Deniz Gamze Ergüven’s debut feature, Mustang (2015), begins with a line that could double as a warning:
“Everything changed in the blink of an eye. One minute we were quiet. The next we all danced.”
Spoken by Lale, the youngest of five orphaned sisters, it ushers us into a seaside idyll that curdles almost instantly. A summer game of chicken—girls on boys’ shoulders, splashing in the surf—becomes, through the eyes of a neighbor, an obscene spectacle. Back home, the grandmother lines up her granddaughters for punishment, the girls’ laughter replaced by shame. She lashes out, declaring, “My granddaughters, pleasuring themselves on boys’ necks.” What was innocent horseplay is swiftly rebranded as scandal, and soon the entire village is whispering about purity and shame.
The girls are brought up under the watchful eye of their grandmother and their domineering uncle, Erol. Bit by bit, the family home is stripped of warmth and remade into a prison. Phones and computers are confiscated. Closets fill with long, shapeless dresses in dull shades of brown. Virginity is obsessed over and over. The sisters are trained in cooking, mattress-stuffing, and an endless cycle of domestic chores.
As Lale puts it, the house becomes a ‘wife factory’. The story is anchored in Lale’s perspective, the most independent and outspoken of the five.
The house, once a physical prison, soon gives way to a more insidious captivity: marriage. One by one, the sisters are steered toward loveless unions, each departure marked by a different shade of dread, resignation, or quiet rebellion—and by the slow, painful unraveling of their bond.
Mustang is not groundbreaking in its premise. What makes it extraordinary is the way Ergüven, with co-writer Alice Winocour, resists turning the sisters into symbols. The film’s achievement lies in its nuanced criticism of a society that uses a sexualization filter to see everything women do. It also ironically looks at the sanctioned community ceremonies to celebrate female sexuality. The complex themes could’ve felt heavy handed in lesser hands.
Ergüven initially frames the sisters tightly to insist on their bond—like they were a single entity. Only Lale, as narrator, stands apart. Gradually, though, their individual traits come into focus. The eldest, Sonay, refuses to serve tea to a suitor, insisting she will marry her boyfriend. Her younger sister Selma is immediately pushed into her place, as if brides could be swapped on an assembly line. That point onwards, cracks in the sisterly bond widen. The way each of them reacts to it reflects on the individual character’s nature/complexities.
One of the film’s most unsettling moments comes on Selma’s wedding night, when she is rushed to a hospital because her husband cannot produce the “proof” of her virginity—a bloodstained sheet. As a doctor examines her, Selma’s weary, bewildered expression says everything about the cruel, distorted notion of purity that society demands from women.
Still, Ergüven and Winocour keep the story anchored in Lale’s perspective, tracing how the house loses its vitality as each sister is forced to leave. The writing captures the growing emotional weight on the younger girls as their once-solid bond begins to unravel. In these sections, Mustang slips into bleak drama, the atmosphere turning increasingly claustrophobic. Yet the tension eventually gives way to release, with Lale’s daring escape in the third act offering a sharp note of catharsis.
Another notable strength of the script is the way it humanizes the older woman. The grandmother and aunts may enforce the same rigid codes of tradition, yet they also reveal moments of empathy toward the girls. One such moment comes when the sisters sneak out to watch a soccer match, and the generational bond feels unexpectedly tender.
The film isn’t without its flaws, some of which can be traced to Ergüven’s inexperience as a first-time director. The girls’ rebellious streaks, for instance, are never fully explained. If they were raised in such a restrictive environment, where did Sonay—or even Lale—find the spark to resist? The sisters also appear more polished and urban than girls from a remote Black Sea village might, a detail that hasn’t gone unnoticed; Turkish viewers have criticized the inauthenticity of their dialect.
Despite these little imperfections, Mustang has us rooting for the girls. When director Ergüven accelerates the drama with Lale’s escape from the repugnant cultural environment, we admire her pursuit for freedom. Yes, the last sequences make Mustang less of a cultural critique. But they don’t feel contrived. The girls’ performances and the naturalistic sisterly bond they invoke lend strength to the narrative. Except Iscan, who plays Ece, none of the other girls are experienced. But how they create an environment of liveliness and trust is nothing short of amazing!
For all its minor imperfections, the film wins us over because we’re invested in the sisters from beginning to end. When Ergüven quickens the pace with Lale’s escape from an oppressive world, her fight for freedom feels both stirring and deserved. The closing sequences may soften the film’s cultural critique, but they never ring false. Much of the film’s power lies in the performances. Aside from Ilayda Akdoğan (Ece), none of the young actresses had prior experience, yet together they create a bond so natural and alive. Their sisterhood gives the story its heartbeat.
Mustang (97 minutes) is a compelling and nuanced portrait of how a restrictive culture polices and sexualizes young women. With its luminous visual design and raw, pulsating performances, the film delivers a cinematic experience that feels both urgent and unforgettable.
Rating: 4/5
An absolutely beautifully expressed review.
Had heard much about the film… Glad I came read this review. Need to go watch it now.