Istanbul - 1985 - Marc Didden

We have all seen films and heard folk songs about lonesome drifters; wandering through an unknown land, aimlessly travelling from place to place. These travellers are often thought of as romantic poets of the road, stopping only to read beat poetry in little cafes. However, what is the reality of these men of the road? Would these men be seen as romantics if we knew their backstory, or why they are in such a desperate need to run away from society? Or would we discover something darker and, frankly, more interesting?

Our story opens with Martin Klamski (Brad Dourif) who, while travelling through Belgium, on his way to Istanbul, befriends a waiter named Willy (Dominique Deruddere) when he saves him from a fight with an angry customer. They get drunk together and Martin invites him to travel to Istanbul with him, since Martin needs to be there for “business” in a week anyway. Willy accepts the offer and they begin hitchhiking. During the time that Willy is in Martin’s company Martin keeps himself very much to himself, never revealing too much and often contradicting himself. For example, he first he tells Willy he needs to be in Istanbul next week, then later it is next month and later still he says it won’t matter if he arrives a week late. There is also the matter of Martin’s strange behaviour. He refuses to sleep in hotels, his reasoning being that, “They smell”. He won’t travel in trains, again, because “They stink” so he insists on hitchhiking. Later, when a woman picks them up and takes them to a hotel to have sex with them Willy happily indulges himself but Martin locks himself in the bathroom, listening to what is happening with great discomfort. He begins moaning and rolling back and forth in physical pain.

While the film is fairly strong on characterisation of the two men, the plot is paper thin. Martin and Willy move from one area or another, they meet an eccentric local, they move on and do the same thing elsewhere. Where the film is perhaps strongest is when it deconstructs the myth of the American drifter: often painted as romantic or poetic by the likes of Jack Kerouac, country musicians and films such as Easy Rider (1969). Here, Martin is shown as psychologically imbalanced and possibly very dangerous. It helps that Dourif’s pale skin and skeletal frame are hardly a vision of mythic beauty; especially with his long, stringy hair, bulging blue eyes and oversized coat. After he and Willy leave the hotel they go to a street festival, where Martin enthusiastically grabs a guitar and jumps on stage to sing Movin’ in the Wind, for an enthusiastic crowd. It is a typical, romanticised song of drifting and being on the road which would put Bob Dylan to shame. However, like Martin’s unsettling appearance and demeanour, there is something less romantic and more sinister to the way he sings about being a typical American drifter. It just comes across more as a front the longer he keeps it up.

Regarding the performances, Brad Dourif plays Martin with all the intensity and unsettling itchiness you would expect from him. He is a disturbed man with many demons, and it is to Dourif's credit that he does not overplay the monstrous aspects of Martin's mind. Instead, he plays him as someone who - physically - cannot stop doing evil things. During the second act, Willy finds a newspaper clipping in Martin's wallet referring to a slain immigrant child living in London, Martin admitted that he murdered someone in London, but he insisted it was an adult man. Martin is travelling to Istanbul to visit the family of the child, possibly to attempt to redeem himself but it is only implied, never explicitly said. It is made apparent that Martin is a predator, and the violence he has inflicted on children in the past is sexually motivated.

Brad Dourif, being one of the more eccentric and strange character actors of the 1970s and 80s plays Martin just on the right side of bizarre. Invoking a man who is traumatised by his psychological sexual disorders but will still allow his twisted mind to get the better of him, despite his self knowledge. In the third act, Martin and Willy encounter a mechanic who asks Martin and Willy to kidnap his daughter from his wife, who has run away with her and an Italian cafe owner. They are to take the girl to a cottage to hide out before delivering her to a train station in Luxembourg. There, the mechanic will pay for their way to Istanbul. While in the cottage, Martin's attraction towards the mechanic's daughter is apparent, and Dourif's balance of self-loathing and sinister predator make for a truly itchy, unsettling performance. It is the conviction of Dourif's fine work here that stops the film from collapsing under the weight of its rather weak story, and the film ultimately rests on his shoulders.

Dominique Deruddere as Willy is less good, but this is at least understandable considering that Deuruddere was a Belgian filmmaker with no history of acting. Willy is the voice of the audience, attempting to unravel the mystery behind Martin and his need to get to Istanbul. However, it is somewhat unsettling how nonchalantly he accepts the kidnapping plot. Perhaps if more attention had been given towards his character we may have understood his motivations and why he would follow the obviously unstable Martin. However, his character is left in the shadow of Martin's and  he never comes across as truly fleshed out.

On the technical side, the film is unfortunately fairly poor. The quality of the sound often crackles and pops, especially during louder scenes, and the photography is uninteresting to say the least. This is partly to do with the undisciplined and erratic way in which emerging Belgian filmmakers often made films during the early to mid eighties. To put it into context, Belgian filmmaking had only really gained in popularity with Belgian audiences after the early sixties. These early films were often stagey and stilted, so by the early eighties, during the brief boom of emerging filmmaking talent, of which Didden was a part, they almost purposefully made films with a rough look and sound. However, no matter how well intentioned this is, this is a misery for the audience.

It is also unfortunate that the film feels like a compromised version of Didden's first film, Brussels by Night (1983), which was fairly well known in Europe during the early 80s. It also briefly put Didden on the map as one of the most important filmmakers to come out of Belgium at the time. So Istanbul feels like an attempt to do the same thing, except for American audiences. Hire an American actor of moderate cult popularity (Brad Dourif) and hopefully an audience will follow. This, unfortunately backfired as the film failed to get American or even British distribution. This film is for enthusiasts of Belgian cinema and Brad Dourif completists only.

6/10