“Taş Yastık” (Concrete Pillow) is a film that is difficult to understand. Two days have passed since my exasperated viewing experience at Beyoğlu’s Alkazar movie theater, and I still haven’t exactly figured out what kind of story director Fatih Hacıosmanoğlu was trying to tell.

But before we get into that, let me note that it was a pleasant surprise to watch “Taş Yastık” in its original digital form without a 35mm blow-up. This unique viewing experience is a product of a collaborative effort between the film’s independent distributor, Bir Film, and its sole exhibitor, the Alkazar Theater. The two also released the film “Bir Tuğra Kaftancıoğlu Filmi” (“A Film By Tuğra Kaftancıoğlu”) in the same method.
The use of digital projection in cinema as opposed to the ubiquitously accepted 35-mm method is still frowned upon in the international film industry as films are shot on celluloid. Yet as numerous filmmakers move towards developing digital technologies (and this phenomenon is bound to take an exponential rise with the newly released High Definition 4K Red Camera), the cost of blowing up their film from digital to 35mm seems less and less appealing. Adapting to the situation, the French government has already launched subsidies to support national cinemas in utilizing digital projection technologies. Needless to say, the digital projection platform is also a lot more environmentally friendly.

Endeavors like that of Bir Film and the Alkazar Theater are a source of hope for local independent filmmakers who cannot afford to pay for a transfer from digital to celluloid, but who wish to reach audiences through the traditional theater route.

Returning to “Taş Yastık,” it is more than obvious that this is a deeply personal film as Hacıosmanoğlu assumed multiple roles as the movie’s writer, director, producer and actor. Lodos (Hacıosmanoğlu) works in an antique bookshop in Chicago. When the shop is robbed by a mysterious man who chooses to steal only a copy of “Hamlet,” Lodos suddenly decides to return to his family home in İstanbul. On his way to the airport he tries to engage in a meaningful conversation with the taxi driver. “Have you ever been on a personal journey?” he asks. His question is a harbinger of the profound questions on the human condition that the characters will continue to ask each other throughout the film.

Lodos returns to İstanbul to reside in a historic Bosporus mansion inhabited by his mother, a painter; his father, a craftsman who binds antique books; and his older brother Poyraz, who is on his way to becoming a renowned poet. When the house cat, also ominously named Hamlet, kills the house sparrow, Scheherazade, Lodos suddenly goes haywire and starts to believe there is no point to his existence.

In general Lodos is also having a rough time just getting along with his estranged family. Over the course of the film Lodos looks at the stars, picks fights with strangers and with his family, falls in love with a girl named Roxanne whom he serenades like Cyrano and recites prose and poetry from Hemingway, Hayyam and Can Atilla. All the while he ponders whether he will ever find meaning in his wretched existence. Adding to all the spiritual havoc is a poem lost in the Bosporus that everyone is trying to find. Such exotic mysteries! It makes my heart ache.

The problem is that while Hacıosmanoğlu’s story is sprinkled with pretty metaphors and messianic literary references, they don’t actually pertain to anything throughout. You’re never sure what the story amounts to. Is it about a spoilt literary genius or a lost cat named Hamlet? Is it about doomed love or family relations? Who knows?

The cinematography of the film is acceptable in consideration of its low budget. Luckily, its video footage doesn’t have too much of that specific plastic feel of digital video photography. However, it’s a shame that the sound component is unacceptably amateur. Some filmmakers forget that cinema is an audio-visual journey as opposed to just visual, and they should make sure to stretch their budgets for this purpose.

Aspiring to be a kind of cinematic essay, “Taş Yastık” is actually a genuine effort from its maker to communicate his concerns and his thoughts about literature, love and life. However, successful communication requires articulate expression -- something lacking in the long 100 minutes of this film. It’s almost as if the audience is put in the role of psychiatrist -- expected to extract and make sense of the various bits and pieces of a split personality. Even Lodos admits in the film that he’s a Gemini, the astrological sign signaling duality. Let’s hope Hacıosmanoğlu’s next essay will be more consistent and accessible.

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