play the violin.

We were all on tenterhooks
and didn't know how to behave.

He would not accept any mistakes.
He wanted perfection and discipline.

[dramatic string music]

I'm here to get you, Keje.

I hear you are to marry Haydar.

Is it true?

It's true.

He'd say,
"You can go anywhere you like.

But I have one request. When I come home,
be there to open the door."

Each time he came home,
he'd bring flowers for me.

Every time.

One day
I was out and he was at work.

I came home
and found a letter on the bed.

A goodbye letter.

I started to cry.

He came out from under the bed.

He said he'd wanted to see
how I would react.

He had a crazy side, but in a sweet way.

[Keskiner] Whenever we went out,
Nebahat came along.

She was acting in the same films as him.

[Tabak] They were very much in love,
from what I hear.

Their love was a mixture
of affection and anger.

They loved and fought
at the same time.

I didn't really understand.

[Çehre] I had to work to his schedule.

If someone made me a compliment,
both he and I would get beaten up.

It would've been a disaster.

He would suddenly explode with anger
and destroy everyone around him.

He'd always have a gun to hand.

He was very active,
he couldn't stand still.

That was his only failing.

Otherwise he was sensitive
and was able to love deeply.

[dramatic orchestral music]

You'll be my bride or no one's.
I'll make you the earth's bride.

I would rather be the earth's bride
than be a bride like this.

My love began to turn into fear.

I was burnt out.

I couldn't deal with it.

I had to convince Yılmaz to let me go.

I couldn't leave him
because he wouldn't allow me to.

Do you see the basket over there?
-I do.

There's a flower on it. You see that too?
-I do.

Hit its yellow leaves and Keje is yours.
Miss and she's mine.

[suspenseful music]

We were at a nightclub.

We left the club
and there was an argument outside.

Nebahat started to walk off.

Apo came along
and asked what was going on.

We were crossing the street
and Yılmaz grabbed the car keys.

He drove off and hit Nebahat.

[Keskiner] We took her to the hospital
immediately. She had a broken collarbone.

Yılmaz didn't leave Nebahat's side
for five days.

"Please don't think
I hurt you deliberately," he said.

"I know that," I said.
"But there's something I want from you."

The journalists were at the door.

"We're going to get divorced at once,"
I said.

My family came and said,
"Congratulations, you're divorced."

I felt I'd been saved,

as it wouldn't have been possible
for me to go on like that.

I wasn't the only one in Yılmaz's life

to suffer the consequences
of his passions.

He did it to all the women he knew.

[calm music]

[Elif Güney Pütün] 1963 my parents
met each other in a club in Konya.

Their relationship was turbulent.

They never got married.

They broke up before I was born.

My father visited me when I was little,
but I can't remember it.

Later I went to the cinema to see my father.

When I saw my father on screen,
my heart burned.

When I was a child,

I was unaware
of my father's films, his art

and his political position.

To be honest, I didn't care much.
I just wanted my father.

I used to say:
"I don't care about all that.

I want my father."

[children singing in harmony]

What's with that man?

He's been coming here every day
to watch Elif.

They're beginning to wonder
why you're so interested in Elif.

Do you pity her
because she's an orphan,

or do you just want to help?

She looks very much like my daughter,
who was also called Elif.

Where is your daughter now?
-She's dead.

I'm sorry.

I didn't mean to remind you of your loss.

I was very young when I saw Canli Hedef.

Re-watching it later,
I understood immediately.

There are so many similarities,

it can't have been coincidence.
The girl was called Elif.

She had dark hair, wore pigtails.

The film's location was the
boarding school I went to in first grade.

The parallels with my life
were incredible.

We've found out you have a daughter.

You're a father.
But a terrible fate awaits your daughter.

Let her go, don't involve her
in this business.

I've prepared a play:
"A Girl Pays for Her Father's Sins".

Begin!

[sobbing] Dad! Dad, save me!

You can't do this!

[anguished cries]

I look at you as if at a dead man.
Look at the screen!

I used to get really angry with him.

I used to think,
if you are that empathic,

why couldn't you have been
that close to us?

The question lingered in my mind.

[daughter sobbing]

I'm sorry, my daughter.

Forgive me, my daughter.

