If the films of Abbas Kiarostami were to be defined as a reflection of
life as art, then how does one explain the Pirandellian interweaving of
reality and fiction in Through The Olive Trees (1994)? A director,
played by an actor (Mohamad Ali Keshavarz), speaks in aside about a
real-life devastating earthquake in rural Iran. The director has returned to
the village of Koker to work on a new film (an actual Kiarostami film)
entitled And Life Goes On... (1992). The young women have been
assembled for an open field casting call. A young woman named Tahereh
Ladanian is the first person to catch the director’s eye. The director
instructs his assistant, Mrs. Shiva (Zarifeh Shiva), to take down her name
and address. Later, we see that the young woman has been cast for the role
of a new bride named Tahereh.
Mrs. Shiva drives around the village on the following morning in
preparation for the day's shoot. She offers a ride to the schoolteacher (Astadouli
Babani), who had appeared as a teacher in the director’s earlier
film (another Kiarostami film), Where is My Friend's Home? (1987).
The schoolteacher is providing the chalk for the clapboard. She then goes to
Tahereh’s house, where the stubborn young woman insists on wearing an
inappropriate party dress for the shoot. Another stop near the makeshift
tent school, and two boys provide houseplants for the exterior shots of the
house.
The initial takes of the shoot prove to be a disaster. The leading man,
who stutters in the presence of women, is unable to deliver his lines. Mrs.
Shiva is asked to bring his replacement, an unemployed mason named Hossein
(Hossein Rezai), to the set. The director passes the time with the children
who have gathered behind the barricades. It is a scene that alludes to
Kiarostami's documentary, Homework (1989).
The arrival of Hossein proves to be an equally frustrating challenge for
the crew. Tahereh refuses to speak to Hossein, and the director sends the
actors home in order to assess the situation. Hossein reveals to the
director that he has repeatedly proposed to Tahereh, but her family refuses
to give their consent. If she would only provide a sign to show how she
truly felt about him. Returning to the set on the following day, Tahereh
agrees to deliver her lines on-camera, but refuses to acknowledge Hossein
off-camera. In between film takes, tea breaks, and reel changes, Hossein
seizes the opportunity to apologize for the behavior of his character, and
to profess his love to the unreceptive Tahereh. But will Hossein’s dogged
persistence win the affections of Tahereh off (or on) camera?
Long, static shots have come to define Kiarostami’s signature ending. For
the final image of The White Balloon (Jafar Panahi, 1995), Kiarostami, who wrote the screenplay for the film, languidly focuses on a
young balloon seller (Aliasghar Smadi) holding a long pole with a single
white balloon. In A Taste of Cherry (Kiarostami, 1997), Mr. Badii's
(Homayon Ershadi) impassive countenance is occasionally revealed in the
darkness through periodic flashes of lightning. Does he stay in the hole
that he has dug for himself, or does he change his mind and crawl out? The
ending remains ambiguous.
Similar to A Taste of Cherry, the final scene of Through the
Olive Trees remains unresolved. Hossein, unwilling to accept Tahereh’s
continued silence, follows her down the hill, through the olive trees, and
into the open field, continuing to plead his case for marriage. The camera
lingers as the "couple" are reduced to floating white dots that seem to
focus and disperse into the beautiful, earthy landscape. It is a hypnotic
reflection of the passage of real time, and we are reminded that we
have witnessed one mere episode, one fleeting glimpse, of a wondrous
phenomenon called life. In essence, to force the union of these two
actors off-camera (that is, within the confines of the film) is to defy
reality, to create a work of fiction.
By defining the role of cinema as a chronicle of real life, Kiarostami
takes on the role of documenter rather than director. In A
Taste of Cherry, Mr. Badii engages in a series of conversations with
passengers (or, more appropriately, conducts informal interviews) in search
of an assistant. In Through the Olive Trees, it is the director
(albeit played by an actor) who conducts the interviews – from the dialogue
with Hossein as the director attempts to find the cause for Tahereh’s
silence, to the encounter with three generations of provincial women
returning from their bath. However, in a seemingly uncharacteristic turn of
events, the director steps out of his Kiarostami-defined role of
documenter and attempts to direct the off-camera lives of his
actors by tacitly encouraging Hossein to follow Tahereh, who has decided to
walk home after the shoot. As Hossein incessantly attempts to elicit a
response from the silent Tahereh, we see the director surreptitiously follow
behind them, as if to assess the result of his directorial intervention.
But does the director’s actions contradict Kiarostami’s own cinematic
vision of his role as documenter? Despite the director’s attempt to
manipulate their relationship, the off-camera behavior of the actors towards
each other remains unchanged. As in life, the fate of the actors is not
conveniently resolved within the course of their long walk. In essence, the
final scene is a validation of Kiarostami’s ideology, a reflection of truth.
It is a visual disconnection from the romantic ideals of the director, to
the pragmatic reality of Hossein and Tahereh’s incompatibility. The
director, however well intentioned, cannot change the reality of the
situation, but can only chronicle the relationship as it truly exists. He
attempts to direct, but can only watch from a distance and
document.
The films of Abbas Kiarostami continue to spur polarized, impassioned
debates. In depicting the everyday lives of ordinary people through mundane
conversations and unremarkable actions, he attempts to capture the essence
of the human experience in a way that is honest and contemplative. But in
the process of conveying life in real-time, his films can also test one’s
patience. In Through the Olive Trees, the director shuts off the
camera, only to find that the lives of his actors are far more fascinating
off-camera than the characters that they portray on-camera. To accelerate
this revelation, that is, to cull out the personal observations of the
director for the sake of brevity, is to deny human experience. To trivialize
its message is to comment on our own insignificance. Should the camera only
be used as an instrument of entertainment? Is the wonder of life only worth
capturing when there is an audience?
From Senses
Of Cinema
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