| ARTICLES ON THE "HAMAM-THE TURKISH BATH" FILM |
| Hamam is an engaging film, telling a solid story and developing interesting characters. This is a film that, as my viewing companion offered in praise, doesn't announce its themes with fanfare, but, rather, leaves it to the viewer to take the material on the screen and find within it the insights of the writers and director. The story has its fair share of complications. Francesco, a young Italian architect, living with his architect wife in Rome in a troubled relationship, travels to Istanbul to deal with an inheritance from his recently deceased aunt. The property involved turns out to be a rundown steam bath, now closed. Initially planning to sell the hamam quickly and return to Rome, Francesco is seduced by the warmth of the Turkish family who are caretakers of the hamam and cared for his dying aunt as well. He decides to stay and restore the hamam. A main theme, of course, is how a contrast in cultures can act as a catalyst for personal understanding and change. Francesco finds a collection of letters addressed by his aunt to his mother, letters which explain that living in Istanbul allowed her to flower in her own terms and have a fulfilled life. As events unfold, history starts to repeat itself with Francesco and then... But there is no need to be a spoiler here, for this is a tale with a strong plot and part of the satisfaction is following its twists and turns as they unfold, often in unexpected ways. The milieu in Istanbul is deliciously exotic. We are not given a whole lot in the way of touristic sightseeing, but we are given glimpses of native life in a residential quarter, of a good deal of food and drink, of family dynamics, and even a rather painful to watch ritual circumcision. The color is rich, saturated, the lighting often dark. Powerful rhythms of Turkish music alternate between the propelling and the sensual. Indeed, sensual is a word that well describes Hamam, from the classically handsome lead player, Alessandro Gassman, to his equally classically regal Italian wife, Francesca d'Aloja, and virtually every member of the Turkish family - beauties all. The heat of the steamy bathhouse, the strong currents, cross currents, and counter currents of sexuality, the images of food, and the music together create a captivating mood that meshes the sensuality with feelings both of yearning and of nostalgia. We experience the growth and change of the lead characters, and the toll that fate takes, too, as they follow their kismet. |
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| Although it�s being marketed as gay softcore, Steam is actually a richly nuanced drama that only partly concerns itself with the sexual awakening of its coppertoned Italian lead. The film�s original title � more accurate if less marketable � is Hamam: the Turkish Bath, which is what the aforementioned Francesco (Alessandro Gassman) suddenly finds himself owning when an unknown aunt dies and leaves it to him. Directed by Ferzan Ozpetek, who also wrote and co-wrote the story and script respectively, Steam draws on familiar plot devices like the Westerner adrift in an Arabic country, or the sexless modern man whose zest for life is revived by the pleasures of honest work, but there�s more to this film than the sum of its parts. The film begins as yet another Italian movie where the principals are too bored to have sex with each other. In their well-appointed Rome apartment, Francesco and his similarly gorgeous wife Marta (Francesca d�Aloja) live a glossy life without passion or interest, as the camera incessantly crosscuts the progress of a letter whose purpose is as yet mysterious. But next thing we know, Francesco is in Istanbul, drawn by the news that he has inherited his aunt�s building. Stopping in a hamam on the way, he sits alone in a corner, surrounded by men but uninterested. It�s not until he meets the family of the man who used to manage the bath that Francesco realizes what he has inherited, and as he grows to be a part of their household, he finds a three-day trip turning into an indefinite stay, despite pressure from scurrilous developers who want to build an office building on the spot. Instead of selling the bath, Francesco decides to return it to its former splendor, mopping floors and painting over cracks until it looks as it did when his aunt ran it. The opposition is clear: Francesco can�t even explain his job at home (something to do with design) in terms that make sense to his Turkish family, but they are united in good, hard physical labor. If Steam were an American movie, they�d live on a farm in Iowa. A relationship develops between Francesco and Mehmet (Mehmet Gunsur), the family�s comely teenager, but it�s barely implied and hardly seen. (So much for softcore.) Tension mounts as Francesco�s conversations with his wife grow less frequent and more harsh, and her eventual arrival in Istanbul brings circumstances to a head. But Steam isn�t really about its fairly flimsy plot. What makes the film powerful is its ability to suggest that the greatest changes in Francesco�s life aren�t about nationality or sexuality, but about identity at its very root. As he looks through a series of letters from his aunt, they�re read aloud as the camera travels with Francesco, and his aunt�s words take on the quality of a traveling spirit. In the words of this woman he has never met, Francesco, whose parents have recently died, seems to find some resonance of a life he never led. In fact, a rather neat plot twist at the end suggests that he is not the only one to find such resonance in those letters. Steam is admittedly aswirl with plot clich�s, but there�s a grain of truth in every clich�, and Steam latches on to that grain. Bridging the gap between "classic" � i.e. familiar � art house fare and something more unruly, mysterious, even supernatural, it�s a great antidote for the summer blockbuster blues. |
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