This year’s 196-minute winter journey is a strange and magnificent voyage into the heart of Cappadocia, in central Anatolia—a unique experience emerging from its Turkish origins but promising a universal encounter through its focus on shared human themes. In this way, Winter Sleep becomes one of the most captivating and memorable films we’ve ever seen.
Nuri Bilge Ceylan had already set expectations high with his impactful and poetic film Once Upon a Time in Anatolia, which carried a Tarkovsky-esque sense of wandering and introspection within nature. However, in an unexpected twist, Winter Sleep completely severs that emotional connection to his previous work, inviting viewers to embark on a new adventure with a different rhythm. Despite the thematic differences between the two films, the director’s regular cinematographer, Gökhan Tiryaki, takes full advantage of Cappadocia’s visual potential, enriching every moment with the captivating natural landscapes of the region. The film’s beauty, however, is not limited to its breathtaking outdoor scenes. Tiryaki skillfully captures the delicate features and emotional depth of the actors in the indoor sequences, ensuring that viewers are equally drawn to both environments.
Any artistic work that stirs emotions and provokes thought is inherently poetic, and Winter Sleep is no exception. However, unlike Ceylan’s previous film, the poetry in Winter Sleep is deeply internal and subtle. The new work places immense focus on its characters, to the extent that every scene derives its meaning from their presence or absence. The rich character development, along with the invitation to step into their moments of solitude, private gatherings, and one-on-one conversations, draws the viewer closer to the narrative’s atmosphere. It feels as though the viewer is a special guest at the Aydınlar Hotel, free to wander wherever they please.
Aydın (played by Haluk Bilginer), the wintery protagonist of this story, is a slightly exaggerated archetype of the modernist intellectual. He isolates himself in his study, cutting himself off from everyday happenings, in an effort to transform the status quo. His young wife, Nihal (played by Melisa Sözen), claims he hates everything, even though Aydın portrays himself as a concerned and committed observer of his surroundings through his regular column in a local magazine. This duality perfectly embodies the modern man—a strange combination of love for humanity in general and personal disdain for individual people. While his compassion for the public is admirable, his aversion to real people is equally stark. This is evident in moments such as his reluctance to get involved in the quarrel between İsmail and the angry father of a boy who broke Aydın’s car window or his detached reaction to the letter from a struggling teacher in a remote village seeking help.
All the other characters in the film suffer from their own forms of loneliness. Aydın’s wife, his friend, and even his divorced sister (played by Demet Akbağ) each carve out a small corner for themselves, passing time in isolation. Whenever they are forced to interact, their calm conversations often end in disaster. Aydın’s solitude is portrayed more prominently and intensely than that of the others. He lives in a house where he is regularly subjected to his wife’s coldness and resentment. His sister, whom he believed to be his only supporter, accuses him of meddling in areas beyond his expertise. Aydın’s loneliness is further illustrated through stunning visuals, with expansive landscapes often framing him as a solitary figure.
Winter Sleep offers a raw and critical perspective on the lives of the affluent while examining the motivations behind their supposed humanitarian actions. Nihal, whose idealism contrasts with Aydın’s cynicism, confines her efforts to charity groups. Yet, when she steps into the real world of "ordinary people," such as during her visit to the boy’s family, she retreats shaken and defeated. Aydın’s own altruism, such as his decision to read the teacher’s letter aloud in the presence of his wife and friend, appears more about showing off his power and winning his wife’s approval than genuine concern. Similarly, Aydın’s delight at his sister’s positive remarks about his articles reveals his need for recognition and praise, even in his self-imposed isolation. This is another hallmark of the intellectual archetype the film explores—someone who, despite their disconnection and seclusion, retains an intrinsic desire for human connection and love.
In the film’s closing moments, we hear what could either be a letter Aydın has written to his wife or an internal monologue. He confesses his need for another person and even offers to serve Nihal to overcome his loneliness. In the final scene, Aydın finds solace by beginning his long-awaited work on the history of theater—a project he has researched for years. His redemption, once again, is depicted through intellectual pursuit.
Winter Sleep, the latest masterpiece by Nuri Bilge Ceylan and winner of this year’s Palme d’Or at the Cannes Film Festival, is both an artistic tribute and a dignified critique of the self-imposed, often destructive solitude of intellectuals. These are individuals who, despite dedicating their lives to cultural advancement, find themselves trapped in snowbound minds and yearning souls.
*Previously Published in Emtemad National Newspaper