I always stayed away
so I wouldn't cause you any harm.

I resigned myself to missing you,
but I couldn't succeed.

You're suffering because of my past.

Forgive me.

You learn certain things
by experiencing them.

How can someone
who's never had a family life

suddenly take on the role of a father?

Or how can such a man
become a good husband?

My father didn't have many good memories
of family life.

You give what you take.
That's the way it is.

[Tabak] "As I lay on my pallet bed,

I tried to reach into the past,
step by step,

through its haziness and mist.

In my last ten years, in particular,

my private life was full of storms
dominated by my personality.

My complex relations
bearing the 'seed of invincibility'

in that dense swamp...

What was preventing me
from being drowned?"

[tender music]

"UMUT"
A PERSONAL AND ARTISTIC NEW BEGINNING

What was the greatest injury of his life?
His father. It began there.

"Umut" is the story of his father.
He came to terms with him.

Then came his marriage with Fatoş,

and he became someone
different to the Ugly King.

He became a new person,
a new revolutionary,

and had a new,
moral understanding of art.

People would ask me if Yılmaz
fell in love with me at first sight.

I don't know if that's what happened.

I don't think that's likely.
He might have been impressed, perhaps.

Not to sound arrogant,

but I was quite pretty. I was 18,

and completely new
to matters of love, untouched.

The type of girl he wanted.

He was so tired of his relationships
and those around him.

He was very traditional.

He was from another world entirely,
from Çukurova, Adana.

On the other hand,
he saw the horrible, hard things

hidden behind the glitz and glamour
of Yeşilçam, the Turkish Hollywood.

Umut's plain facade,
and the characters and class differences

hidden behind that facade,

were things that Yeşilçam
hadn't been familiar with until that day.

The film is about two workers

who earn their living
with physical labour.

Their jobs are being taken,
so they start a mystical search

for a treasure.

It's a great piece of social criticism.
Of course, they can't find the treasure.

And at the end there's the famous scene
of Yılmaz spinning in circles,

and we all become dizzy.
Even now I have tears in my eyes.

He shows that unemployment
and poverty can push a person

to do all sorts of irrational things.

I don't know on whom
to place the blame for that.

In terms of politics,
the answer is plain.

[melancholy music with man humming]

[man] We, too,
are powerless before the law.

Even so, life seems sweet and death hard.
We're waiting for an amnesty.

Ten wretched years in the mountains!

If they'd taken us seriously,
would we be here?

As poor shepherds,
we're condemned to be fugitives.

We're now
the shameless jackals of the mountains.

If they'd taken us for men,
it wouldn't have been this way.

Yılmaz Güney was among the first
affected by the 1971 coup.

They spied on him, knew he was friendly
with revolutionaries:

Mahir Çayan and Deniz Gezmiş, etc.

All the left-wing organisations
came to him for help, weapons or money.

He didn't turn any of them away,
he treated them equally.

[Fatoş Güney] The Israeli Consul
was taken hostage

to prevent the executions
of Deniz Gezmiş and his friends.

The police were looking for them.

They came to our house with Yılmaz
in the evening.

If they'd been discovered
in the attic that night,

they would have fought
rather than surrender.

Yılmaz was arrested
when this all came out.

He was sentenced to two years
at Selimiye Military Prison.

ÇAYAN'S AIDE,
YILMAZ GÜNEY, IS CAPTURED

[Tabak] "I'm a man
who comes from Yeşilcam's dirt.

And because of the work I do,

I carried a lot of lies,
vanity, and ignorance with me.

Here,
walking around the corridors of Selimiye,

running, eating,
sleeping, sitting down,

in the bathroom, the shower, at all times
and places, I considered this.

I had to recreate myself.

Like a builder,
constantly tearing down and rebuilding."

[calm music]

To old times.
-No, to tomorrow.

To the good times tomorrow.

He said,
"We're going to change Turkish cinema."

That was his first sentence.

"From now on,
we'll produce our own films.

We're going to buy our own cinemas.

We'll set up our own film platform."

A grand vision.

[dynamic traditional music]

"Bring your own script
and shoot the film yourself!"

He wanted to create a
distribution network for his own movies.

He had great ambitions.

