Climates

A man sits in a very spare hotel room in Kazakhstan, he smokes a cigarette and looks out the window at the snow which floats about in huge, fluffy flakes. You can hear the paper burn on his cigarette, and also hear the wind softly moan outside. He has left Istanbul in order to track down his ex, who is in Kazakhstan as a producer for a TV series. He toys with a tiny wind-up music box he bought (almost as an afterthought) for her. His pain is palpable beneath the icy exterior he employs to mask how he truly feels, perhaps mimicking the cold outside.

This is the world of Nuri Bilge Ceylan's trancelike and absolutely devastating film, Climates. And this is exactly the sort of film that can grab me very tightly and not let go. Of all the sorts of film that I enjoy, and there are too many to name, this is my indisputable favorite.

Climates in particular reminds me very much at times of A Taste of Cherry, the Iranian film by Abbas Kiarostami, which, on screen anyway, consists almost entirely of long, lingering and distant shots of a man driving through the mountainous terrain outside of Baghdad, coupled with close-ups of his face. He is trying to find a location suitable to end his life, although his motivation seems questionable at best. There is very little in the way of exposition, the humor is used very carefully (but is definitely present), and what is usually used in abundance in much of American film - action, dialogue, maddening digital editing, etc ... - is nowhere to be found.

Not that I don't enjoy a high-octane action movie. I love many of them, many big budget, over the top, ridiculous productions; I enjoy them immensely. But it is the glacially paced, emotionally bare stories that leave their mark on me long after the film is over.

There are some pretty exciting people out there. People who somehow have managed to wrangle life by the balls. I am not one of these people. I need a lot of time to think about what is going on, and I hate having to make rash decisions in the absence of time. I can, have and will, but I much prefer to take what's available, mull it over alone, and then take it from there.

Because of this penchant for full-throttle thrills, I have been called many things that don't sound too flattering. I can step up to that plate. I don't mind. Not all pictures are so black and white. So if people only see that in me, that's fine.

As I have gotten older I realize that I am prone to bouts of emotional paralysis. It isn't too terribly hard for me to get wrapped up in the throes of something ugly, and usually I have to simply ride it out until it's over. I am a fucking party during these spells. My poor girlfriend, who I constantly fear will suddenly see the "real me" and run for the fucking hills, can tell you all about it. Life is all about sacrifice, and I have made many. When I think about all that she has done to make this life with me it breaks my heart. We are talking about families here, with children, and half of this is being run by me. Fuck.

All I can say is that I hope I have enough to give her, to her daughter, to make myself worthy of her. She is a massive presence in my life and I am not embarrassed to admit that I adore her. And I know I don't make it easy on her. For that I am deeply guilty.

She is working so very hard to utilize her creative ability to define meaning in her personal life. If anyone can do it, deserves it completely, it's her. The thought and the intensity she brings to her own art is staggering to me. I am inspired by it, challenged, and perhaps more than a little intimidated. All I can do is try to be supportive and stay out of the way. What nobody needs is an idiot in the way. When she is left to do it, it is amazing.

What I see in these films is almost a reflection of how I feel. Confused. Somewhat lost. Struggling. Vacillating - from being up to being very down. Passionate. Dispassionate. It's ongoing. It's never ending. And as I enter middle-age, I realize that it is defining.

I can live with it, because when I watch films like Climates, I know that even all the way in Eastern Europe, in a country like Turkey for which I have no literal connection, even there these struggles are like a road map leading directly to who we are.

That, I find uplifting.