“About Dry Grasses” and the Universal Longing Within Us

In “About Dry Grasses,” director Nuri Bilge Ceylan delves into the emotional journey of a teacher stationed in a remote village in Eastern Anatolia, unraveling themes of loneliness, the quest for belonging, and a universal yearning for a more meaningful and deserved life.

Sense of Wander: ★★★★☆

This portrait of Sevim, likely captured by Samet, illustrates the complexity of their relationship.

Some of you reading this now may find yourselves at a cinematic crossroad, deciding whether to invest nearly three and a half hours in watching “About Dry Grasses,” the latest film by Turkish director Nuri Bilge Ceylan. I can totally relate — I was once in your shoes.

Uncertainty crept in as I pondered the film’s title (“Kuru Otlar Üstüne” in Turkish), seeking its connection to the synopsis. For nearly a month, I grappled with the decision, weighing the commitment against the demands of my bustling schedule. As the film’s limited release window drew to a close, a sense urgency propelled me to cast aside my doubts and embrace the cinematic journey. Looking back, I’m grateful for the decision to take that leap of faith.

“About Dry Grasses” revolves around Samet, an art teacher from Istanbul who is completing his fourth year of mandatory service in a remote village in Eastern Anatolia. Eagerly waiting for a transfer back to the bustling capital, Samet navigates the challenges — both internal and external — of his rural assignment.

In the film’s opening scene, Samet is seen on an expedition across an expansive, desolate snowscape, trudging through the relentless snow. This barren wintry terrain, a central motif throughout the film, starkly reflects Samet’s internal weariness. Amplifying the weight of this bleak expanse is Samet’s reality — a life haunted by an unrelenting quest for escape, heightened by unforeseen turns of events and an impending accusation.

In the film’s opening scene, Samet is seen trudging through the desolate, wintry-cold landscape in Eastern Anatolia.

Samet and his roommate, Kenan, find themselves accused of inappropriate behaviour by two female pupils. One of them is Sevim, an eighth-grader to whom Samet shows favouritism in class and appears to harbour a crush on him. Confronted and shocked by the accusations, Samet’s already somber mood deepens.

Ceylan artfully sprinkles still portraits, presumably taken by Samet, into the film. These visual glimpses into the lives of local people also unveil an intriguing facet of Samet, hinting at a clandestine fascination he harbours for the place he has yearned to escape from. Weathering the harsh elements, the subjects seamlessly blend with their surroundings, challenging Samet’s sense of displacement and creating a poignant paradox of his internal turmoil.

His portraiture also seems to goes beyond the mere juxtaposition of subject and landscape; it manages to capture the essence of each individual — a quality discernible only to those familiar with them. Perhaps without realising it, Samet has forged connections with the people here, with Sevim being one of them.

Whether yearning for a better or more deserved life, a better country, or even a better world, the film grapples with the profound aspects of our shared aspirations.

In a twist of fate, Samet crosses paths with Nuray, a school teacher from a neighbouring village bearing physical scars from her activism, having lost a leg. Initially met on a blind date without much interest, Samet grows interest in Nuray after the affection between Nuray and Kenan blossoms. It's as if Samet has stumbled upon a key, capable of unlocking a path out of the somber life he feels trapped in.

“About Dry Grasses” is intricately woven with threads of profound, lengthy dialogues, involving Samet, Nuray, and Kenan. Ceylan, celebrated for his mastery of conversational cinema, orchestrates discussions that span a wide spectrum of subjects, delving into personal crises, idealism, political turbulence, and the philosophy of life.

In these philosophical conversations lies the essence of human suffering — an exploration of the universal longing within all of humanity. Whether it’s Samet’s yearning for a better or more deserved life, Nuray’s longing for a better country, or the collective desire for a better world, the film grapples with the profound aspects of our shared aspirations.

Nuray, Samet, and Kenan immerse themselves in profound conversations, a distinctive hallmark of the film’s director Nuri Bilge Ceylan.

It’s only towards the end of the film when we see this desolate landscape, with the snow falling on the car’s windshield slowly transitions into a land of greenery full of sunlight, adding a touch of warmth to a film laden with coldness, isolation, and weary hopelessness. In Samet’s soliloquy, he explains that the place experiences only two seasons: winter and summer — a reflection of Samet’s state of mind in this remote village.

As the school year comes to a close, Samet takes the opportunity to groom his appearance and wear formal attire — for the first time. Seated in his storage room-turned-office, a space that further symbolises his displacement in this place, Sevim surprises him with a cake. Intrigued by Sevim’s gesture of kindness, Samet couldn’t help but question her motives. To his surprise, Sevim appears indifferent, seemingly unaware of the impact of the accusations that have been weighing heavily on Samet.

For the first time, Samet is groomed and dressed up, expressing his anticipation for the school year's end and his imminent relocation.

As the film concludes, Samet, Kenan, and Nuray explore among the ruins. Samet walks up a hill, treading on the arid landscape, contemplating the arid landscape within his heart. He further admits that, in this dry expanse, Sevim — his favourite student — radiates with colour and vitality, prompting the audience to question whether he harbored sentiments toward her, though the details of their relationship were never explained.

This brings to mind a puzzling scene from the film. One night, as Samet and Nuray were getting intimate in the latter’s house, she asked him to turn off the lights in the living room. Instead of returning directly to the bedroom after completing the task, Samet went into the kitchen. To my surprise, he opened a door leading to a warehouse-like setting that was clearly a movie set.

Samet navigated the set with confidence, passing by the crew at work, heading straight to the bathroom where he washed his face and took a pill. But when he stepped out of the bathroom and walked through the same movie set to return to Nuray’s house, the entire crew had vanished, leaving behind an empty warehouse. Samet nonchalantly returned to the bedroom, as if the strange occurrence was nothing more than a technical glitch.

I couldn't help but wonder if Samet’s experiences are but figments of his own imagination. Could the romance with Nuray and the tension with Sevim cease to develop once he re-entres reality, with the aid of his “pill”?

As we accompany Samet on this exploratory journey, we cling to the hope that whatever Samet — and each of us — is enduring will blossom into a bright tomorrow. Like dry grasses, hidden beneath layers of snow during the harshest season, revealing their life force when touched by the sun, the people in this desolate place, as immortalised in Samet’s portraits, discover a sense of belonging — something that Samet may still pursue even after his relocation.

This brings to mind a 14th-century Kashmiri poem by Lal Ded, a mystic and yogi, which I encountered while writing this article:

I was passionate,

filled with longing,

I searched

far and wide.

But the day

that the Truthful One

found me,

I was at home.*

In the film’s closing scene, Samet draws a parallel between the land of dry grasses and the internal turmoil he experienced throughout his stay in this remote place.

*Translation by Jane Hirshfield (source)