Iranian writer-director Alireza Khatami explores how the multiple identities a person harbors within can manifest themselves in this fascinating and profound work, which debuts at Sundance.
Toward the end of the incisive psychological drama "Things You Kill," Ali (Ekin Koç), a married man in his thirties, opens up about a traumatic childhood event and the reasons why he decided to leave Turkey and study comparative literature in the United States. The monologue appears momentarily out of focus, his face slightly blurred, as if the more he reveals about himself, the sharper the image becomes. Metaphorically, the ordeal he undergoes in this tale of emotional transformation seems to occupy that interstitial and nebulous space, where the protagonist seeks a lucid state of mind to confront his turbulent present.
Director: Alireza Khatami
Writer: Alireza Khatami
Stars: Ekin Koç, Ercan Kesal, Hazar Ergüçlü
From Iranian writer-director Alireza Khatami—who returns to solo directing after co-directing, with Ali Asgari, the Iran-set film "Earthly Verses," composed of intense political vignettes—comes this intriguing narrative that examines how a single person harbors multiple identities, which emerge depending on the situation they face. It's as if each individual speaks a unique language with every person in their life, translating to suit each context. To some extent, we are all polyglots of personality.
While this concept may sound complex, "Things You Kill" grounds its thesis in the family conflicts that plague Ali and slowly unravels them to illustrate the ideas at play. On one hand, Ali worries about the safety of his ailing mother, who lives with his absent and stern father, Hamit (Ercan Kesal). At the same time, his wife, Hazar (Hazar Ergüçlü), a veterinarian, pressures him to seek reproductive medical care, as they have had difficulty conceiving. Amidst the chaos of daily life, Reza (Erkan Kolçak Köstendil), a wanderer searching for work, arrives at Ali's garden in a remote countryside. The vast, arid landscapes imbue the narrative with a haunting allure through the lens of cinematographer Bartosz Swiniarski. Ali hires Reza to tend the plants, sparking an unlikely friendship between these two very different men.
Ali's long-suppressed resentment toward his father erupts fully after his mother's sudden death. The more he uncovers about what happened during his absence from Turkey, the more consumed by rage he becomes. People he thought he knew now seem like strangers. In his portrayal of Ali, an intense Koçak keeps his thirst for revenge under a simmering exasperation and disbelief, effectively contrasting with the confident, macho demeanor of Köstendil's commanding performance as Reza. The duality between the characters creates a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde-esque relationship. Even as viewers become aware of the dichotomy that governs "The Things You Kill," Kathami skillfully expands its meaning with each revelation.
In an English translation course at a local university, Ali explains that the Arabic etymological root of the concept of translation means "to kill," to destroy an earlier version of a term so that a new one can exist. While they may have similar definitions in both languages, the words are never identical. The Ali who speaks English in America is not the same one who relates to the world in Turkish. Each distinct personality defines a part of his identity. The scenes of Ali sleeping may seem like casual transitions at first, but the significance of these naps and the realm of dreams as another space where people experience other lives frames the film.
From beginning to end, "The Things You Kill" is an insightful exercise on the importance of paying attention to how we are perceived and using that knowledge to rewrite our own narrative. For another woman, Hamit might be the loving husband he wasn't to Ali's mother. His new girlfriend only knows the tender version he has created for her. Similarly, Ali and his sister grew up with a positive image of their grandfather because Hamit omitted how his father raised him. By killing the past, and with it the truth, whether by adopting a new attitude or keeping secrets, a transformation occurs. Having children is also understood here as a second chance at life: a chance to start over, even if indirectly. However, Ali worries that becoming a father might mean repeating his father's mistakes.
The fact that Khatami filmed this feature in Turkey, a country that is not his own, is thematically consistent with his trajectory; his 2017 debut, "Oblivion Verses," is a magical realism story in Spanish filmed in Chile. The central concept of "The Things You Kills" applies precisely to Khatami's cinema. What kind of artist is he when working in Turkish or Spanish, and who does he become or return to when creating in his native language, Persian? This is a question that could be posed to anyone who has left their homeland to live in an international environment. What version of themselves emerges or imposes itself, depending on the place and cultural context in which they find themselves? In other words, it is a shift in linguistic register.
Without a literal interpretation, the plot twist following a shocking act of violence is presented as the materialization of Ali's desire to be a bolder, more stereotypically masculine version of himself. The fact that the protagonist is named Ali and the gardener who ends up usurping his reality is named Reza suggests the coexistence of two souls in the same body, since the director's name is a fusion of both: Alireza. This seemingly obvious detail appears to highlight the profound personal connection between the creation and the artist.
The man Ali wishes he were is willing to bribe the authorities to obtain the water his garden needs, to conceal his whereabouts on a crucial night, to give in to his most immoral sexual impulses, and to mistreat those he believes threaten his plans. In other words, the Ali who takes control for a time is the embodiment of his worst self. Was he like this abroad? With "Things You Kill," Khatami offers us a fascinating and complex reflection on introspection.
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