There's no way back. Only forwards.-Exactly, only forward!

We'll make it.

[Soner] So we all started to write.

He wanted to shoot his own films
and produce ours.

That was the deal.
Shortly afterwards he went to Yumurtalik.

That was during the editing of Arkadaş.

So he went to Yumurtalik
and never returned.

THE LEGEND OF YILMAZ GÜNEY
IS STEEPED IN BLOOD

THE UGLY KING'S
FREEDOM LASTED 116 DAYS

THE TRAGEDY OF AN ARTIST

[subdued music]

He said the time was right to make a film
about seasonal cotton pickers.

The film was called Endişe.

The set was ready
and we arrived in Yumurtalık.

We began shooting in the morning.

The truck scene.

He was angry.

The villagers there,
the seasonal workers,

began to protest.

They caused problems.

He cancelled that day's shoot
because of the arguments.

He was overwhelmed.

That night,

to speak frankly, he was harassed
by the district judge. We all were.

EXCERPT FROM THE COURT HEARING

[somber music]

[Tabak] "I arrived in Yumurtalık with my
team to shoot the film I was directing.

On the night of the event, my team and I
were dining at 'Belediye Plaj Hotel.'

We needed to record the sound
of a gun being fired for the film.

The bar owner asked permission
from the district judge,

who was there that night.

In response,
the judge said 'I'm the king here.'

He got up from his table
and walked over to us.

He was drunk.

There was an altercation.
The judge attacked me

and I tried to kick him away.

Then he brandished a chair at me.

He insulted my wife and family.

He came towards me.

At that moment, I heard a gunshot.

The judge collapsed on the ground."

Şerif Gören ran to us,

tried to take the gun from him.
This is an important point.

Would he have given him the gun?
Never ever.

The gun was in his hand.

He was firing rounds into the air.

When the man came
and hit his arm with the chair,

the bullet
followed a trajectory like this.

The bullet wasn't lodged
in the man's heart, his chest.

That's because Yılmaz
hadn't intended to shoot him.

If he had,
he could've just shot him in the leg.

If someone goes up to such a man
and says "Let's fuck your whores!",

he knows
what sort of reply he'll receive.

[thunder]

YILMAZ GÜNEY SENTENCED TO 19 YEARS

[thunder]

[baglama music]

I met Yılmaz Güney
at Ulucanlar Prison in Ankara.

He told me:

"I killed him."

"But," he said,
"I still carry the dead man on my back,

and I'll carry him until my dying day."

That's why the guilt he felt
and his humanity

made me
want to work with Yılmaz Güney.

Back then I was 19, I was very young.

He looked at me so charmingly,

his eyes were glinting
and he hugged me.

Since he'd been in prison a while
and had made a place for himself,

he was the one
to welcome newcomers.

[dynamic music]

The guards did whatever he told them,
he was even allowed out sometimes.

For example, he'd eat at a restaurant
or watch a film and then come back.

They knew for certain he wouldn't run.
Everyone knew he was a man of his word.

Everybody trusted him.
He was literally directing the prison.

[Yildirim] He knew every living being
within the prison walls.

He would concern himself
with the problems of the prison guards,

the non-political prisoners
and the child inmates.

He took interest
in everyone's circumstances.

Prison is a place

where lots of people
from different backgrounds

seem hand-picked to be there.

It's like a sort of laboratory.

Outside you see
various kinds of folk at times;

in prison they're always there.

An artist makes great strides
in getting to know humanity

in conditions like this.

And let me state clearly

that the turning points in my life
have always occurred in prison.

[Fatoş Güney] He should have been given
six years at most,

but he ended up with nineteen.

Whenever the case changed in our favour,
they changed the judge.

The judge was changed three times.

Yes, three times.

[singing] Our homeland is filled with
Fascists Beat them, comrades, beat them.

Workers and farmers
Be prepared to fight the corrupt system!

Workers and farmers...

[Fatoş Güney] He was imprisoned during
the most prolific period of his life,

and he couldn't make films.
But he wrote screenplays in jail.

For example, Sürü.

He sent researchers equipped
with tape recorders to the south-east,

and prepared questions
to pose to people there.

He got them to record
sounds and conversations.

