CLOSE-UP (Kiarostami, 1990)
Criterion Collection, Blu-ray, Release Date June 22, 2010
Review by Christopher S. Long
One of the more ridiculous claims of
direct cinema was that truth could best be accessed by minimizing the
role of the filmmaker as much as possible. To be fair, the claim was
made more often by theorists and certain ardent acolytes than by the
major direct cinema filmmakers. Frederick Wiseman, for instance,
sometimes called his films “reality fictions.” But when direct
cinema was the ruling paradigm in documentary filmmaking, objectivity
was seen by many as the very essence of nonfiction cinema. The rise
of reflexive and performative documentaries over the last several
decades has greatly undermined such claims, but the strange notion
that a good documentarian isn't biased still clings to life in some
darker corners.
In “Close-up” (1990), Abbas
Kiarostami makes no pretense at objectivity. He doesn’t even claim
to be making a documentary though his use of “documentary-like”
techniques (interviews, “live” filming, etc.) he encourages a
reading of his film as something more than just a pure fiction
feature. Call it a docudrama if you want, though I’m not really
sure what the difference is between that and a fiction film that
claims to be “based on a true story.” The terminology isn’t
trivial. Viewers receive films differently based on their recognition
of a movie as real or imagined, but the categories are too imprecise
to describe this fascinating hybrid film. Maybe we should play it
safe and just call it by its proper name: “Close-up.”
In 1989, Kiarostami read a magazine
article about a man who impersonated Iranian filmmaker Mohsen
Makhmalbaf. The working-class drifter had somehow conned a middle
class family (the Ahankhahs) in Tehran into believing he was the
famous director, promising to cast them in his next film. Though his
ruse only lasted a few days, he went so far as to conduct rehearsals
at their house before his arrest. Kiarostami, collaborating in part
with the real Makhmalbaf, hurriedly assembled a crew and rushed to
interview the man in question, Hossein Sabzian, who was in prison
awaiting trial.
From the very start, Kiarostami
emphasizes his manipulative role as a filmmaker. While interviewing
Sabzian in prison, he promises to get the trial date moved up, not so
much to assist the accused as to accommodate his shooting schedule.
And when Kiarostami interviews the Ahankhah family in their home, he
does little to assuage their suspicious that he, like everyone else
involved so far, is looking to profit from their story.
This includes the reporter, Hassan
Farazmand, who originally broke the story and kicks off the movie in
a scene recreated by Kiarostami. Riding in a cab to the Ahankhah
household along with two somewhat bored police officers, the excited
Farazmand tells the cabbie that he thinks this story is going to be a
real “Oriana Fallaci” moment for him, a reference to the
then-famous Italian reporter who had scored many big interviews.
All of the actors play themselves but
“play” is the key word because they are certainly actors who
style their performances for the camera. While this is obviously true
in the recreated scenes, this is just as apparent when Kiarostami
films Sabzian’s trial, the real trial, yet also a scene staged for
the film. The director not only succeeded in getting the trial moved
up and in securing special permission from the judge to film it, he
actively participates in the interrogation of Sabzian, steering his
testimony at several critical junctures. Indeed (though this is not
acknowledged in the film), Kiarostami influenced the judge to push
the family to drop charges against the defendant, something they
apparently were reluctant to do. But it made for a better story. So
much for objectivity.
Kiarostami’s blending of fiction and
nonfiction techniques produces a film that can be peeled back layer
by layer, revealing something new at each level. Paradoxically (or
maybe not) it is the fully fictional scenes that most underscore the
documentary power of the camera. When the reporter and the police
arrive at the Ahankhah home, they enter, but the camera stays outside
with the cab driver (Houshang Shamai) as he kills time, kicking at
leaves and playing with an empty canister. He would have no place in
the “official” account of Sabzian’s story and likely would not
have been filmed in a straight-up documentary, but by staging the
scene Kiarostami is able to emphasis whatever elements he considers
most relevant without the limitation of whatever actuality footage a
documentary crew would have been able to capture in real time. And
it’s fair to ask which scenes are more “objective” -
recreations in which past events are reconstructed, or the trial when
the filmmaker’s presence indisputably alters the final outcome.
None of this gamesmanship would matter
if not for the film’s enigmatic protagonist. Sabzian, who never
really got anything out of his con aside from the opportunity to be
the big man on campus for a few days, is a dreamer and an obsessive
cinephile who desperately wanted to be involved in movies. Even if he
was using him to get a good film out of it, Kiarostami gives him the
chance. And damned if Sabzian isn’t a fine actor, whether playing
himself or playing himself while playing Makhmalbaf in recreated
scenes (layers and layers here).
Tiptoeing the line between fiction and
non-fiction also gives Kiarostami a unique opportunity to fret over
the powerful role of cinema in society, and not just in regards to
his own interfering presence. I am absolutely stunned that the family
would agree to act in recreations alongside the man they accused of
conning them. Mrs. Ahankhah goes so far as to sit next to Sabzian on
a bus and act out their initial meeting when he made the impulsive
decision to sell himself as Makhmalbaf. In Iran, as in America, it
seems that some people are willing to do just about anything to get
on camera. Kiarostami’s direct implication here is that the
Ahankhah family was trying to use Sabzian as much as he was using
them. As it turns out, they all got what they wanted: the chance to
be in a movie.
