For some reason I neglected to include in my review of Marketa Lazarová (1967; #91) that it was voted in the late 1990s as the greatest Czechoslovakian film of all time. Perhaps I left this fact out because I would have spent much of the write-up naming Czech films that are better (of which I can think of several with minimal effort). Such national lists of movies were common at the close of the last century. In the case of the Netherlands, Paul Verhoeven’s Turkish Delight (1973) was named the crème de la crème, and for some reason that seems appropriate. Certainly, critics of this film will point out that it is both depraved and explicit, but neither of those factors detracts from its quality.
Also not dragging it down was the fact that to view Turkish Delight I was forced to resort to a Spanish-dubbed version I found on Youtube. The dubbing itself appeared to be some of the best I’ve seen, but didn’t particularly help, as I speak almost no Spanish whatsoever. Still, for almost 24 hours now I’ve been thinking about this film, and it has only occurred to me once in retrospect that I didn’t get a single word of it. Movies were about images long before they were ever about words, and I don’t think I missed a single major point of Turkish Delight. In fact, after scouring the web, it appears as though the film only has one memorable line: Rutger Hauer’s sculptor protagonist Erik proclaiming “I screw better than God” – a statement that reportedly caused Hauer’s father to skip the movie.
At the outset we see Erik approach a car on a dark street and proceed to beat its male owner to death with a blunt object before shooting his female companion in the front seat in the head. A cut reveals that Erik is only fantasizing about this violent episode, before he pleasures himself to a photo of a woman resembling the one he’s just internally destroyed. A montage ensues which has Erik engaging in various sexual encounters with various women; each episode a bit more disturbing that the last as he gathers souvenirs from his conquests. A lengthy flashback details the relationship Erik once had with the woman in the photo.
He meets Olga (Monique Van de Ven) by chance, picked up while hitchhiking by the young girl. His insatiable sexual appetite seems to be exactly what she has been looking for as she drives radically along the highway. After a series of sexual misadventures she wrecks the car, injuring both herself and Erik. When he attempts to visit her to see how she is recovering, her family does all that they can to prevent him from seeing her. Immediately her mother dismisses Erik as a bohemian influence that she would prefer to spare her daughter from. Regardless, the two young lovers pursue their relationship. There are tender moments between them, but there is also rather explicit sex, and neither seems to be able to get enough of it. Erik seems to be inspired artistically by Olga. When they marry, her family, led by her spry father, attempt to accept Erik into their lives.
Still, there are complications, and after the death of her father Olga’s mother passively encourages her relationship with an American businessman. In a rather disgusting scene at a restaurant, Erik picks up on the potential relationship, reacting violently before vomiting on the assembled company. He sees Olga only several more times before she departs for the U.S. to be remarried. Years later they meet again, but Olga seems different. They sit for coffee and exchange pleasantries, but moments after they separate Olga collapses. It is discovered that her lifelong erratic behavior has been brought on by a slowly growing brain tumor. Though the tumor is surgically removed, doctors are unable to take it out in its entirety. Olga will die. Completely bald and weakened by treatment, she fears eating anything tougher than the Turkish delight Erik brings her; worried that her teeth might fall out if she tried.
Rutger Hauer is an actor in demand. He has worked almost ceaselessly since the late 1960s and seems to have a taste for taking roles likely deemed too distasteful for other actors. Turkish Delight is no exception. It is a film that, to put it lightly, has its fair share of bodily functions and fluids. Excrement and vomit are not shied away from, but Hauer’s work within this picture would hardly qualify as either. He conveys joy, pain, humor, and horniness here in a deeper way than some might think possible with such material. With the looks of a rock star he likely could have opted for a much for convention leading man career, but then we would have missed so much from him. In this film, her debut, Van de Ven is every bit his equal.
Watching the first half of this film I couldn’t help but compare Verhoeven’s early work to Fassbinder. Watching the second half, that feeling faded. Thinking it over for a day, I’ve concluded that Fassbinder made movies for the joy of making art while Verhoeven makes movies for the joy of making movies. Much of his later work could never have been anything but a movie, and he’s certainly made some stinkers. But with Turkish Delight that joy is tangible. He combined the creative forces of composer Rogier van Otterloo and DP Jan de Bont to make a film greater than its material might have deserved, and greater than the sum of its parts. De Bont got more than he bargained for as well when, after filming her naked body for days, he married the 19 year-old Van de Ven. They were divorced in 1988, lasting significantly longer than Erik and Olga.
Language: Dutch (Original)
Runtime: 112 Minutes
Available with Spanish dubbing @ Youtube.com (NST)
Grade: 3 Hats Off
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