Kızıl Goncalar: From Symbolism to Surrealism

Kızıl Goncalar is a series where we get lost in a realm of symbols. Dimly lit spaces illuminated by candles day and night, fabrics and clothing in a thousand shades of brown, always twilight, always gloomy, always traumatizing scenes...

I don't remember the last series I watched. Kızıl Goncalar is a production that has kept me glued to the screen for quite some time. Although it is seen as similar to "Bir Başkadır" and "Kızılcık Şerbeti" in its exploration of the secular-religious polarization, conflict, and even the necessity of empathy, it stands in a different place with the messages it conveys and its intense symbolism.

It is more in the class of "Kurtlar Vadisi" (Valley of the Wolves), which provided clues about Turkish politics, the deep state, the mafia, and power struggles during the period it was broadcast. In other words, we can say it is more than just a series.

 When we look at the mind map of the series, we see that the main actors of Turkish politics are dressed in characters with high symbolism.  The sick and grumpy grandfather who is a 28 February supporter; his daughter, whom he views as a traitor and has remained estranged from for years, who is a "yes, but..." supporter; the doctor couple who stand out with their secular identities and have illegally detained a baby; their secular daughter who is ready to rebel or go astray at any moment; the philosopher young mentor; the mentor's dark father; the uncle who has become a vault of secrets to keep the dervish lodge standing;  the conservative girl struggling breathlessly between becoming a child bride and receiving an education; her mother, who is struggling for her daughter to get an education; her father, who is integrated with oppression and evil; and of course, the indispensable, mysterious man on duty who dominates and intervenes in the relationships of both groups, always at the same coffee house, at the backgammon board, receiving news from the depths of the deep state.

Although the war of characters, who have become parts of a game like pawns on a chessboard, occasionally slows down the tempo, it generally keeps the audience glued to the screen breathlessly.

Women's lives and the fate of the geography intersect like the lines on the palm of a hand... From the very first moment, the story of the mother, Meryem, also brings to mind Betty Mahmoody, who set out from America for a short trip to Iran and fought to return with her daughter from Iran, where she was held hostage by her husband.

Mahmoody’s life story was adapted into the film "Not Without My Daughter," which garnered significant attention upon its release. The Meryem-Zeynep duo feels like a micro-adaptation of this film...

The most realistic struggle in the series is that of this mother and daughter. It is evident from how it evokes a true life story. Another character in the series stands out from the rest with a completely mystical, imaginary, and otherworldly form. The leader of the sect, referred to as "His Excellency the Master" or "Mürşid Efendi," is never seen; he is symbolized only by a ritual where those who come to his door touch it, kiss their hand, and place it on their forehead to emphasize their respect and devotion.

His physical form is unknown; he is invisible. Such sanctity has been attributed to him... You do not find it strange while watching because you are immersed in symbols... After all, Turkish politics has taught us very well that people and events are not limited to what is visible. So much so that one is not even surprised by a meeting between a February 28th-era academic and a sect sheikh... I wonder what they might have talked about? Anyway, let's move on.

Ultimately, the general framework is a well-rounded portrait of Turkey, centered on the century-old sect-secularism opposition... Much like the title of Uğur Mumcu’s book, it is a spiral of sect-commerce-politics. Moreover, the invisible part is greater than the visible... That is left to your own imagination. Even in the poem recited by Cüneyd, the mentor with a philosopher’s identity, the emphasis is not on the object itself but on the effect it leaves, not on the visible body but on the value it carries; "Those who look at me/ see my body/ I am elsewhere/ those who bury me/ bury my body/ I am elsewhere".

There is no tiring of symbolism in this series. It continues to the end... The dialogues between Doctor Levent and Mentor Cüneyd, colored with quotes sometimes from Dostoevsky, sometimes from Nietzsche, and sometimes from George Orwell, pit Sufism against science in a debate. Whichever window the viewer looks through, the winner of the debate is from that same neighborhood. Doctor Levent likes to quote Atatürk regardless of the subject. However, such a reality does not exist. There is no such habit or practice. But that is fine; everyone watching is satisfied.

It is a series that makes the secular segment say, 'such worlds exist,' and the conservative segment say, 'it is not that extreme.' In other words, it is a series where everyone learns something, re-evaluates themselves, and breaks free from the magnetic pull of their own pole to approach, merge with, and soften toward their opposite. Dr. Levent, who commits one of the greatest sins in the entire script by seizing the baby, wins the hearts of conservatives by wearing himself out for Cüneyd Efendi, who struggles with mental illnesses, practically standing guard over him. Is that all? Of course not... There is also the possibility that this young and handsome doctor might fall for Meryem, a member of the sect. Even this possibility makes the impossible, possible.

A meeting that coincides with the days when Turkish politics is experiencing the pains of normalization. Whether it is a coincidence, divine providence, or something else, we cannot know. At least for now...

In conclusion, the episode aired before the season break was a major leap into surrealism after so much symbolism. A group of men, looking like rebels who escaped from the desert in Egypt, surround the dervish lodge with sticks and knives; all of them have tattoos on their foreheads, and they do not shy away from cutting arms, roughing up an elder, or taking girls captive inside the lodge. It is almost an uprising...

I believe the message being conveyed is that there is no end to reactionism. Although the final episode pushed the boundaries of reality quite a bit, the scene where sect members have their daughters take exams for diplomas from the outside falls upon us like refreshing raindrops amidst all this chaos of high-level messages... If this series has positively influenced even one person, one father, who was hesitant about educating his daughter, then how happy for us.