Oksal Pekmezoglu

Oksal Pekmezoglu, born in Istanbul back in 1938, spent his life tangled up in the heart of Turkish cinema. The guy’s name may not ring bells for everyone these days, but, man, if you’ve ever stumbled onto one of those old Turkish melodramas, there’s a solid chance his fingerprints are all over it. He directed and wrote a bunch, but if you had to pick out the highlights, you’d probably land on “Aşkim ve Günahim” from ‘63. That one’s pure, vintage heartbreak—think smoky Istanbul alleys and doomed lovers, the kind of thing that sticks with you. Then there’s “Üç Kardestiler” in ’81, which, honestly, is a whole different beast. Family drama, secrets, brotherly rivalry—the works. And “Küçük Eller” from ’83, he sort of softened up a bit, dealing with innocence and loss, but still with that same cinematic punch. He wasn’t just some faceless guy behind the camera, either. Married to Ayla Kaya, he managed to juggle family life and the madness of film sets, which, let’s be real, is no small feat. Istanbul stayed his home base all his life, from those early black-and-white film days to his last breath on January 6, 2004. If you dig into the credits of Turkish film from the ‘60s through the ‘80s, his name pops up more times than you’d expect. He was one of those people who helped shape the whole vibe of Turkish movies back then—gritty, heartfelt, a little melodramatic, and totally impossible to ignore.