He would listen
to these sounds and answers,

and in the light of them,
he'd write his screenplays.

I was preparing to work
on a film in Cyprus

when I got the screenplay for Sürü.

Yılmaz had sent it to me.

I began reading the screenplay for Sürü
in Cyprus.

The film I was working on
wasn't important any more,

and I studied Sürü day and night.

Sürü is based on a true story.

They said, "Yılmaz is looking for you."
Before I could grasp what happened,

we were inside,
talking in the prison warden's room.

I gave Yılmaz his presents.

I also had a present for
the prison director, a bottle of cognac.

That's when he told me.

He placed the screenplay in my hands.

It was finished and he said to me,

"Let your beard grow. Let it grow."

I read the script that night.
It was amazing.

[traditional music with singing]

[cattle driving]

[Kurtiz] I was preparing for my part.
It was a difficult one.

I tend to go crazy
when I prepare for a role.

Tarık and the director, Zeki,
were listening to me.

I was reading the screenplay
and acting it out.

It took hours.

Around five hours in total.

We had to cut parts out,
though it broke our hearts.

We looked for a suitable location
in Siirt for ten days.

Then we moved on to Pervari
and the Çemkari mountains.

We stayed in tents.
The production had no money,

Yılmaz was in jail,
but we were doing great work.

We enjoyed the work immensely.

[rhythmic drumming]

Who are you going to bravely
go up against?

Against us, the Veysikans?
Against our babies, are you?

Against the babies you've mercilessly
killed in your womb?

Would anyone kill their own
unborn child on purpose, father?

Beriwan is ill.
She needs care, she needs help!

[father] Beriwan is the cause
of your cowardice.

Be fair.
Don't push me too far.

You're my father,
I have to obey you, but let us go.

So you can be rid of us and feel better.

Where will you go?
-Anywhere.

So you'd go? Go ahead, then!

Go away, get lost!

The Halilans will welcome you
with open arms, go to them!

You're shameless!
You traitor!

Those words don't befit you, father.

Yılmaz Güney wrote his best,
his favourite screenplays in prison.

But he couldn't shoot the films himself.

There could be no worse suffering
for a creative artist like him.

His assistants took over, and their
relation was that of sheep and wolf.

In a way, he pressured them immensely
and was their downfall,

in another,
they had power over him:

Because he put his screenplay
in their hands.

He couldn't realise his own scripts,
so he entrusted them to them.

The film rolls were sent regularly
to İmrali prison, the rough cuts.

If I remember correctly,
they were shot with sound.

So when Yılmaz watched them,
he'd watch video and audio combined.

He'd either approve them,
or tell the director to shoot them again.

[baglama music]

[Ergün] He was Kurdish,

and in Turkey,
being Kurdish is a fault.

For many years,
the very word "Kurdish" was forbidden.

People had begun to talk about
revolutionary cinema.

There were lots of other people,

but not one of them told a story
with such originality

and such a clear stance.

It was an age of choices.
You had to choose which side you were on.

Are you with the workers, the people,

or on the side of capitalism
and the capital-owning upper class?

You have to make a choice!
Are you for war or for peace?

He made his choices very clear,

and you couldn't help
but be impressed by it.

[Güney] Friends!

Suffering, persecution, poverty,

blood and tears
are not the destiny of the Kurdish people!

We refuse this destiny,
we do not recognise it!

[applause]

We all know

that sincere words and songs
can strike like a bullet

if they fall at the right time and place.

Let all our friends and enemies know:

We will succeed!

We will succeed no matter what!

[traditional music]

[children chanting] Good morning friends!

Thanks!

I am Turkish.
I am honest.

I am hard-working.

My principles are...

to protect those younger than I,

to respect my elders,

to love my homeland

and my nation

more than I love myself!

O great Atatürk!

In the path you carved,

to the goal you showed,

I promise to walk

without cease!

Let my existence

be a gift

to the Turkish essence!

Happy are those
who can call themselves Turks!

We learn to speak Kurdish first,

our mothers call to us in Kurdish,
sing lullabies in Kurdish.

Then we learn Turkish anyway
at schools, at university.

We live as citizens of Turkey,

and then the state,
which we should be able to trust blindly,

torches its citizens houses
and forces them to emigrate.

