“Forms of Forgetting” by director Burak Çevik provides an artistic depiction of the bittersweetness of memory and forgetting.
“We are just flesh and bones as human beings … What will happen to our memories when we are gone?”
This is the question that prompted director Burak Çevik’s film, “Forms of Forgetting,” which was screened as part of Columbia’s annual True/False Film Fest. The film, described by Çevik as a blurring of truth and fiction, is told through a series of conversations between two former lovers, Erdem Şenocak and Nesrin Uçarlar. The ex-couple ruminates on their individual experiences of the relationship and the reasons behind its end.
The film begins on the topic of why we share our dreams with others. Şenocak suggests that retelling our dreams helps us remember them better, while Uçarlar argues that dreams lose a portion of their emotional weight each time we retell them. This discussion provides an excellent segue into the theme of the film: how powerful, yet simultaneously fickle, memory really is.
Viewers of the film hardly receive any context surrounding the ex-couple’s relationship or breakup — likely because Şenocak and Uçarlar cannot agree on these details themselves. In a heartfelt conversation, Şenocak admits to forgetting how the two met and why exactly the relationship ended. However, Şenocak remembers in vivid detail a flower-print dress that Uçarlar borrowed from her mother, wore once, and then was never seen in again.
During this conversation, Çevik layers audio from multiple different interviews with the subjects. We hear the present conversation but also voiceovers from what are presumably the two characters reflecting on said conversation. The result is a haze between two different points in the past, which makes it difficult to discern what timeline is being explored. Additionally, the film is entirely in Turkish, making most American viewers reliant on the subtitles to understand what’s being said. The subtitles are fast and at times easy to miss, forcing viewers to catch what they can and leave the rest.
This layering of audio and subtitles, though confusing, appears to serve a larger artistic purpose and bears an uncanny resemblance to human memory. It is impossible to remember every moment of the past; some things stick, while others don’t. This leaves us to base our version of reality on the memories we manage to keep.
Psychological studies on memory show that the act of recalling a past event alters the brain networks associated with that event. This means that each time someone remembers or retells an event, the memory of it becomes slightly distorted. Therefore, your personal account of history is layered and constantly evolving, which is depicted beautifully in the film.
The film first compares forgetting to corrosion. Over time, our memories undergo wear and tear until they are completely unrecognizable to us. What once was a shiny piece of metal is now nothing more than rust. This assertion is followed by several minutes of silence, accompanied by still shots of deteriorated buildings, worn down cable cords and empty rooms. This drawn-out sequence forces audience members to sit with their thoughts for a while, drifting in and out of focus.
The film then offers a more optimistic comparison, that forgetting is similar to weeding a garden. Perhaps our brains can only hold so many memories, so we get rid of the ones we no longer need in the form of forgetting. In a similar vein, the protagonists discuss how a flower must forget its origins as a seed in order to bloom into its truest form. This is a rather comforting outlook, suggesting that, although we may not remember it all, our past is what allowed us to become who we are today.
The use of still shots in this film, while not always the most interesting to look at, serve a strong artistic purpose. Perhaps a third of the film is made up of these silent still shots, making it difficult to remember what exactly happened in the film. While there are certain sound bites or visuals that are distinctly memorable, the rest of it somewhat blends together — just like memories do.
The most visually compelling aspect of the film was the ending scene, which captured an autopsy being performed. The procedure was shown on a laptop screen and meanwhile, flashes of light were beamed around the screen. This appears to be an allusion to flashbulb memories and the bare-bones nature of our brain’s ability to recall events. At the end of the day, we are just flesh and bones. Our memories make us who we are, even if our supply of them is limited.
Edited by Savvy Sleevar | ssleevar@themaneater.com
Copy edited by Lauren Courtney