“Close-up” is both easily
accessible (none of those 10-minute shots of people driving that
frustrate Roger Ebert so much) and extraordinarily complex.
Kiarostami cites it as his favorite of his films. I won't argue.
Video:
The film is presented in its original
1.33:1 aspect ratio. The trial scenes were shot in 16mm and the rest
of the film in 35mm so there’s obviously some variation in image
quality between the two. The courtroom footage looks a bit bleached
out but that is doubtless endemic to the source print. “Close-up”
was previously released by Facets on a respectable interlaced SD
transfer in 2002 and it seemed perfectly serviceable at the time, but
this 1080P is, as you would expect, an improvement in every way. The
source print here seems to be much stronger and the restored transfer
is very sharp overall with a fine grain visible in the 35mm and,
obviously, a rougher grain in the 16mm scenes.
The high-def transfer is very sharp
with a soft, naturalistic color palette.
Audio:
The film is presented with an LPCM Mono
track. The sound design is fairly straightforward so there’s not a
lot to say here seeing as how I couldn’t really tell you whether or
not the Farsi dialogue is all clearly rendered, but I don't notice
any distortion. The sound drops out in the final scene, but this was
an intentional artistic choice by Kiarostami rather than an on-set
malfunction as is claimed in the film. More layers. Kiarostami
discusses this in his interview included as an extra. Optional
English subtitles support the Farsi audio.
Extras:
Criterion has more than done justice to
Kiarostami’s wonderful film.
First up is the commentary track by
critic Jonathan Rosenbaum and author/teacher/filmmaker Mehrnaz
Saeed-Vafa, both based in Chicago. Rosenbaum has long been one of
Kiarostami’s most eloquent Anglophone champions. Saeed-Vafa and
Rosenbaum co-wrote the book “Abbas Kiarostami” which was, I
believe (don’t take my word for it though), the first
English-language book about the director. Their expertise and their
admiration for the film are readily apparent. They opt for a more
contextual discussion rather than a close textual analysis though
they provide both at times. I only listen to a handful of
commentaries from start to finish, and this is one of them.
Next, Criterion has included “The
Traveler” (1974, 73 min.), a film which according to the DVD menu
text Kiarostami “considers to be his first feature.” (Kiarostami
had previously released “Experience” (1973) which clocks in at 60
minutes.) The film about a boy bound and determined to go to a soccer
game at any cost is actually cited by Sabzian in “Close-up” as
one of his favorites: “I am the child from ‘The Traveler’ who
is left behind.”
“‘Close-up’ Long Shot” (43
min.) is a fascinating follow-up documentary directed in 1996 by
Mahmoud Chokrollahi. The documentary consists of a lengthy interview
with Sabzian and shorter interviews with some of his neighbors. It’s
quite an eye opener as Sabzian is not exactly thriving after
“Close-up.” Perhaps still playing the role of Sabzian, he styles
himself as a victim of the disease of cinephilia, one that has
destroyed his life (Ed. Note: I hear ya, brother) while still
providing it meaning and structure. This makes a strange companion
piece to the creepy “Cinemania” (2002). According to Geoffrey
Cheshire in the liner notes, Kiarostami was horrified when he saw
this documentary. This is simply an amazing extra.
The disc also includes a 2009 interview
(27 min.) with Kiarostami shot in Marrakech while the director was
serving as president of the Marrakech Film festival jury. There’s a
lot of great information included here that you might not find in
other sources, such as the aforementioned discussion of the use of
sound in the film’s final scene.
The final feature is “A Walk With
Kiarostami” (31 min.) directed by Iranian film professor Jamsheed
Akrami (who also directed the 1990 documentary “Friendly
Persuasion: Iranian Cinema After the 1979 Revolution.”) Shot in
1991 in Galway, Ireland, the feature lives up to its title. Akrami
walks with Kiarostami as the director takes a series of nature
photos. The conversation is relatively general in nature (a bit
superficial really), touching on photography, philosophy, etc., and
it’s not as revealing as the other features here, but it’s still
interesting.
The 12-page insert booklet includes an
essay by critic and filmmaker Godfrey Cheshire.
Final Thoughts:
“Close-up” was a festival
breakthrough both for Kiarostami and for post-revolutionary Iranian
cinema which became the happening national film movement of the '90s
on the international circuit. “Close-up” was too much of a
surprise hit to garner major awards, but it blazed the trail for “A
Taste of Cherry” to take the Palme d’Or in 1997 and also shaped
international critical reception of filmmakers like Makhmalbaf and
the equally great Jafar Panahi.
I wrote the bulk of this review back in
2010 when I was already dazzled by “Close-up.” In 2016, with several more
years to reflect on it and re-watch it while also getting to know
even more of Kiarostami's filmography, I now not only consider it the
director's best film, but one of the best films I have ever seen.
Jean-Luc Godard once described Robert Bresson's masterpiece “Au
hasard Balthazar” (1966) as “the world in an hour-and-a-half.”
The same can easily be said for “Close-up.” It certainly
showcases the Kiarostami hallmarks in an hour-and-half:
inventiveness, clarity of vision curiosity, and, above all,
compassion.
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