Ethan Switch - Sunday, August 14, 2005 - Print Version
On the leather and fluoro bulbs wrapping shop fronts along Oxford Street in Paddington, twelve minutes downhill is far more on the up. Claims by the cinema itself suggest a leisurely pace, "The Palace Verona is a 12-minute walk from Museum Station, along scenic Oxford Street." With sidewalks and footpaths taking their faces to the construction and refurbishment, dead and quiet every night well before the midnight extension, minutes more are on the clock and twelve minutes is closer to twenty on a quick climb.
The Palace Academy Twin comes close to the Verona; one dirt clenching street separates the two. As the man behind the candy stand reveals, the Palace Academy Twin is not the Verona. Except, both choose to forgo the use of the box office and shell out tickets from the concessions stand. Tickets are almost optional; the usher is most certainly optional.
Cyrillic glyphs floating on the screen suggest that this is another one of those reading films. A film of foreign dialect; subtitles set to run. Turtles Can Fly by writer/director Bahman Ghobadi.
On the Kurdish lands, somewhere between Iraq and Turkey, Turtles Can Fly opens up with a charming spectacle of a hilltop beset by dodgy antennas. Bombings take out normal television transmissions and herein lies a minor though running diversion for the film. They search for answers through the medium of television. A journey in the background leaving the foreground for the children.
Scenes interchange emotions on a constant level. One minute is a tense filled cup of fear and goading. The next will be of absolute fun and joy. The constant contrast doing much to highlight the lives of these people. Initial scenes see the audience shirk a slightly nervous laugh, the next round giving it all and the relaxation and immersion is complete.
Adults are hardly ever in sight apart from the US soldiers and the scatterings of parents and elders. Bahman Ghobadi does fine work with the cast. Performances from the child actors are absolutely mesmering with a chilling simplicity; honest and devoid of hammers and nails.
Saddam Hossein Feysel, who plays Pashow, right arm man to Satellite (Soran Ebrahim), is a revelation in the sprinting stakes. Master of a single crutch, Feysel not only keeps up with, but outpaces many of the other kids. Clocking in speeds comparable to Satellite on his bike, the young boy with a gimpy leg knows nothing in the way of limitations. Apart from standing solid on two feet. Simply amazing.
Actions and nuances hide behind a sense of raw reality and underlying sadness. And quite a quiet hum that sadness is. An emotional core from the start of the war to the closing of the credits is just waiting for a break. The overt crack does not take place and instead leaves it up to those who want to to experience it without seeing popcorn kernels shooting up through their nostrils.
Turtles Can Fly is a beautiful, connecting film.
Credits close in well under a minute.
Thanks to the junkie who tried to help with directions.
Scenic?
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