Close-Up (1990)More than a mirror, the movies can be a reflection of ourselves, and truth becomes a matter of perspective. This thought is even expressed by Hossain Sabzian--while assuming the identity of filmmaker Mohsen Makhmalbaf--when he comments that "nature is a mirror in which we can study ourselves" to his host and future plaintiff of the Ahankhah family in a moment of ironic sagacity. The irony here is perhaps evidenced in that I have not differentiated the "characters" from the actors; this is because Close-Up (1990) is effectively a reenactment not just of a real event, but featuring the very same participants playing themselves, creating a seemingly impossible bridge between fact and fiction, while also providing compelling commentary about the nature of identity and film.
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Close-Up is about as "meta" of a film as one can get, presented in a documentary style, written, directed, and edited by Iranian filmmaker Abbas Kiarostami. The fact that it is based on real events does not detract from the core themes explored by the film, and manifest in its subject, Mr. Sabzian. And while the film is portrayed in a cinema-verite style, the reenactment keeps the pace, content, and tone fresh and exciting throughout. Elements of later works by Kiarostami can be previewed in Close-Up, such as a predilection toward filming people through the windshields of cars as they drive and converse. Even this seemingly innocuous flourish is leads into another consistent trait in the filmmaker's work: the idea that the definition between "real" and "fake" is more than just muddy--it is not even always important, and viewing people "through the looking glass" of a windshield is just another way to see the "reflection" of reality. The charges filed against Sabzian by the Ahankhah family are twofold as well: "fraud" and "attempted fraud"; just what would be the difference between these two, when the element which serves as evidence is that Sabzian had misrepresented himself as Mohsen Makhmalbaf, a filmmaker Sabzian later claims to admire greatly. Duality is a key theme in Close-Up; there is the side of us we present to the world, and the inner self. I hesitate to say "real self", because--as Close-Up implies--the nature of what is real is only important when the veil of illusion is pulled away...and it only leaves disappointment behind, anyway.
Close-Up is a confidence game of the audience, while simultaneously being a testimony of this curious, perhaps otherwise barely interesting, moment in history. Kiarostami does what Sabzian does: he creates a scenario designed to lure us into accepting what is presented as true, when we know that it is a reenactment; casting the original participant in this human drama sells it all the better. But Kiarostami (his "fictional", faceless counterpart or the real one, who can say) seems to advocate for Sabzian at times, and present his potential as a conman objectively at others. Sabzian claims to be entranced by film, that his life as a poor divorcee working in a print shop leaves him unsatisfied and hungry every day. It is happenstance that he meets Mrs. Ahankhah on the bus, when they talk about the screenplay by Makhmalbaf he is reading, and seemingly unconsciously claims that he wrote it. Sabzian recognizes that this assumption of his hero's persona affords him both a new vivacity for life, but also a sense of being treated better than he was. In fairness, the Ahankhah men come across as resentful (even vindictive) at having been fooled by the poor man they might have otherwise turned their noses up at. And while the men insinuate that Sabzian was "casing" their house for a robbery, it is a charge which is not brought against him. All the same, they do conspire with a reporter named Farazmand to have Sabzian arrested. In fact, our background as to the exciting arrest comes early, when we meet Farazmand taking a cab to the Ahankhah household--I didn't even notice the two soldiers in the back seat until some minutes in--and when they arrive, we spend a good deal of time with the cabbie, who waits and rolls a discarded can down the road. Even in these seemingly unimportant details and moments, one can place them as pieces in the bigger "puzzle" of Kiarostami's film. Following the can rolling down the hill, Farazmand goes from door to door, frantically trying to borrow a tape recorder, eventually kicking the can at the end. If one were to read into it, one might make a connection between the press peddling exploitative "trash" and the reporter being like the can which was until just before relegated to the garbage. It's a cynical assessment--and ironic, given this was likely how Kiarostami found out about Sabzian--but Kiarostami's films carry a kind of quiet poetry to express a cultural critique otherwise not apt to be expressed in post-revolution Iran. There does seem to be a level of satire about what is expressed as "true" in the media, how easy it is to manipulate the audience with propaganda, and how quick people are to rewrite history--even their own--when given the chance to stamp it with the mark of permanence in an archival form like a documentary; life's more exciting when it's "glossed up".
