Unraveling Masculinity: Alireza Khatami’s Dark Journey in ‘The Things You Kill’

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Making its debut at the Sundance Film Festival’s World Dramatic Competition before playing in Rotterdam next, “The Things You Kill” represents Iranian director Alireza Khatami’s most intimate and avant-garde project so far.

In simpler terms, this film is one of Khatami’s first to premiere at Sundance and will also be shown in Rotterdam later. It’s his most personal and unconventional work yet.

Guided by prominent Turkish actors such as Ekin Koç (from “Burning Days”), Erkan Kolçakköstendil (“Familya,” “Magnificent Century: Kosem”), Hazar Ergüçlü (“The Protector”) and Ercan Kesal (“Once Upon a Time in Anatolia,” “The Three Monkeys”), the movie tells the story of a middle-aged professor whose life spirals out of control after the mysterious demise of his mother. As doubts creep in, things take a sinister turn when our protagonist finds himself alone and vulnerable within a system that provides limited healthy avenues for men to express their emotions.

According to Khatami, we frequently discuss how patriarchy impacts women. However, it’s important to remember that it can also lead men to experience severe violence, ultimately breaking them down.

Khatami points out that while we frequently discuss the effects of patriarchy on women, it’s crucial to acknowledge that it can also inflict extreme violence upon men, leading to their deterioration over time.

Best Friends Forever is handling world sales.

How did you conceive this film?

Right from the outset, this movie was designed as a captivating psychological thriller, drawing heavily on an art-house style reminiscent of David Lynch. His recent demise saddens me deeply, as his work was a significant influence during my growing affection for cinema. It’s not common for filmmakers outside of Europe and America to take such bold formal risks, so I found Lynch’s style incredibly inspiring.

As a movie enthusiast, I can’t help but marvel at the innovative approaches this director takes to delve into the core of his characters. It took me years of contemplation and reflection to truly grasp and internalize these complex narratives. When his debut film hit the screens, someone penned an insightful remark, “It feels like Kiarostami experienced a spiritual awakening.” Later, during post-production, a viewer who saw this movie commented, “This is what David Lynch might create if he had ever known sobriety.

You’re also working in more self-revealing register than in your previous two features.

As a movie critic, I delved deeply into my own emotional struggles by merging fiction with reality, a style known as autofiction. To be honest, I’m hesitant to share this work with my family since it’s rooted in shared experiences that make up about 70% of the film. Although the story doesn’t mirror the extreme events depicted on screen, it’s heavily influenced by my life. For the first time, I’ve chosen to bare my soul in such a way, and I find myself anxious about how I’ll present this film to an audience.

A few days ago, someone praised a particular line of dialogue, assuming it was penned by another writer. However, I merely recalled those words from my own memories. It’s a unique and somewhat daunting experience for me, unveiling such intimate aspects of myself through this film.

In my viewing experience, the movie initially seemed straightforward, but it soon took unexpected turns, deviating from its initial path.

As a movie enthusiast, the structure of films significantly matters to me. Initially, I aimed to cater to what viewers might anticipate from a filmmaker of color – creating an atmosphere where they might think, “Ah, I recognize this movie,” or “This feels like Faradi, it’s reminiscent of so and so.” However, as the story unfolds, I guide them into unexplored territories. My intention was to challenge their expectations and present something unexpected. That’s why the beginning part can be seen as a Trojan horse, gradually drawing in the audience until it becomes too late for them to retreat.

Of course, you’re equally oblique when the violence does arrive.

Showing a brain splatter might seem effortless, but it’s the act of withholding that truly amplifies the horror. By keeping such gruesome imagery at bay, you create a sense of detachment in the audience, preventing them from experiencing catharsis. This is when violence carries its maximum impact.

Instead of concentrating on the physical aspects, let’s delve deeper into the emotional resonance. This movie serves as a precursor to a zombie saga, depicting the gradual disintegration of society around the main character before the actual apocalypse. I aim for it to linger in people’s minds. When they exit the theater, I don’t want them merely to comment, “That was pleasant.” Instead, I hope it triggers a visceral reaction, something that lingers subtly, like an echo. The most impactful art doesn’t offer immediate understanding; rather, it sows seeds that blossom over time. If someone emerges from this experience feeling uneasy, puzzled, or haunted, then my mission has been accomplished.

What did the Turkish landscapes bring to the mix?

We meticulously outlined the locations, and after an extensive search that spanned Turkey for several months, we finally discovered the ideal vantage points. These specific locations were essential to our project, as they showcase the breathtaking landscapes of Anatolia. In contrast to traditional cinematic representations of inner journeys taking place in dark, cramped spaces, I chose to situate the character Ali amidst expansive, tranquil landscapes, far from the crowd. The film is devoid of music to prevent emotional manipulation; instead, it immerses viewers in a rich tapestry of sounds, with Anatolia’s beauty and serenity serving as its backdrop.

How does this idea of exile play into the narrative?

Everyone, regardless of location, can experience feelings of alienation or exile on some level. The idea of ‘home’ here is more about philosophy than geography. Ali, who works as a translator, often ponders language and the world around him. He considers himself someone who understands the patriarchal system, thinking, “I do household chores, so I can’t be one of them. I’m a feminist. I’ve done my research, haven’t I?” But then he recognizes, “Wow, I’m deeply involved in it. I’m part of this.” The patriarchal system isn’t just an external force; it’s something within him that he’s never fully addressed. The film explores this self-discovery. In a sense, he thought he had found his home, but instead, he finds himself in a strange and unfamiliar place.

How else does the film try to subvert expectations?

There’s an ongoing assumption that films should focus on politically charged topics related to Muslim women’s sexuality or men fighting against oppressive regimes, as if there’s nothing else significant to portray. I aimed to debunk this stereotypical perspective and demonstrate the ability to create a wide variety of narratives beyond politics. Collaborating with European film festivals and funding bodies often necessitates challenging their preconceived notions. For instance, a movie directed by a Brazilian is categorized as “A Brazilian perspective on adolescence,” while the same narrative from a Belgian director simply becomes “a look at adolescence.” This is bothersome and disheartening. We’re not just specific segments of humanity; we are artists, thinkers, and storytellers. It’s high time to move past this antiquated mentality.

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2025-01-24 18:17