You can see what's left from 1993.

In the big cities,
the language will be lost.

I have nothing against Turkish people.
They don't know.

The system raised them like this,

and it exposes things like this
to its citizens.

The state has to inform its people
about such things.

The crucial feature
of the Kurdish question

is a Kurdish population
of at least 40 million in the Middle East

that is without
international recognition.

Kurdish people have no official status
for the UN or the OIC.

If you're Kurdish,
your name's only mentioned

along with the word "terrorism".

That is the official government ideology,
the official view.

The government suppresses
any article or piece of news

that is critical of it.

The freedom of the press is curtailed.

But art has the power
to show the life of a society

with a greater degree of freedom.

[melancholy music]

[seagulls squawking]

İMRALI
SEMI-OPEN PRISON

In 1980,
the military coup took place.

At that time, Yılmaz
sent me the script for Bayram,

as it was then called,
rather than Yol.

In it, twelve prisoners
are allowed out for a public holiday:

Semi-open prisons give occasional leave.

Only three of twelve return,
some escape and some die.

Leave-permits have been announced!
There's a list of those allowed out!

[Ergün] The director, Şerif Gören,
and I went to Isparta semi-open prison.

We approached the prison gate at dawn.

Before even exchanging pleasantries,
we sat down,

the screenplay was brought out,
and discussion began.

Seven hours of heated discussion,
and they weren't done yet.

Şerif said: "I can't do a film
about twelve prisoners,

it'd be too long, at least six hours."

They came to terms, Yılmaz gave in.

He said, "Shoot the parts you want,
tear it up, do whatever you like."

I don't understand,
I can't speak Turkish.

Do you understand it?
-Of course. It reads:

"A proud Kurdish man
who is oppressed by feudal life."

[Keusch] Of course,
it's the Seyit Ali story. -Yes.

[Keusch] Films were always subjected
to two censorship stages in Turkey:

Once for the script,
once for the completed film.

They sent the committee
another version of Bayram.

I still have the committee's findings.

I hadn't read that script myself,
it was in Turkish.

It wasn't the version we filmed.
I know that.

He'd point out all the characters
in the script to me:

"Look, that man is this
or that character, this is his story."

He'd spent years learning
the stories of the other inmates

and working on them
to create the screenplay.

But each region was subject to a separate
military command under martial law.

I'd come and show the written permission
I had from the censor.

They were very reluctant
to grant permission.

[Keusch] The man who was line producer,
Kerim Puldi, was very experienced.

And Puldi told me how he'd done it.
He'd bribed them all.

In the film there are many real soldiers.
And they were all bribed.

As he put it to me,
"Money and women."

Which of course meant money and whores.

That's how he did it.

And he said it had gone very well,

and they were all happy
to be in a Güney film.

That played a role, too.

Can you keep a promise?
- Don't worry.

Read this bit.

"We found her in a brothel.
We brought her home. Death is next."

She gave in to temptation.

She didn't consider me,
our son, our family honour.

Will you do as they told you?

A part of my heart is filled with pain,
another with hatred.

In this culture,

people unfortunately
prefer to be prisoners then to be free.

And that's why Yol,
with its skillful, clever narrative,

is still very relevant for us.

Because today, what's called security
is valued above freedom.

That's how we become prisoners.

[subdued music and wind swirling]

My God, my dear God,
give me strength.

Do not forsake me.

Forgive me,
I am ashamed before you.

Forgive me. Forgive me.

Yılmaz Güney was a creative artist.

I am an actor.

I can only be as creative
as my role allows,

the real guides
are the director and the scriptwriter.

Yılmaz Güney lived in silence for so long

that he saved his last bullet
until the very end.

The word "Kurdistan"
is emblazoned in the middle of the film

as part of Güney's ongoing battle
with the status quo.

[birds twittering]

[man singing]

[goat bleating in the distance]

[machine gun fire]

[machine gun fire]

[flies buzzing]

[machine gun fire]

[dogs barking]

[subdued music]

Yılmaz Güney was a paradox

that political powers couldn't solve.

They couldn't tame him,
make him toe the line or control him.

That's why he's still alive
in the hearts of our film-makers.

But he's always set
a dangerous precedent for them.