When Kiarostami (the character) confronts the magistrate about filming the trial of Sabzian, the judge asks him why he should allow it, as there are numerous other trials which would be surely more interesting. The evidence comes in how Kiarostami treats Sabzian with his camera, and how Sabzian is a mirror for the audience. Sabzian describes the importance of films in his life, which he describes as helping to convey his "suffering". Even the most highbrow of films are all a form of escapism; not that the world in a film is unfamiliar, but it--and all of the plots and characters--are still always a fabrication. Sabzian talks of how his intention was not to defraud the Ahankhahs, but that he was more interested in film and art, and adopted the role of a director as an actor; in a way, his performance becomes something of a grand audition for his lead in Close-Up. There is a cyclical irony here in that the filmmaker (Kiarostami) is now watching the man who watched the films which propelled him to pretend to be a filmmaker. (Interestingly, the movie of Mahkmalbaf's which Sabzian refers to is called "The Cyclist", and a bicycle's wheel also goes round and round.) But Sabzian knows little about the technical side of film--he looks quizzical when Kiarostami describes the lenses with which he will be filming the trial--yet is occasionally given to moments of deep insight and reflection, quoting Tolstoy to cement the image of him as an impassioned fan of art. Kiarostami nearly serves as the court-appointed advocate for Sabzian, trying to expedite the trial (for the sake of the film) and offering to help him in the filming of his testimony to clarify statements he may not understand; perhaps "Kiarostami" has fallen sway to the humbly charming fellow's wiles. But is Sabzian's love of cinema just a convenient excuse for him to exploit a well-off family and garner sympathy, to satisfy his feelings of being unimportant, or a bizarre brand of performance art?
And are these are mutually exclusive? One of the most engaging elements of Close-Up is in how Sabzian (as well as others) are able to conjure up images in the mind via their testimonies, recalling events with clarity and affording a clear mental picture; sometimes, this is also in the form of a flashback, and sometimes by the strength of the description alone. Through his testimony, Sabzian reveals much about himself, even if unintentionally, with revelations and disclosure volleying our opinion back and forth between sympathy and scorn like a shuttlecock. And since the story is set largely in a courtroom, it is presented in such a way that promotes the idea that the audience sits in on judgment of Sabzian for themselves. And when all is said and done, there is a telling scene at the end where Kiarostami secretly records Sabzian and the real Makhmalbaf in person, ironic because Kiarostami is appearing to "exploit" Sabzian and his emotional response by virtue of what can only be presumed to be an "undisclosed documentation". But one remembers that the film is designed as a reenactment, and it was unlikely that this was recorded without consent. It is one final flourish to underscore the contrivance of media accounts of "truth", one last paradoxical reminder to not believe everything you're shown on TV or in the news...even if it's true.
Recommended for: Fans of a skillful deception of a documentary, blurring the lines of identity, and how adopting a persona can change your world. It's a clever tale which is made more fascinating when informed of the events reenacted in the film.
