‘My best friend’
Address: Ferit Karahan
interpreters: Samet Yıldız, Nurullah Alaca, Ekin Koç, Mahir İpek
Year: 2021
premiere: Friday, 1 July 2022
★★★★
Ferit Karahan’s second feature deepens a social drama into a lean, tense psychological thriller. Set in an eastern Anatolian boarding school that houses Kurdish students, the film uses a young boy’s experience to reveal the strain of an institution built on fear. The storytelling is marked by quiet, meticulous clarity; the director threads a mystery about the boy’s discomfort with the very fabric of the center, while simultaneously laying bare the tensions among teachers and administrators. Every frame is deliberate, every moment earned, and the result is a narrative that feels both precise and intimate. The film does not rely on flashy tricks or filler scenes. Instead, it builds a world through small, almost ordinary details that illuminate a larger truth about power, belonging, and the fragile edges of childhood innocence.
While some adult characters drift into familiar modes, the performances stay grounded and persuasive. Any hints of cliché are easily forgiven because they do not derail the film’s core concern: the dynamics of control and the way authority can shape a child’s sense of self. The atmosphere—icy, layered, and slightly oppressive—speaks in color and shadow, guiding the audience through a landscape where every choice, every gesture, and even the simplest interaction carries weight. The film’s visual language reinforces its themes, leaning into controlled color palettes and careful camera movements that echo the restrained, sometimes stifling environment the characters inhabit. It is a story that trusts the audience to read between the lines, to notice the quiet moments of solidarity and the subtle signs of coercion that accumulate over time, often invisibly.
The heart of the work lies in the bonds that tether childhood to memory. The film examines how friendships can withstand, and sometimes expose, the misuses of power—a reminder that loyalty and trust are not blind absolutes but fragile commitments tested in harsh surroundings. By focusing on the boy’s experience, the narrative invites viewers to consider how systems of authority shape the learning and development of minority youths in real life. The tension remains taut throughout, not through loud action but through the slow reveal of what is kept in the shadows and what comes to light only after careful, patient attention. Critics have noted the film as a stark meditation on oppression, using a restrained, almost clinical lens to spotlight the everyday mechanisms of discrimination that persist in societies across borders. In this way, the work becomes not only a portrait of a specific place but a universal inquiry into power’s reach and the resilience of those who resist it.
Overall, the film articulates a thick atmosphere of suspense, a mood that persists without resorting to sensationalism. The choices in color, framing, and pacing converge to create a slow-burning tension that invites thoughtful reflection long after the screen goes dark. For audiences in North America, the film offers a poignant window into a community and a system that often remain unseen, while also resonating with universal concerns about childhood, fairness, and the cost of obedience. In conversations about contemporary cinema, this work stands out for its restraint, its moral clarity, and its insistence on hearing the quiet voice of a child navigating a world where adults often set the rules. It is a film that lingers—an unfixed, honest look at power, friendship, and the courage to speak out. (Source: regional press reviews; critical attribution to contemporary Turkish cinema analysts.)