I forgot to include in my review a funny scene in "3 Idiots" that 
reminded me of my paper thin knowledge of Turkish. When the 
pedantic villain of the movie, the dean of the engineering school, 
demands that the hero define a machine, he replies it is something 
that performs a labor-saving task for human beings. The villain 
bawls him out, giving him a prolix definition that took 500 words 
for what the hero stated in 10 or so. The dean then orders him out 
of the classroom. But just before he reaches the door, the hero 
tells him that he first has to get his ...., a 500 word 
description of something. When the puzzled dean asks him what he 
is talking about, the hero tells him a "book", which I caught in 
Hindi as "kitap". It turns out that the Hindi word is kitab, very 
closely related to the Turkish word "kitap" for book. The two 
languages share other words, like "peynir", or cheese. This is 
obviously a legacy of Mughal rule.

Additionally, the Indians and the Turks share an onerous 
university exam system as well, although I am not sure it leads to 
as many suicides as it does in India. Here's my review of "The 
Exam" (Sinav), a Turkish film very much in the same spirit as "3 
Idiots." Like "3 Idiots", it involves stealing the answers to an 
exam, a plot device I should add that can be found in "Animal 
House" as well:

"Sinav" is a comedy that revolves around the efforts of a group of 
five underachieving high school seniors and friends to steal the 
onerous college entrance exams that are the Turkish version of the 
American SAT’s. While there are plenty of laughs in this movie, 
there is also a serious questioning of the need for a test that 
condemns those who fail it to a life of economic uncertainty. This 
Youtube music video clip drawn from scenes in “Sınav” likens high 
school students facing the exam to race horses competing with each 
other. As they say, “They shoot race horses, don’t they.”

The first few minutes of “Sınav” consist of nightmares that the 
five students have as the pressure to pass the exams mount in the 
final months of their senior year. One is shown in a police 
station being slapped around by cops who ask questions like “In 
what year did the battle of Lopanto take place?” or “How can you 
use the Pythagorean Theorem to calculate the hypotenuse of a right 
triangle?” When he fails to come up with the answer, they pummel him.

At a student assembly, they meet one their high school’s most 
famous graduates, a hugely successful businessman named Levent 
Lemi (Okan Bayülgen), who got the nickname “No Arms” when he was a 
student. He came up with the brilliant idea to fake arm injuries 
so that he could wear a cast with crib notes interspersed 
throughout the signatures during the exam that escaped notice from 
the Principal. Even after it became common knowledge that Lemi 
cheated, that did not prevent the Principal from welcoming him as 
a homecoming hero. With the generous contributions he has made to 
the school, it would be foolish to ostracize him, especially when 
the Principal himself is using the school’s backrooms for his own 
shady business deals.

The climax of the film involves the five students using cell 
phones to coordinate a burglary in the school that amounts to a 
send-up of films like “Oceans Eleven.” Their mastermind is Uluç 
(Volkan Demirok), a short, chubby and baby-faced actor with a real 
flair for comedy. When his four confederates discover that the 
music teacher is in the faculty room where the tests are stashed, 
Uluç calls on his cell phone and convinces her that he is a 
recording executive who wants her to come down immediately to his 
studios to sign a contract. Their dialog is far wittier than 
anything I have heard in a Hollywood movie since “Some Like it Hot”.

As should be obvious from this report in the June 28, 2006 
Financial Times, “Sınav” is dealing with serious issues while 
being entertaining:

     For the past couple of weeks, hundreds of thousands of 
Turkish children have been sitting school-leaving examinations, 
distracted by the usual baking summer heat, football on the 
television and the difficulty of recalling what they have learned, 
mostly by rote, in the classroom.

     It is, as in other countries, a rite of passage. But in 
Turkey it has a special significance, given the importance that 
the state places on education – for historical and ideological 
reasons as much as for the creation of a developed nation.

     Some of this year’s children will be either bright enough or 
rich enough to secure a place at one of the country’s 76 state or 
private universities or at its leading science and technical schools.

     Others will make up for the shortcomings of their state 
education by attending a dershane, a cramming school that prepares 
students for university entrance examinations.

     For the majority, however, there is no guarantee of a 
university education or a job. With up to 20m children in the 
system at any one time, state education in Turkey is overcrowded, 
under-funded, and uninspiring.

     This is a serious shortcoming in the development of Turkey, 
and also a contradiction. The state is present in every community 
in this big, mountainous and difficult-to-navigate country in two 
ways – a police station and a school.

     Yet, until two years ago, the budget for Turkey’s armed 
forces (run by the ministry of national defence) was higher than 
its education budget (run by the ministry of national education).

     Even if the vast majority of Turkish children get an 
education, it is often rudimentary, especially in remote areas in 
the east and south-east. School buildings are often drab, lacking 
technological facilities and sports fields. Teachers are in short 
supply.

     It was only in 1997 that a compulsory eight-year basic 
education was introduced. Even now, the average Turkish child 
spends only four-and-a-half years in school, according to Enver 
Yucel, an entrepreneur in the booming private education sector. 
The average German child spends 13 years in school, he notes.

     “We did something wrong in Turkey,” Mr Yucel says. “We spent 
our budget in the wrong way. Turkey cannot say its priority is 
education with comparisons like these. Our politicians have never 
given it enough attention, just short-term solutions.

One can only add that given Turkey’s headlong rush to spend an 
inordinate amount of money on the military, adopt neoliberal 
institutions, and substitute Islamic charity for traditionally 
state-sponsored institutions such as the public schools, things 
are likely to get worse before they get better.

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