Naz Tokgöz delivers a devastating performance in the captivating short film Krizalit, co-directed with Arantxa Ibarra. Strikingly beautiful and emotional, you are gently guided through this profoundly sad tale that is faultless from beginning to end.

Deniz (Naz Tokgöz) is an enigmatic young woman who has been drawn into a secret relationship with Turkish woman Melisa (Yasemin Cem). Set against the backdrop of a country in flux, Deniz battles to keep the euphoria of her relationship alive whilst feeling the weight of being an outsider.

Tokgöz’s first writing credit is an impressive one: Krizalit, a script that deliberately keeps the dialogue to a minimum, allowing the story, performances, and direction to guide us carefully. It’s a bold move, but one that works extremely well here. We see the struggles of Deniz and Melisa as they try to dodge the prejudices they inevitably face in their same sex relationship. Couple this with the struggles of finding your identity in an environment where you have to hide your love in alleyways.

Filling the film with anxiety and fear is heartbreaking, and that heartbreak only increases as the 16-minute story flows on. A great decision by Tokgöz was to mix up the film’s timeline, so we only fully grasp the pain our two characters on the bench are feeling towards the end. Plot points are left unsaid because the story and performances do such a good job of hinting or highlighting them that they never need to be hammered home to the audience. It shows tremendous confidence in her script, and she clearly has the right to it, as this is as faultless a film and story as you will find this year.

You can’t peel your eyes away from Naz Tokgöz’s performance throughout Krizalit, a quiet devastation that strikes you from the first few seconds right through to her release just before the credits. Full of emotion, she compels you as Deniz, a young woman going through the motions of life, yearning and mourning for a love that has been taken from her. You feel her pain, which is only compounded when we see how things were with her and Melissa; here, that vulnerability is mixed with the confidence of romance. You can see how all-in she is with Melisa and, at times, even defiant toward those who may judge them. It’s a sublime performance from the actress/writer/co-director/executive director (as if she wasn’t wearing enough production hats).

With Yasemin Cem as Melisa, we have someone who matches Tokgöz, but brings a different edge to her performance; instead of that defiance that Deniz has, Melisa is full of fear of being caught, of being judged. She cannot bear the thought of the repercussions of her love, and Cem physically conveys that so excellently that when Melisa has to be the stronger of the two (even if we know it is for the wrong reasons), she equally devastates you. She hates having to do what she does, but feels she has been given no option by her parents.

Speaking of which, Feryal Kilisli is great here as well as Melisa’s mother. A woman who is resolute in her opinions of which love is right until it’s too late, and all she is filled with is the deepest of regret that she cannot escape. Stuck in the same emotional pit as Deniz, but for entirely different reasons. Like the other performances and the film itself, it is tender and vulnerable.

An interesting choice made here is that when we are thrown into a flashback of Deniz and Melisa, Tokgöz and Ibarra opt for a softer, at times warmer visual style in Krizalit—showing us how optimistic and happy the two were in their little bubble together. A bubble that would never truly last in their current situation. Even though the camera moves differently in Deniz’s happier memory palace, Mete Gültiken’s camera roams, free, like a couple. Open and happy with the world.

When we are in the present with Deniz and Melisa’s mother, we are presented with a colder visual: blues seep onto the screen as Deniz’s happiness is taken from her. The camera becomes far more static, restricted in its movements to show how constricted and unhappy Deniz is in the present. A wonderful, simple technique, but one that tells you everything about our protagonist’s emotional state without having to utter a word.

Full of heartbreaking emotion, you cannot come out of Krizalit without being thoroughly impressed. Tokgöz is a voice that we should be hearing an awful lot from in the future. For now, experience this poignant, magnificent short film.

★★★★★

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