How do you justify the unjustifiable? How do you arrive at a point where you feel morally righteous while perpetrating violence against unarmed civilians? These are the central, unsettling questions posed by director Emin Alper in his latest film, “Salvation” (Kurtuluş), which premiered in competition at the Berlin International Film Festival. While ostensibly about the fallout from a land dispute, the film delves far deeper, exploring the insidious roots of violence and the psychological mechanisms that allow it to flourish.
Set in a remote Turkish mountain village, “Salvation” follows Mesut (Caner Cindoruk), a man consumed by insecurity and a sense of inadequacy. His life is overshadowed by his younger, more charismatic brother, Sheikh Ferit (Feyyaz Duman), who inherited the family’s position of local leadership. Mesut’s anxieties are further compounded by his wife’s pregnancy and troubling thoughts about her fidelity. Against this backdrop of personal turmoil, whispers of outsiders encroaching on their land begin to circulate, fueling a growing sense of paranoia and resentment within the community.
Alper doesn’t offer easy answers or simplistic explanations. He avoids portraying Mesut as a solely responsible villain, instead presenting a nuanced portrait of a man whose vulnerabilities are exploited by a confluence of factors. “Salvation” is, crucially, a study of a community, examining how collective anxieties and pre-existing tensions can create fertile ground for extremism. As Alper explains, the film explores the dynamics of “mass murders, massacres, genocides, and wars,” referencing the broader context of contemporary violence.
Cindoruk delivers a compelling performance as Mesut, initially portraying him as a resentful and obsequious figure. He skillfully charts Mesut’s transformation as he gradually convinces himself – and others – that he is the one destined to protect his people. This blossoming of power is subtly rendered, with Cindoruk conveying a man both intoxicated and burdened by his newfound authority. The film masterfully captures the subjective sense of threat felt by the villagers, employing a series of unsettling images and portents – a burned field, ominous storms, a sleepwalking child, and even theological debates about the roles of Cain and Abel – to create a pervasive atmosphere of unease.
Alper deliberately blurs the lines between reality and dream, refusing to explicitly signal dream sequences. This stylistic choice disorients the viewer, mirroring Mesut’s own fractured psychological state. While the audience may not sympathize with his actions, this ambiguity allows for a deeper understanding of how he rationalizes his descent into violence. The film’s strength lies in its ability to demonstrate how religious convictions and tribalistic rivalries can be manipulated to justify horrific acts.
“Salvation” is not merely a work of fiction. It is inspired by a horrific real-life event: the massacre of 44 people at a wedding party in the Mardin Province of Turkey. The attack left over 60 children orphaned. By grounding his film in this specific tragedy, Alper creates a work that is both deeply rooted in Turkish culture and possesses a universal resonance. The film draws parallels to acts of violence committed elsewhere, including, as noted by Variety, potential comparisons to events in Gaza.
However, the film’s relevance extends even further. Alper suggests that the rhetoric employed by figures like Donald Trump, Vladimir Putin, and even, domestically, Keir Starmer – with his warning about the U.K. Becoming “an island of strangers” – taps into the same primal fears that drive Mesut’s actions. The film highlights how easily individuals can be persuaded to believe they are defending themselves and their loved ones from external threats, even when they are, in fact, the aggressors. The film’s power, perhaps, lies in its ability to function as a cautionary tale without explicitly naming contemporary political parallels, allowing audiences to draw their own conclusions.
This deliberate ambiguity may also prove strategically advantageous for film festivals and distributors hesitant to directly confront sensitive political issues in their programming. “Salvation” can be presented as a film inspired by a tragedy that occurred nearly two decades ago in rural Turkey, leaving room for audiences and critics to explore its broader implications without facing institutional pressure. As Alper’s film demonstrates, the seeds of violence are often sown in the fertile ground of fear, insecurity, and the manipulation of deeply held beliefs – a chillingly relevant message in today’s world.
