Fatih Akin’s entry to the San Sebastian Competition opens with the quote “This is what dreams are made of” in the loudest, most affectionate manner possible.
Truly, Madly, Deeply is a classic, and it always will be. In Juliet Stevenson and Alan Rickman‘s love, time dissolves — and we believe, for a moment, that love can reach beyond what is normal, like something born again. Director Fatih Akin arrives at San Sebastian with a kindred spirit — a story that bends towards the present, yet keeps the old, classical heart beating on the right path.
Farasha (Mariam Dawoud) is a modern Muslim woman who is content with her identity. At a graduation celebration, she meets Faris (Eren M. Güvercin) — and something stirs. Not a small thing, not a passing feeling. It is the kind of connection that brings back your happiest moment, the one you thought you’d forgotten. A love ignites in both of them — and with it, a question — is this fate drawing them together? But then, what if fate is only playing? What if it ends this life in sorrow, in ruin? In fantasy?
Akin has carved his name into cinema through many forms, trying his hand at every genre with a golden touch. Each film is a new breakthrough, a new proof of his range. Here, he shows us the other side we long to imagine — the quiet wavering of the soul. The film presents a vision in which the living transcend the dead, and the dead discover resolution through the living — a reciprocal dynamic that seeks to resolve grounded emotions. Throughout, the director ensures that the chemistry between actors Dawoud and M. Güvercin serves as narrative fuel. Here, there is also a touch of Arabic influence and tradition — from music to certain illustrations that evoke Akin’s personal stamp on the film.
And so the film asks: can love survive beyond life? Do the ones we’ve lost remain with us through memory alone? Is death the true end of an era? Do the dead hold their own hidden grief? And then, the greatest question of all — is death not the end, but only the beginning? The cinematography by Frank Griebe, combined with traditional Arabic music, creates a notable breakthrough — a pairing that functions effectively within the film.
San Sebastian’s Ghost Song represents an experimental meditation on love beyond life — examining how affection may flow effortlessly in the absence of physical form, offering an acquired opportunity for closure. This may represent Akin’s method of embedding the quotation “This is what dreams are made of” — the endless love that never fades. Or perhaps this may be regarded as Akin’s Cupid-inspired response to Inception. In other words, the film is a fantasy executed correctly — wherein meetings, memories, and misery intertwine, regret and desire collide, and reality and fantasy enter into debate. Yet it also conveys something minute yet maximally impactful — that what we perceive is merely a small dot within a larger portrait, brimming with mystery and uncertainty.
The 74th edition of San Sebastian Festival (SSIFF) is running on September 18-26, 2026.