Close-Up is a confidence game of the audience, while simultaneously being a testimony of this curious, perhaps otherwise barely interesting, moment in history. Kiarostami does what Sabzian does: he creates a scenario designed to lure us into accepting what is presented as true, when we know that it is a reenactment; casting the original participant in this human drama sells it all the better. But Kiarostami (his "fictional", faceless counterpart or the real one, who can say) seems to advocate for Sabzian at times, and present his potential as a conman objectively at others. Sabzian claims to be entranced by film, that his life as a poor divorcee working in a print shop leaves him unsatisfied and hungry every day. It is happenstance that he meets Mrs. Ahankhah on the bus, when they talk about the screenplay by Makhmalbaf he is reading, and seemingly unconsciously claims that he wrote it. Sabzian recognizes that this assumption of his hero's persona affords him both a new vivacity for life, but also a sense of being treated better than he was. In fairness, the Ahankhah men come across as resentful (even vindictive) at having been fooled by the poor man they might have otherwise turned their noses up at. And while the men insinuate that Sabzian was "casing" their house for a robbery, it is a charge which is not brought against him. All the same, they do conspire with a reporter named Farazmand to have Sabzian arrested. In fact, our background as to the exciting arrest comes early, when we meet Farazmand taking a cab to the Ahankhah household--I didn't even notice the two soldiers in the back seat until some minutes in--and when they arrive, we spend a good deal of time with the cabbie, who waits and rolls a discarded can down the road. Even in these seemingly unimportant details and moments, one can place them as pieces in the bigger "puzzle" of Kiarostami's film. Following the can rolling down the hill, Farazmand goes from door to door, frantically trying to borrow a tape recorder, eventually kicking the can at the end. If one were to read into it, one might make a connection between the press peddling exploitative "trash" and the reporter being like the can which was until just before relegated to the garbage. It's a cynical assessment--and ironic, given this was likely how Kiarostami found out about Sabzian--but Kiarostami's films carry a kind of quiet poetry to express a cultural critique otherwise not apt to be expressed in post-revolution Iran. There does seem to be a level of satire about what is expressed as "true" in the media, how easy it is to manipulate the audience with propaganda, and how quick people are to rewrite history--even their own--when given the chance to stamp it with the mark of permanence in an archival form like a documentary; life's more exciting when it's "glossed up".
When Kiarostami (the character) confronts the magistrate about filming the trial of Sabzian, the judge asks him why he should allow it, as there are numerous other trials which would be surely more interesting. The evidence comes in how Kiarostami treats Sabzian with his camera, and how Sabzian is a mirror for the audience. Sabzian describes the importance of films in his life, which he describes as helping to convey his "suffering". Even the most highbrow of films are all a form of escapism; not that the world in a film is unfamiliar, but it--and all of the plots and characters--are still always a fabrication. Sabzian talks of how his intention was not to defraud the Ahankhahs, but that he was more interested in film and art, and adopted the role of a director as an actor; in a way, his performance becomes something of a grand audition for his lead in Close-Up. There is a cyclical irony here in that the filmmaker (Kiarostami) is now watching the man who watched the films which propelled him to pretend to be a filmmaker. (Interestingly, the movie of Mahkmalbaf's which Sabzian refers to is called "The Cyclist", and a bicycle's wheel also goes round and round.) But Sabzian knows little about the technical side of film--he looks quizzical when Kiarostami describes the lenses with which he will be filming the trial--yet is occasionally given to moments of deep insight and reflection, quoting Tolstoy to cement the image of him as an impassioned fan of art. Kiarostami nearly serves as the court-appointed advocate for Sabzian, trying to expedite the trial (for the sake of the film) and offering to help him in the filming of his testimony to clarify statements he may not understand; perhaps "Kiarostami" has fallen sway to the humbly charming fellow's wiles. But is Sabzian's love of cinema just a convenient excuse for him to exploit a well-off family and garner sympathy, to satisfy his feelings of being unimportant, or a bizarre brand of performance art?
And are these are mutually exclusive? One of the most engaging elements of Close-Up is in how Sabzian (as well as others) are able to conjure up images in the mind via their testimonies, recalling events with clarity and affording a clear mental picture; sometimes, this is also in the form of a flashback, and sometimes by the strength of the description alone. Through his testimony, Sabzian reveals much about himself, even if unintentionally, with revelations and disclosure volleying our opinion back and forth between sympathy and scorn like a shuttlecock. And since the story is set largely in a courtroom, it is presented in such a way that promotes the idea that the audience sits in on judgment of Sabzian for themselves. And when all is said and done, there is a telling scene at the end where Kiarostami secretly records Sabzian and the real Makhmalbaf in person, ironic because Kiarostami is appearing to "exploit" Sabzian and his emotional response by virtue of what can only be presumed to be an "undisclosed documentation". But one remembers that the film is designed as a reenactment, and it was unlikely that this was recorded without consent. It is one final flourish to underscore the contrivance of media accounts of "truth", one last paradoxical reminder to not believe everything you're shown on TV or in the news...even if it's true.
Recommended for: Fans of a skillful deception of a documentary, blurring the lines of identity, and how adopting a persona can change your world. It's a clever tale which is made more fascinating when informed of the events reenacted in the film.