Where the Rose Wilted

A depressed exposé of Turkish torture practices, this has righteous conviction to spare; also a few cinematic ideas, but none terribly dramatic. It opens and closes with the same tracking shot past fragments of standard small town street life, and the casual family and official curses and abuse that, it suggests, breeds the monstrous institutional violence that has destroyed its young protagonist. He sits in a train carriage, unshaven and scarred by the memories of official interrogation now triggered by every passing sight or sound. Opposite him sits a solicitous elderly public prosecutor who wants to connect; ditto his faithfully waiting wife at home. Most of the tale's in the editing, which is awkward - though at least once you pick up on its strategy, nothing much changes.