About About Dry Grasses

Sometimes a film will have you so thoroughly in its grasp that you will ponder over it the whole day after, it will invade your thoughts randomly, and yes it will force you to revive a five year-old blog. It is hard to describe some films, to put into words their allure. However, the verbose nature of About Dry Grasses invites discussion, rants, debates, or in this case, unmitigated fawning. Thus, it is as fitting a film as I could find to get back into film blogging.

Grasses centers on a not-particularly sympathetic protagonist named Samet (Deniz Celiloğlu), a school teacher in a village he describes as a hellhole. It is not hard to see why. Even when the camera captures the beauty of the Eastern Anatolian region the film is set in (cinematography is credited to both Kürşat Üresin and Cehavir Şahin), it never fails to showcase the brutality of it either. That is clear from the first shot itself, where Samet is returning to the village, and there is nothing but snow that accompanies him in the frame. Ceylan explored the beauty and the bloodshed of the region to great effect previously in Once Upon a Time in Anatolia, where torches and car lights illuminated the scenic nature of the country but also exposed the bodies lying underneath .

For much of its running time though, Grasses takes place inside homes or classrooms, cloistered places forcing characters to confront each other. Samet even prefers to spend his time in the damp, semi-lit janitor’s closet than the airier teachers’ room.

An early scene establishes the reason why, which no doubt plays into his distaste for the village itself. It is the first time we see him interacting with the other teachers and while it starts off nicely enough, he’s soon having an argument over the authenticity of certain perfumes. This is a man who does not go looking for arguments, but when he is drawn in one, he plunges deep, often showing his inner ugly self.

This early scene is also prepartion for the audience. Most of the rest of the film will be compromised of these long conversations, interrupted sporadically by bursts of shorter conversations. All of them are engaging but first among equals is the long dinner conversation between Samet and a potential flame named Nuray (Merve Dizdar).

But to understand the brilliance of this scene, we must back up a bit. Nuray is also a school teacher, though she presumably works with a more older crowd and appears suitably more mature. Her track runs concurrent with the one at the school and although these tracks never crisscross, they inform each other. Samet has a roommate named Kenan (Musab Ekici), along with whom he has been accused of getting a bit too comfortable with students. They are not exactly brothers-in-arms though as Samet is jealous of Kenan’s increasing friendship with Nuray at his own expense. It doesn’t matter that he was the one who encouraged him to begin a tryst with her, once he detects even a hint of someone getting one over him, he must push back as hard as he can. And that final trace of solidarity, if it even existed, leaves him when it transpires that Kenan may have been the one majorly responsible for the school situation, despite insinuating it was Samet’s fault. At this moment, his goal is determined.

He tricks Nuray into hosting a one-man dinner party for him and this is where the scene transpires. Observe how expertly the scene is crafted. The two parties sit not horizontally opposite each other at the table but vertically, sitting at two ends, in line with their irreconcilable beliefs. Observe the moody lighting, suitable for a dinner date yes, but unable to stave off the darkness entirely. These are characters comfortable with the darkness, both literally and metaphorically. In fact, most of the night lighting in the film features poorly-lit rooms, as if this remote region has not yet escaped the shadows.

What do they talk about? They discuss politics and Samet’s unwillingness to take a side. What started off as a way to perhaps get one back at Kenan turns into a tough interview with a stringent questioner, who is unwilling to be fooled by his callousness, his evasiveness, his tricks. Why doesn’t he like this place? Why isn’t he out on the street protesting? Does he believe his apolitical stance will ring about change? Why didn’t he tell Kenan about the dinner?

Though the debate gets shouty and runs around in circles, it also serves to thaw the iciness between them. Samet finds he has no option but to be honest with her, brutally honest, so that the friendly, good-natured teacher facade is ripped apart to reveal a jealous, conflicted, short-tempered man underneath. And yet Nuray seems to like this version better. Early in the film, an army officer tells Samat that he likes a man who tells the truth, even if that truth is that the man is a ‘lazy fucker.’ Perhaps Nuray feels similarly, better an honest crook than a flatterer.

The night inches towards its foregone conclusion as after their bitter but loving spat, Samat and Nuray kiss and embrace. The scene isn’t quite over though and Ceylan has one more trick up his sleeve, a fourth wall break that astonishes in the midst of a largely realistic if  mordantly talky film. The meta break recalls Bergman and the end of Persona, yes, but I was also reminded of Kiarostami (one of Ceylan’s favourites) and Panahi.

Near the end of the film, Samet reflects on how this village enters summer from winter without the soft landing of spring, of how leaves here turn yellow without turning green. Samet also reconciles with the student who had accused him of misconduct without any softness, levelling the customary insults at her even while he tries to clear the air. Just like the seasons, Samet himself seems to oscillate between two extremes.

But in the end, in the summer when the region has become sparse (the snow hides how empty everything is), Samet confesses he now sees the beauty of the region. In his way it’s an act of forgiveness for a region he is leaving behind for the hustle and bustle of Istanbul. As we depart Samet too have we forgiven him as well? Or at least understood him a little? I suppose the answer may differ from viewer to viewer, but for me, while not forgetting his capacity to bare teeth, I could see him as a person who is an amalgamation of his ailments. Only slowly is beauty overtaking ugliness in his life.

It is a film to be watched again and again, not only for the sharp writing and the fantastic performances but also because over it’s three hour long runtime, there’s not a moment you couldn’t parse for meaning. Like Anatolia, I will be returning to it periodically, trying to unspool new threads of meaning.