Every family has its secrets and its scars to bear. What else could you expect when a collection of individuals spend their lives in such close proximity? All of them different yet living together under the same roof? The domestic drama has the potential to be a treasure trove of psychological insight and exploration, and in the very best of the genre, this is exactly what is achieved. Why is it however that with such incredible potential for originality and profundity, so many writers and film-makers simply rehash the same old story lines?
Kuma is a Turkish word which I am told means second (or fellow) wife. The title refers to Ayse, a 19-year-old country girl who, when the film starts, is getting married to Hasan, a young, good-looking man who Ayse seems attracted to. She is taken far away from her family and friends to live in Vienna with her new family. It is unclear when exactly she learns that her wedding was only really a ploy, as in effect, she becomes the second wife of Hasan’s father, under the guidance of his first wife, the proud and ailing Fatma.
Ayse is a quiet, kind, beautiful young woman. She is not particularly well educated and Fatma’s two eldest daughters quickly come to dislike her, making the most out of the fact that they can speak fluent German and engage in conversation with the knowledge that Ayse cannot understand a word they are saying to alienate her as much as they can. Mustafa treats Ayse with as much kindness as he can and it is revealing that both of them almost feel equally awkward about their situation. The scene showing the preparations for their wedding night early on is deftly handled; indeed, the first third of this film is without question its strongest section.
There are a lot of themes at play in Kuma; issues about the Turkish diaspora, about alienation, about the role of women in general within this society, about honour and familial loyalty, and even about sexuality, clashes not only of culture but also of the old with the new. Most of the film is shot in claustrophobic indoor spaces, the majority of these in Mustafa and Fatma’s apartment. People have to crush past one another and raised voices can be heard through the walls.
My problem with Kuma does not lie in its intentions, which are undeniably good, but in their execution. Director Umut Dag does not seem to know what kind of film he wants to make. Kuma is undeniably melodrama, but my suspicion is that if asked, Dag would resist this pigeon-holing into a genre. Paradoxically, therein lies the problem, because the material that Dag presents us with does not transcend the wealth of clichés associated with that genre. Instead, despite the art-house stylising and the deliberately mellowed pace, what we have is essentially soap-opera, replete with heavy-handed dialogue, obvious metaphor and a great deal of crying and shouting.
If you want to tell a story such as this, you cannot do it half-heartedly. You either go the whole hog, Douglas Sirk-style, or not at all and give the themes the depth they deserve. Thus, the film is either entertaining or intellectually satisfying. Dag unfortunately has tried to have his cake and eat it, and the result is unsuccessful. The predictable final section really is tedious and both the overacting and dangerous simplicity in the characterisation (especially with Fatma’s children) can be off-putting. Everything considered, this would pass as quite a thought-provoking piece of TV. As a piece of cinema, it is a noble failure.
12A Certificate
Review by LiveWire Film Critic, James Martin (August ’13)