In the gripping family drama “Yellow Letters,” German-born Turkish director Ilker Çatak employs a culturally inclined backdrop for a tale of authoritarian repression. The film announces at the outset that its setting is “Berlin as Ankara” through copious amounts of on-screen text, as if the German capital were standing in for (undisguised) its Turkish equivalent, as if the film itself was a political exile. The result is a surprisingly universal drama in which a wealthy couple is unfairly fired and persecuted for their politically incorrect views on the Turkish regime. Throughout, Chatak’s focus remains on the intimate consequences of this power relationship and how the mechanisms of government can be weaponized and harmed in personal ways.
The story of the state play begins on stage, as middle-aged actress Deliya (Ozgu Namal) finishes her opening night performance of an impassioned interpretive routine about abstract resistance. The piece was written by her husband Aziz (Tans Bisser), a university theater professor and playwright, who congratulates her from the wings as she takes the curtain call in front of an enthusiastic crowd.
However, something is wrong. A phone rang in the audience as Delya’s gaze met that of an older gentleman in the crowd. This person may become even more important in the future. Although this man’s screen time only lasts for a few seconds, his presence looms large throughout the film’s 127 minutes. It turns out that he was a key government official who only showed up for a photo shoot, and was instrumental in getting Deliya’s play canceled and Aziz and his fellow teachers suspended indefinitely for their social media posts.
Before the couple receives the yellow letter, an official envelope containing communication from the German government (in this case, legal action), the film rigorously introduces both the characters and their remixed setting. Deliya and Aziz have a fun relationship with their teenage daughter Ezgi (Leila Smyrna Kabas), and Chatak has quick, naturalistic conversations that capture their conversations with a naturalistic touch, especially in the group scenes where their world falls apart.
The streets outside the window are filled with youth demonstrations, and while there are occasional signs in non-specific protests to stop “the war,” there’s also enough specificity sprinkled in to tie the film to the ostensible present, such as through the colors of Queer Pride and the appearance of Palestinian and Ukrainian flags.
As such, Yellow Letters is, in theory, a problematic film that risks becoming overly abstract and becoming the infamous Kendall Jenner Pepsi ad. However, it frequently shows reality in order to remain grounded in contemporary political concerns. In fact, the fact that it is being shown in competition at this year’s Berlinale, even if only by chance, makes it even more important. The film’s release comes a day after jury president Wim Wenders faced backlash for avoiding questions about Israel and Palestine, saying at a festival press conference that “cinema can change the world” but “not in a political sense.”
This is also a dilemma in Chatak’s mind, as the dismissal of the leading couple threads a similar conversation about whether what they are doing artistically (or what they are trying to do with experimental theater after being made persona non grata) is enough to have a practical impact.
But as Aziz encouraged theater students to join the protests, he said, “If you haven’t seen a state play, I can’t tell you anything about dramaturgy.” Even as its characters are forced to go out of their way to speak out, and even as they begin to doubt their commitments and consider compromise, Yellow Letters itself is nothing if not true to the idea that political art remains an important tool against power.
The work also embodies this idea through the absurdity of its geographically unlikely setting. There, all the Turkish-speaking characters discuss Turkish politics, surrounded by buildings emblazoned with German-language slogans, and they experience the troubling political fallout that you would experience in any right-leaning city in the world today, whether it’s Berlin, Budapest, Minneapolis, or Mumbai.
Eventually, Deliya, Aziz, and Ezgi move to Istanbul, or “Hamburg as Istanbul,” to live with Aziz’s mother (Ipek Bilgin), but the state imposes humiliation on them while they await Aziz’s trial. Losing jobs and being packed like sardines increases the pressure between them, ultimately leading to mistrust and many relationship rifts as they struggle to make ends meet and keep their voices heard. This film is about political systems, but it’s just as much (if not more) about the effects of political persecution and how it frays both family units and social relationships.
As Deliya and Aziz’s hypocrisy as upper-class intellectuals becomes increasingly apparent, the dialogue between Namal and Bisah becomes haggard and strained. Chatak and cinematographer Judith Kaufman begin to capture the two actors through glass, their refracted images symbolizing personal and interpersonal ruptures. The slow movement of the camera embodies a stark paranoia, as composer Marvin Miller’s heavy strings break through long, quiet sections to emphasize dramatic peaks and valleys. These musical crescendos are effectively chapter titles, providing an opportunity for sober reflection.
It’s another thing for a movie to have a clear political outlook (even through a kind of “Star Wars”ization of its details). It’s quite another to be emotionally piercing and artistically compelling, but “Yellow Letters” strikes this balance with deceptive simplicity. At its core, it’s the kind of film that has long supported the entire medium of cinema: the family drama. But here, it is presented with an exhilarating flourish that surrounds the story within specific moments, while also giving it a moving dramatic transcendence. The scope of its ambitions is fulfilled at every turn through deft control of what is witnessed and how.
