Poulet Aux Prunes

  • November 6, 2013 / 18:30
  • November 10, 2013 / 18:00

Director: Vincent Paronnaud, Marjane Satrapi
Cast: Mathieu Amalric, Edouard Baer, Maria de Medeiros
France, Germany, Belgium, 93’, 2011, color
French, English with Turkish subtitles


Teheran, 1958. Since his beloved violin was broken, Nasser Ali Khan, one of the most renowned musicians of his day, has lost all taste for life. Finding no instrument worthy of replacing it, he decides to confine himself to bed to await death. As he hopes for its arrival, he plunges into deep reveries, with dreams as melancholic as they are joyous, taking him back to his youth and even to a conversation with Azrael, the Angel of Death, who reveals the future of his children... As pieces of the puzzle gradually fit together, the poignant secret of his life comes to light: a wonderful story of love, which inspired his genius and his music...

A Separation

A Separation

The Reader

The Reader

Poulet Aux Prunes

Poulet Aux Prunes

Beyond the Hills

Beyond the Hills

Where Do We Go Now?

Where Do We Go Now?

I Loved You So

I Loved You So

Hands Up

Hands Up

Louise Wimmer

Louise Wimmer

Trailer

Poulet Aux Prunes

Soothsayer Serenades I Two-handed by Kübra Uzun

Soothsayer Serenades I Two-handed by Kübra Uzun

Today we are thrilled to present the first playlist of Amrita Hepi’s Soothsayer Serenades series as part of the Notes for Tomorrow exhibition. The playlist titled Two-handed is presented by Kübra Uzun on Pera Museum’s Spotify account.

Paris Without End (1959-1965)

Paris Without End (1959-1965)

In the 60s, Alberto Giacometti paid homage to Paris, the city where he lived, by drawing its streets, cafés, and more private places like his studio and the apartment of his wife, Annette. These drawings would make up his last book, Paris sans fin (Paris Without End). 

Midnight Stories: The Soul <br> Aşkın Güngör

Midnight Stories: The Soul
Aşkın Güngör

The wind blows, rubbing against my legs made of layers of metal and wires, swaying the leaves of grass that have shot up from the cracks in the tarmac, and going off to the windows that look like the eyes of dead children in the wrecked buildings that seem to be everywhere as far as the eye can see.