Perhaps the most important aspect of the Turkish documentary Kedi (2016) has nothing to do with its putative subject, and everything to do with how it connects the people of Istanbul, Turkey, with, well, cat lovers around the world. This documentary takes a snapshot of the lives of several cats living in the streets of city, chronicling how they live, their personalities – and, not incidentally, those who actually care for them. One such is a pastry chef, who states that he and others in the neighborhood actually have running tabs at all the local vets, because they bring in the street cats for care when they’re sick or injured. One of the stars of the film actually spent an entire winter at the vet.
Or another man who pins his continued sanity on his devotion to the street cats. He had a nervous breakdown years ago, which abated when he made it his purpose in life to care for the cats.
For the non-cat lover, this may sound strange, perhaps symptomatic of a mental illness. After all, “crazy cat lady” is not a term of cherished endearment in American society, but rather the mark of a person whose sanity is certainly questionable.
But for those of us who make it a condition of existence that a cat, or even plural cats, be in our lives, these seemingly simple, revealing interviews with men and women living in a society supposedly alien to us really serve to personalize their basic humanity. I easily could see myself sitting down with any of these folks and having an animated chat about these cats, street-wise or house pets, and really connecting. Long time readers of this blog know that I often find material on AL Monitor, but even the cultural pieces AL Monitor purveys don’t match the strong connections Kedi builds. And the material on politics serves, if anything, to highlight the differences between societies, and sometimes, advertise the hatred of those on the extremes.
The opening interview talks about the alien aspects of cats, how they differ so much from humans, but the interviewee might have gone a little further. While that aspect is certainly one of the attractions of living with cats, it’s also true that another lure is that they sometimes metaphorically stretch themselves toward us. We see cat behaviors which remind us of ourselves, from simple friendliness with long-term acquaintances, to the cold shoulder when a visitor shows up without some accustomed gift or possession (in my case, a pair of kittens I usually brought on visits were omitted, and the delighted host cat abruptly turned away and wouldn’t talk to me upon the realization that his friends were not with me).
That same reaching out, that stretching to cover abysses, is perhaps most what we need these days. We’re surrounded with cries of hatred, from nationalist extremists in the West to religious extremists in the Middle East, using past grievances and imagined ideological reasoning to justify violence against those who they hate. Perhaps they should learn to stretch out their paws to those they don’t understand in an attempt to probe the fundamental humanity present on both sides. And ask if the suspicion and ideology and religion contributing to hatred and war and battles is really all that necessary in a world beset with critical problems.
All that said, this is not a perfect movie. It could have been at least ten minutes shorter, and while I enjoyed the visual aspect, I sensed there was more to be seen, perhaps some hidden, iconic view (with a cat in it) that could have really driven home the reality of Istanbul. But it’s a good, even introspective documentary which reminds us of the requirements of basic humanity, without challenge, without shame or guilt.
Just a celebration of the little carnivores and friends who fulfill a role in human civilization, and should not be forgotten as we “progress.”
Recommended.
