Set in the half-built world of mid-Seventies Istanbul, DIYET tells a familiar Yesilcam story of a married woman (Hulya Kocyigit) falling in love with another man (Hakan Balamir) and wanting to set up a new life together. They envisage a world free from care, where they can enjoy building a new home with a garden where their stepchildren can run happily around without running the risk of being mown down by any of the traffic that dominates their local community.
Unfortunately the passage of true love never did run smooth. Both work in a factory overseen by a self-interested supervisor (Erol Tas) and an equally obnoxious boss (Erol Gunaydin). They force the workers to complete unreasonable shifts during night and day, with little concern for their welfare. Inevitably one of the workers gets hurt, as he falls into a machine and is paralyzed. The workers' response is divided: some of them decide to join a union, others prefer to continue working like Trojans for fear of losing their jobs. The two lovers become embroiled in the conflict, and eventually love and loyalty prove irreconcilable.
Shot on a low budget in the suburbs of Istanbul, DIYET portrays a working-class world of small communities whose women have to combine domestic duties with full-time work, and the men have to help out. Their offspring run happily round the streets, taking pleasure in such innocent baubles as balloons and paper windmills (no computer games here!). This world would be safe and stable enough, were it not for the fact that many of its people are readily exploited by the capitalist bosses, who make strenuous efforts to suppress any union initiatives. Such paranoia has been characteristic of Turkish labor relations for decades now; it seems that no one, especially those in power, can contemplate the idea of encountering collective resistance.
The photography (by Hurrem Erman) uses some repeated close-ups of the machinery in the factory, with the actors standing behind, to show how people's lives have become so automated that they have little or no power of self-determination. The union is a good idea, despite what the bosses think, if only to provide individuals with the kind of security that is conspicuously absent from their working lives. The ending, although tragic, reinforces the point.
DIYET contains most of the stylistic devices characteristic of Yesilcam - music, sudden zooms into the characters' faces to heighten the emotion of a scene - but it has an edge that makes the film refreshingly watchable.
Unfortunately the passage of true love never did run smooth. Both work in a factory overseen by a self-interested supervisor (Erol Tas) and an equally obnoxious boss (Erol Gunaydin). They force the workers to complete unreasonable shifts during night and day, with little concern for their welfare. Inevitably one of the workers gets hurt, as he falls into a machine and is paralyzed. The workers' response is divided: some of them decide to join a union, others prefer to continue working like Trojans for fear of losing their jobs. The two lovers become embroiled in the conflict, and eventually love and loyalty prove irreconcilable.
Shot on a low budget in the suburbs of Istanbul, DIYET portrays a working-class world of small communities whose women have to combine domestic duties with full-time work, and the men have to help out. Their offspring run happily round the streets, taking pleasure in such innocent baubles as balloons and paper windmills (no computer games here!). This world would be safe and stable enough, were it not for the fact that many of its people are readily exploited by the capitalist bosses, who make strenuous efforts to suppress any union initiatives. Such paranoia has been characteristic of Turkish labor relations for decades now; it seems that no one, especially those in power, can contemplate the idea of encountering collective resistance.
The photography (by Hurrem Erman) uses some repeated close-ups of the machinery in the factory, with the actors standing behind, to show how people's lives have become so automated that they have little or no power of self-determination. The union is a good idea, despite what the bosses think, if only to provide individuals with the kind of security that is conspicuously absent from their working lives. The ending, although tragic, reinforces the point.
DIYET contains most of the stylistic devices characteristic of Yesilcam - music, sudden zooms into the characters' faces to heighten the emotion of a scene - but it has an edge that makes the film refreshingly watchable.
