One man’s trash is another's treasure

This time Esmer takes us to İstanbul, where we witness a very different life, that of her own uncle, Mithat Bey, who plays himself in Esmer's fictional narrative. Thus there still remains an element of documentary, one which at times successfully merges with the film's fictive storyline and artistic choices, but also, at times creates such a discrepancy of atmosphere that one becomes fully conscious that they are in a movie theater and not in the film's sphere of reality.

Mithat Bey (Mithat Esmer), born in 1926, is the epitome of an İstanbul gentleman; he is educated, articulate, polite and perhaps a bit of a subtle snob; he is the product of an era when Turkey was intent on becoming fully Westernized and modern. Running into such gentlemen nowadays is like trying to find a needle in a haystack. The thing about Mithat Bey is that he is a voracious collector. He collects everything, from old magazines to wine bottles, from labels to cassettes, the list just goes on and on. His flat, located on the fourth floor of the Emniyet Apartment building (which can be translated as “safety”), does not really resemble an antique store, but is more like a depot stacked with newspapers and every imaginable item that someone with spatial obsessions would throw away. It isn't a surprise that Mithat Bey's wife has abandoned him a long time ago due to his rabid obsession. Happily, he inhabits alone the miniscule space left in his flat. During the daytime, he ventures into the streets and mom-and-pop stores of old İstanbul to add to his collection.

But there lies a problem, the other tenants of the apartment are extremely disturbed by Mithat's massive collection, which they think will bring down the building, whose structure has already been deemed unsound. Yet, they need Mithat's signature to destroy the building and replace it with a new one. When the nasty building administrator complains to the municipality about Mithat's colossal assemblage of “trash,” our old man is left with no choice but to start packing away his collection.

Rescue comes from the handsome yet despondent building custodian Ali (Nejat İşler), who not only helps Mithat with packing but also takes over by taking up gathering collectables in the big city. The two men develop a unique friendship despite their different socioeconomic backgrounds, and perhaps, in the slightest way, start changing each other. Then again, when Ali realizes that there is a market for Mithat's collectibles, his cunningness gets the best of him and he starts exploiting his newfound position as the old man's right hand. Yet, fate works in funny ways, and their actions will affect each other's lives.

What Esmer achieves with this film is a rare nostalgic feel peculiar to İstanbul, and at the same time, she points to a vivid direction in which the chaotic and money-driven new city will take over the past, and cruelly that is. It isn't for nothing that the destruction of Mithat's building is looming like a grey cloud throughout the film. But it is Mithat Bey himself and the extension of his existence that takes us to a “belle époque” that we have all heard of and some of us have breathed. You can smell the humidity in the air, touch the crumbling yellow newspapers and experience the melancholy just by looking at Mithat's creased face and decaying apartment.

The young Ali, on the other hand, represents another kind of decay -- slumped in his underground custodian flat, he is the nadir of society, but at least he has a future, one that will be illuminated thanks to the presence of Mithat's archived past. It is a bittersweet contradiction that Reşat Ekrem Koçu's antique İstanbul Encyclopedia connects the old with the young.

Paced flawlessly and shot beautifully in a soft hazy light, “10 to 11's” only problem and a considerable one, is the acting. While İşler is a professional screen actor and his performance is clearly molded and stylized, Mithat Esmer, being himself, remains too real and authentic in this film -- even though there would be no story without the latter's authenticity. The two men perform on different frequencies and while the synergy is at times pitch perfect, the professionalism of İşler and the genuineness of Esmer clash on screen.