In Turkey,
creative artists are either killed,

imprisoned, or forced to flee abroad.

Those are the rules in this country.

To this day, I've never given
an interview about Yılmaz Güney,

or talked or written about him.
You're the first, Hüseyin.

I couldn't have used his memory
for financial gain.

He was very important to me.

He was the only person back then

who could introduce
Turkish cinema abroad.

And that's what I wanted.

From the moment I met the man,
I had only one thought in my mind:

This man will leave prison.

I will get him out.
I'm telling you honestly.

[dynamic music]

He was sentenced
to 100 more years in jail,

10 years
for each of the articles he wrote

about the Kurdish people.

He trusted me.

Even though people told him
I was a CIA agent.

"All the better," he said.

He talked to me in private.

"We have to complete the film in time
before the Bayram holiday.

"I need to leave this place
during Bayram," he said.

Naturally,
no one on-set knew about the plan.

But right after,
the film rolls were taken out of Turkey.

He had to leave immediately.

Güney had plenty of opportunities
to flee, but he never did.

So why now
at the most difficult moment?

Why didn't he flee before the coup?

Güney never wanted to flee.

He only did so because he saw
he would never get out of jail.

He gave me instructions
to clear the Güney Film archives.

First I sent abroad the films
that belonged to Güney Film,

then I destroyed
all the important documents.

I went to the jail with Canan
and explained the plan to Yılmaz.

There were three possible
means of escape: plane, truck...

By truck was extremely hazardous.

Especially for somebody
who already had stomach pains.

So we decided on the boat.

And we started to apply for asylum
for Güney in various countries.

Switzerland was one option,
as were Germany, Italy, Austria, etc.

I still have all the telexes.
They all refused him.

The best way was over France.

Mitterrand had won the election,
the government was left-wing.

The Greek Minister of Culture,
Melina Mercuri, contacted Mitterrand,

and France accepted Yılmaz
as a political refugee.

The shoot was over.
Yılmaz was let out on parole for Bayram.

So we bought food for ten days
and five people and loaded it all.

And off we went.

Non-stop,
from Rhodes to the Gulf of Antalya.

And in the early afternoon,
we picked Güney up

in a beautiful little bay
that you couldn't see into from above.

That's where we picked him up.

Yılmaz Güney with his passport bag

carrying olives,
goat's cheese and some bread.

That's all he left his country with.

He was free.

He was happy
but he wasn't overjoyed.

He knew what problems awaited him.

Attention! If prisoners on leave
do not return at the appointed time,

they will be treated as fugitives.
In the case of ilness or other problems,

inmates on leave should surrender
to the nearest available command post...

YILMAZ GÜNEY FAILS TO RETURN FROM LEAVE
FROM ISPARTA SEMI-OPEN PRISON

WHERE IS YILMAZ GÜNEY?

YILMAZ GÜNEY DEFINITELY ABROAD

YILMAZ GÜNEY'S CITIZENSHIP REVOKED

[traditional melancholy music]

[children cheering]

[solemn music]

[Tabak] "What impression did that mass
of iron leave on my consiousness?

My iron door, my window, handcuffs,

my children growing up
on the way to prison.

My brave wife,

My mother, determined not to die
before I leave prison.

What impression did they leave
on my consciousness?

Every place I passed through
has added something to me.

Certain incidents
contribute greatly to a person's growth.

Incidents that mark one,
force one to change.

Incidents that reveal one's inadequacy,
and destroy one's self-respect.

Incidents that reveal
one's own truth in perfect clarity.

Right from the start, in Yenice,
in those fields and meadows,

the prime catalyst that revealed itself
at every stage of my life was this:

I wasn't going to be anybody's horse.

But I could never free myself
from being one."

What can I tell you, my child?

Mountains have fallen between us.

I look for you,
but can't find you, my child.

I sent you on your way.

Don't let the road wear you out,
my child.

I climbed mountains,

I look for you,
I ask the wolves and birds where you are,

but I still can't find you, my child.

I set out on my way,
but I have no home, my child.

I'm searching for my home.

I pressed stones to my chest
and filled my eyes with tears.

I search for you,
but can't find you, my child.

I search for you, but can't find you.

[sniffling]

[calm music]