Reframing the European Other

Is the European Multiple?

In Claire Denis’s J’ai pas sommeil, the three main characters struggle with their multiple identities, because they repeatedly experience discrimination or violence from those who in the film represent the mainstream French milieu. The film examines the problem of the marginalization of the Others in the context of the shifting socio-political landscape of early 1990s Europe. Consequently, the narrative relates to Europe’s socio-political transformations of the 1990s. Denis shows how the European Other influences and shifts the socio-cultural space of the European mainstream. Ataman’s film problematizes the mainstream in a rather different context, and yet the films remain, to a certain extent, thematically intertwined. As I have elaborated in the introductory chapter, it is my intention to use the idea of the European mainstream as an indicator of certain similarities between the various films discussed in this book. This tendency relates to the way in which European societies frequently divide into the mainstream and the marginalized milieu of the Others. In this sense, Ataman’s film relates to Denis’s J’ai pas sommeil because it examines migrant/post-migrant identities and shifting forms of nationality. Arguably, the thematic connection between the two films points to the European dimension of the issues discussed in this book, especially in the context of the portrayal of the migrant Other.

Ataman’s film focuses on Lola (Gandi Mukli) a young non-heterosexual of Turkish origin living in Germany and on the lives of the people who surround her; her boyfriend, Bili (Erdal Yildiz), her best friends and her family. It concentrates on the lives of individuals who are difficult to define. The film’s main protagonists include Germans, Turkish-Germans and Turks living in Berlin. In this sense, Berlin connects the lives of these diverse main characters. The city, like Paris in J’ai pas sommeil, represents the European urban space. However, in Lola und Bilidikid it becomes the scene of transformation.

At this point, it might be worth to reflect on some of the major differences between the two metropolises. Unlike Paris, which was already firmly established as one of the major economic and political centres of (Western) Europe, Berlin of the late 1990s, in which Lola und Bilidikid is set, was still trapped in the process of post-Wall unification. Only just reunited, after years of political and tangible, geographical divisions, the city was undergoing a drastic urban, economic and socio-cultural metamorphosis.¹ Hence, while Paris certainly was affected by the collapse of the ‘Iron Curtain’ (as discussed in Chapter 1), Berlin’s geographical and socio-political location placed it at the very heart of Europe’s post-1989 transformation. In this respect, it could be argued that in comparison with Paris, Berlin symbolizes a much more complex sense of Europeanness.²

This complexity can be further illustrated by Berlin’s long-standing reputation for being a queer-friendly city, something that the film signals at the beginning of the narrative.³ Notably, the film begins with the shot of the famous Siegessäule, a monument consisting of an angel positioned on top of a tall column, which was designed to commemorate a Prussian military victory. The shot of the Siegessäule mocks the imperialist dimension of the statue by introducing its queerness – related to its phallic shape and the fact that the monument is located at the entrance to the park which is known to be a famous gay cruising area. Webber argues that in the film the monument is ‘[…] re-appropriated as a figure of aegis over the nocturnal cruising grounds around the column which has been counter-colonized by the Berlin gay scene.’⁴ The process of queering the monument destabilizes the notion of the imperialist victory associated with it, and produces the possibility of a new type of association. Berlin’s queer alter-ego suggests that the city can play an integral role in transforming and opening social spaces for the presence of these various Others who form a part of it (at the beginning of twentieth century Berlin was known as one of the most queer-friendly cities in Europe).⁵ It is not entirely surprising, therefore, that while both Denis and Ataman’s films explore what it means to be an Other in a contemporary European urban setting, Lola und Bilidikid shows the mainstream (especially in its heterosexual dimension) to be potentially more capable of transformation and easier to subvert.

