By Ruby Harvey of the LAGO Collective Team
In a world increasingly defined by borders - whether territorial, emotional, societal - The Edge of Heaven, directed by Fatih Akin, stands out as a cinematic inquiry into what it means to move across them. Following six interwoven stories, the narrative explores the complexity of belonging, with each story marked by coincidence, chance, the ebbs and flows of the movement of people, and the stories, culture, trauma and complexities that follow.
Fatih Akin, a filmmaker from Hamburg with Turkish roots, prefers not to be confined by labels like “German-Turkish filmmaker”. Instead, if he could avoid the hyphenated identity, he has said he would rather be known simply as the “German Martin Scorsese”. The rejection of the neat hyphenation of ethnic identities is reflective of Akin’s directness and non-conforming individuality, which infuses The Edge of Heaven, a kaleidoscope of six intertwining tales.
A mosaic of moral dilemmas and conflicting identities
What do we owe one another, as individuals, as families, as part of a community? Akin does not attempt to answer these questions directly, as the answer is not an easy one. Instead, he pushes the boundaries of moral complexities, by depicting the rawness and flaws of each of his characters. Their actions often result in tragic and transformative outcomes, showing that life is messy, and people do not often get what they deserve.
The film starts with Yeter Öztürk, a woman working in Bremen, Germany as a prostitute to send money to her 27-year old daughter living in Istanbul, Turkey. Here she meets retired widower Ali Aksu, a Turkish immigrant living in Bremen who offers Yeter money to live with him and stop working. She accepts this offer after receiving threats from two Turkish men. The story unravels and flows from here; the lens moving to Istanbul, centred on Ayten (Yeter’s daughter) and her life as part of a Turkish anti-government resistance group.
A mosaic of moral dilemmas, missed encounters and impossible love stories, the story unfolds against a backdrop of shifting geopolitics. Through the lives of its characters, the film grapples with broader questions of migration, how it shapes individuals and families, creates both division and connection, and leaves lasting marks on those who live between borders. A careful mediation on the globalised world, where people are increasingly uprooted and forced to create new lives, this film is about the ongoing negotiation and tension between two worlds and the painful - and sometimes impossible - act of reconciling them. For many, this process involves the slow, and painful dismantling of borders within themselves, in the constant redefining of who you are and where you belong.
Tensions between cultures are explored subtly and powerfully within the film. Duality of identity, spurred on by hostility towards migrants, and internal difficulties in reconciling multiple identities, is evoked through the film’s characters’ exploration of their relationships with their homeland, and the place they now call home. The film is set, in part, in post-war West Germany, a place which opened its doors to labourers to boost the economy in the post-war period, which underpins the narrative, exploring the dynamics between first- and second-generation Turkish-Germans, conflicted identity and their relationship to their countries. At the heart of the film is a complex dance with borders - those imposed by governments, societies and one’s own sense of self. Akin illuminates the multifaceted and insidious nature of borders as not just lines on a map; they are psychological, emotional, cultural and can be as painful to cross as they are to stay within. The characters in The Edge of Heaven are marked by their attempts to straddle these divisions, through navigating family expectations, cultural traditions, and the demands of assimilation, constantly confronting their place within a society that seems both home and foreign.
Tragic coincidences and messy serendipity
The Edge of Heaven is a film full of coincidence and chance, and this is one of its most striking features. All six tales and characters’ lives intersect in surprising and often tragic ways - through chance encounters, missed opportunities, and paths chosen that you wish could have been different. Akin is skilled at producing films that confront head-on bold ideas and themes, with brilliant performers, to create something very new and provoking. He approaches difficult themes with humility and subtlety. At points the near-misses and coincidence may seem unconvincing, implausible and definitely fragmented, yet it is testament to Akin’s ability to produce a skilfully woven together story. Beneath a series of connected moments, that are often out of our control, he hints at the globalised and historical forces that continue to govern our lives in a both subtle and visceral way.
The film shows that the path of our life is often not for us to decide, and relies upon forces often beyond our control. However, Akin does not romanticise the notion of fate or destiny, but rather highlights how these forces shape lives with a rhythmic inevitability, with all its flaws and inexplicable detours. The ebb and flow of movement - whether between countries or across cultural spheres - underscores the film’s central message, that life is messy, unpredictable and contradictory. Akin shows that migration is not linear or clear, and is full of dead ends, detours, and confusion. Within these detours however, strong and unexpected connections are often formed.
The opening and closing scenes frame the film, set during a Bayram - a Turkish national holiday - one that unites religious and secular groups. In the third part of the film, Nejat (Ali’s son) explains to Susane (Yeter’s girlfriends mother) that the meaning of the procession of young men they are watching is a celebration of the memory of Ibrahim’s sacrifice of his son Ishmael, a story meaningful to Christians, Muslims and Jews alike. The context of the modernising prospect of Turkey joining the EU, and the shadow of sharia law wove itself closely into the destinies of Turks and Germans in this period, like Akin, often musicians, academics, artists and intellectuals. The unity of secular and religious groups, regardless of their difference is at the moral centre of this tale of six interwoven stories. The Edge of Heaven is a gently crafted delve into fate, loss, borders and unexpected connections. In creating a laconic web of characters, it offers a profound and quiet reflection of a migrant experience, and the invisible threads that continue to attach the people that move to their homeland. While split between Germany and Turkey, Akin’s narrative bridges the gaps between the two countries and their cultures. It’s a film about migration, yes, but it is also about the deep and visceral need to belong and find a place that feels like home, even if that cannot be fully defined.
The Edge of Heaven shows us that life is a series of crossings, not just countries or cities but of the ever-shifting, constantly evolving boundaries of identity, culture and morality.