We Are All Re-mixers

Stepping into broad literature, I often find myself questioning the need for my words when it seems every idea has been explored. Why bother when everything has already been said and done? The same goes for filmmaking too, where every conceivable style and subject appears to have been exhausted. Why make a film? Where does the motivation come from? Is it the audacity of self-confidence or the blissful ignorance of the unknown? While these notions may hold some truth, a deeper exploration into cinema and art history reveals the reality: We are all re-mixers.

The Disease of Our Age: Originality

Art history is not just a series of periods that differ from each other, it’s a continuous evolution, where each new style absorbs and transforms the previous. And these transitions are like subtle shades of gray. But if we rush through the timeline, it is likely to miss how one artist adopts the other. Our mistake is viewing these long processes as if they were brief moments. Artists always take from the past to create today. They absorb the previous pieces to discover the new. The more they absorb what came before, the better chance they have at exploring the next big thing. Therefore the avant-garde is just a remix of yesterday’s brilliance with a contemporary artist’s vision. And each new work has to be inherently original because it has the imprint of a new individual.

It’s like cooking with a set of ingredients and creating a flavor unique to the chef. And it is this individuality that serves as a significant spice. It could be perfectly blended, it could be a bit off-balance or it could be the creation of a taste so distinct that it stands out. All those variations are acceptable in terms of their originality (and there will always be those gourmets ready to make comparisons between them).

So, in this sense, it seems ridiculous when people claim that they are entirely self-taught and unaffected by any external sources. If they are drawing, let’s say an illustration, did they stumble upon some examples somewhere and use them as references? Or did all knowledge just descend upon them from the sky? To me, referencing is inevitable. Even if you started drawing without knowing a single artist’s work, your reference point is likely some kitsch painting hanging in your grandma’s living room that caught your eye as a kid.

That’s exactly why the pictures created by artificial intelligence horrify us. It simply performs similar tasks as we do. It just remixes the references. Surely, we are still not suffering from this challenge as our originality lies in our individuality and personality (if we have one). However, when AI evolves into a personal entity, then we might be forced to adopt new approaches, which I actually find a positive thing to boost our artistic advancement as humans.

Ingredients for a Mix

At the premiere of my debut feature, A Hero of Our Time (2023), someone (an enthusiastic gourmet) in the audience asked about the influence of Roy Andersson on my film. And, I responded by clarifying that rather than influence, I intentionally aimed to take his style and transform it. I explained it this way because I am aware that any style doesn’t fall from the sky, it evolves through the interactions of artists. And I know that my film is not a copy, it’s a unique blend. However, in the post-screening news, they only highlighted this small bit and linked my film wholly with Roy Andersson. Of course, it doesn’t bother me, but it feels unfair to the other elements in the mix.

Perhaps, we could talk about Tsai Ming-Liang‘s slow cinema or my contemporary Yang Zhengfan‘s observational scenes.

Or Robert Altmant‘s naturalistic style,

Or Cassavetes‘ scenes that appear improvised but are carefully written,

Or Bresson‘s simple and minimalist narratives,

Or Kiarostami‘s approach that leaves room for the audience as a creative collaborator,

Or Cristi Puiu‘s ultra realistic mise-en-scènes,

Or long takes of Bela Tarr and Angelopoulos,

Or subtle subjects of Kelly Reichardt,

Or the delicate dialogues between men and women of Rohmer and Bergman,

Or Godard‘s experiments,

Or Ozu‘s traditional family dynamics,

Or James Benning‘s photographic non-narrative films,

Or Nuri Bilge Ceylan‘s lenses to look at human nature,

Or Fellini‘s self-centered protagonists,

Or Bunuel‘s satires,

Or Antonioni‘s exploration of middle-class,

Or Kieslowski‘s moral stance,

Or Tarkovsky‘s philosophical undertones,

Or Woody Allen‘s witty humor,

Or Tarantino‘s lengthy chit-chats,

Or Terrence Malick‘s uncompromising approach to his style,

Or Haneke‘s funny games with the audience,

I, a mighty re-mixer, added all these elements into my mixture and I allowed them to richen the film’s flavor. While they all contribute to the overall, it might not be distinguishable at all. Nonetheless, this is entirely normal.

Sauces and Dressings

Speaking of re-mixing, there’s also the Lermontov factor. Naming the film after Lermontov’s novel left some viewers hoping for a cinematic experience of the book or Russian literature. Some of my friends even read the novel because of the film. But let me be clear: I’m not an adaptationist, I’m a re-mixer.

I took Lermontov’s drive for creating his main character Pechorin and added it to the mix, then left the rest behind. Lermontov’s goal was to distill the flaws of his era into a character. So I borrowed that motive to create my contemporary Pechorin: Mert. And the outcome, of course, strayed far from the novel’s character. Because this is my unique blend. And if you start digging too deep, you might even think I’m on a search for a values-rich world that stands in contrast to Russian nihilism. And I would be satisfied with all those comments. I am all for red herrings: subtle diversions for the audience that lead them to unexpected interpretations.

And what more did I blend into this mix? The autobiographical elements? Observations of everyday lives? Lengthy conversations with my collaborators? Things that I am surrounded by because of the world I was born into? Muslim culture? Local culture? The geographical structure of my hometown? Old Turkish films and series? Wanderings in the museums in my 20s? Bruegel? Jan Steen? Edward Hopper? Andrew Wyeth? Familiar names from coated papers? Gregory Crewson? Julie Blackmon? My childhood friends? Monkey Island? Life with Louie? Or a bunch of things settled in my subconscious that I can’t even identify? Things are impossible to avoid, so it is wiser to accept?

Alright, I think I must stop before my mixture upsets your stomach.