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As I noted in my original post for this blog, I find cinema
to reflect society in uncanny ways almost to the point that it is a clear
refabrication of our own reality. While
many films do not do this in a semiotic sense, given their fantastical elements
or historical distancing, some films manage to merge this line so perfectly
that the boundaries of factual reality and fictive narrative become blurry, and
this is certainly the case for Abbas Kiarostami’s cinematic tour de force Close-Up. A hybrid between a documented account of a
poor Iranian attempting to pass as a famous director and an imagined revisiting
with the imposter some years later leads to something heartbreakingly real
about the nature of forgiveness, guilt and self-identity in a politically
disparate country that cares little for the impoverished and misdirected. Despite being released in 1990, Close-Up has
a timeless nature about it that makes it instantly accessible to even the most
burgeoning of moviegoer, a notion that is only intensified by the stagnant, yet
masterfully composed cinematography, which is delivered most eloquently in the quite
lengthy shot of an aerosol can rolling down a hill. It is easy to call the film thought
provoking, but it is something much greater than that and is incredibly contemplative
and philosophically engaging.
Close-up, as noted in the introduction, is about a case of
identity fraud which occurred involving a man of rather low class impersonating
the great Iranian director Mohsen Makhmalbaf.
The incident begins when the Hossain Sabzian lying to a woman about his
identity while riding on a public bus. Her
suspicions are quickly dismissed as the elderly woman notices Hossain reading a
copy of Mokhmalbaf’s screenplay for The Cyclist. Hossain/Mohsen furthers his credibility by
claiming that he rides on public transportation as a means to find material for
his upcoming films. Enthralled by the interest
of such a respectable director, the old woman invites Hossain/Mohsen to return
to her house and meet her family. Over a
length of time, Hossain/Mohsen continually visits the family and claims to be
interested in using their home in his next film and at one point convinces the
family to give him a large sum of money for his next project. It is not until one of the young male members
of the family discovers a article about Makhmalbaf receiving an award recently,
that the man attempting to pass as the famous director is not, in fact, who he
says to be, particularly considering that he is much older than the director
looks in the picture. The film intercuts
these encounters with courtroom footage involving the family criticizing Hossain
for his behaviors, although through long confessionals it becomes quite clear
that Hossain is not in a great state mentally, considering after a large amount
of evidence against him, he still claims to be the director. The film closes with an encounter between a
journalist friend of the suspicious family member and his imposter, in a
gutwrenchingly real scene of fandom and obsession, which involves taking photos
of the Hossain for an article outing his lies.
At this point, it seems like a great melding of fictive ideas and factual
statements, but what makes Kiarostami’s film that much more brilliant is that
the cast members throughout the film are indeed played by their real-life
counterparts, merging the factual and fictional into a new level of uncertainty.
It is this choice by Kiarostami to use the actual persons of
the historic event that makes it such a uniquely honest film. If it were intended to be a fictional
rethinking or a political diatribe the director could have easily hired actors
to ham up or file down the performances to fit his agenda. Set up in such a way, as is the case with
Close-Up, it instead becomes an extension of documentary filmmaking that while
forced, nonetheless, manages to mirror reality quite magnificently. Furthermore, the questions of human identity that
are interspersed throughout the film become that much more meaningful, when we
as viewers find ourselves relating to the characters on a very real level,
considering…well, the realness of each individual. It also questions what role an artist plays
in documenting an event, while the scene involving the rolling aerosol can may
seem like a artistic insertion of modernist zeal, it allows viewers and even
the journalist who kicks the can to question what mark they are making in such
an event, and how clear such markings have on the outcome as a whole. The addition of such a seemingly mundane
scene, arguably proves to become one of the most important scenes in the
film. The most important part of the
film, however, is its dealings with human nature and the ability to forgive. The simple fact that Kiarostami was able to
gather all the individuals again for such a reunion is powerful enough, but to
get them to verbalize their desires for forgiveness and understanding on film
is a statement to the possibility of society on a global scale. It is clear why this film was such a global success;
it is definitively one of the most positive outlooks into our future ever made
I could tell you that buying this film is necessary simply
because it is in The Criterion Collection, however, it is far greater than that
and is probably one of the films that is necessary to own, if you were limited
to only a small selection of films. It
is by far one of the best films I have watched this year, and ever for that
matter.
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