In a similar way to J’ai pas sommeil, Ataman’s film depicts the mainstream in a number of scenes, but always in the background of the narrative. One such scene focuses on the interaction between Bili and Lola’s brother, Murat (Baki Davrak). Bili, who poses as a macho (he wears leather jackets and has slicked-back hair, trying to resemble a Western-film hero) is, in reality, a hustler.⁶ At one point of the narrative, he teaches Murat how to pick a ‘john’ (a client). First, he shows him a potential client: a middle-aged white man who exemplifies a member of the white-middle class milieu: his clothes (a beige raincoat), his grooming (short, classic haircut) and a briefcase he holds in his hand code him as a middle-class man. The man follows Murat to the toilet, where he stimulates Murat orally. While the ‘client’ indulges in the sexual activity, Murat politely asks him for money. Thus, Murat’s first job resembles a simple exchange of services. Notably, Murat’s client seems extremely polite. In a sense, the film therefore creates a very stereotypical representation of the mainstream German as someone subdued and well-mannered.

Moreover, the symbolic mainstream German is shown as merely a visitor to the ‘underworld’ and his interaction with Murat is limited strictly to the sexual encounter. The two worlds are separated and have no visible influence on each other. Interestingly however, the film also includes a plotline which breaks open this dichotomous separation and depicts a close interaction and potential relationship between a Turkish, marginalized hustler, and a representative of the social mainstream. This plotline focuses on Bili’s best friend – Iskender (Murat Yilmaz). Iskender is of Turkish descent (or is actually Turkish and lives in Germany, we have no way of knowing as the film never reveals his past) and, just like Bili, works as a hustler. The film introduces this plotline in a scene set in Berlin’s Tiergarten. The scene begins with a nocturnal shot of one of the park’s monuments, complemented by the sound of a man moaning quietly. The nocturnal backdrop, its limited lighting and the dark colour palette of the shots signify its marginal setting.

With the sound of a closing trouser zip the camera moves to reveal Iskender walking to the side of the screen. He is followed by his client, Friedrich (Michael Gerber). Friedrich is an older gentleman dressed in a posh outfit (a hat and a winter coat with a fur collar). His elegant attire, privileged mannerisms and way of talking code him as someone who belongs to the German bourgeoisie. He thus resembles the French mainstream characters from Denis’s or Haneke’s films. Arguably therefore, in more general terms he can also be considered as a part of the European mainstream. However, like ‘the doctor’ in J’ai pas sommeil, Friedrich is non-heterosexual. His mainstream normality therefore seems slightly more open to reformulation.⁷ Perhaps because of that Ataman shows Friedrich as a character who is able to engage in a relationship with someone from the ‘European underworld’ of the marginalized.

The film depicts the initial stage of their relationship as of predominantly transactional nature. Soon after, however, it takes the plotline concerning Friedrich and Iskender in an interesting, albeit rather unbelievable direction. At one point in the narrative, we learn that Lola has been murdered. This is a turning point in the story and works as a peculiar stimulus for change. As an illustration, during Lola’s funeral, Iskender decides to alter his life fundamentally. As he notices Bili crying after his beloved Lola, he is inspired by this emotional outburst and walks to the phone booth in order to call Friedrich. ‘I like you’, he says and puts the phone down straight afterwards. The scene implies that Iskender is now able to accept his feelings for Friedrich, and consequently their relationship is taken to the next level. A few scenes later, he openly proves his love for Friedrich while driving Friedrich’s mother, Ute (Inge Kelle), from the Berlin apartment to the Wannsee residence. While in the car, the mother tries to bribe Iskender to leave her son alone (assuming that to Iskender, the whole relationship carries only a financial value). She hands him a very expensive brooch, a family heirloom, which he aggressively throws out of the window, proving to her that Friedrich means more to him than his fortune. ‘I’m only driving you home out of love for Friedrich’, Iskender yells out in what turns out to be the most romantic scene of the film. From that point onwards Ute accepts Iskender and Friedrich’s unlikely union.

The mother’s acceptance of their relationship symbolically opens up the white-German, middle- and upper-middle class milieu for a possible reconfiguration. If Iskender, with his Turkishness, his lack of education, his street vocabulary and his queerness can be seen as a part of the conceptual space of the mainstream, then the mainstream itself becomes a different, more multi-dimensional construct. Iskender’s position changes dramatically, from a marginalized hustler he becomes a person who has the potential to become a part of the mainstream.