Some movies are all about their
final shot. Without it, they’re less
than the sum of all their other parts, but with it they are so much more. Such is the case with Abbas Kiarostami’s Through the Olive Trees (1994). Presumably based on events that took place
during the filming of Where is the Friend’s
Home? (1987) and Life, and Nothing
More (1991), the film rounds out an unofficial trilogy, that preceded Kiarostami’s
Taste of Cherry (1997), for which he
won the Palme D’Or at Cannes. It has
been some time since I saw that film, but if pressed to choose, I’d say I preferred
Olive Trees to the later movie. While the 1994 picture may not have the consistent
tension that Taste of Cherry possesses,
I feel that it builds to a slightly more rewarding—if equally uncertain—ending.
Kiarostami uses the only
professional actor he’d ever hired up until that time, Mohamed Ali Keshavarz,
in the role of a director trying to film a movie in post-earthquake Northern
Iran. He and his crew arrive with the
hope of casting locals in the key roles (as Kiarostami had always done), but can’t
seem to find a young man and woman to play a recently married couple. The AD (Zarifeh Shiva) thinks she has it
right, but finds that the actress might be difficult to work with and that she doesn’t
really understand the role. After
casting calls and wardrobe issues the director is ready to shoot, but finds
that the young man he’s cast stammers when he speaks to women, making him less
than ideal for the role of the husband.
A
replacement actor is called in, but things go from bad to worse. He’s unable to make it to the set when a
municipal rebuilding project blocks the roadway. When he does arrive, it turns out that he has
asked the actress who will play his wife to marry him, and that she has
rebuffed his proposal, and now refuses to speak to him. Neither performer really seems all that
interested in the success of the film.
She studies between and even during takes, and he proclaims his love for
her every time the director calls “cut.”
Both of them have trouble following direction. They shoot, and shoot, and shoot; one bad
take after another, building the frustration I always seem to experience in Kiarostami
pictures. He begs her to show him some
sign that she loves him as well, but she is resolute in her silence. They continue in this pattern until finally
the director is satisfied (or exhausted).
The film is a multitude of slices of
life, but none better than the final scene.
After shooting is wrapped, the actress decides not to wait for a ride
back to the village from the set. She
begins to walk, carrying a plant that the production team borrowed for the filming. The director, by now sympathetic to the actor’s
lovelorn plight, suggests that he follow her as she walks. As he pursues her through the hills and the
trees of the film’s title, he continues his proclamations of love. After what seems like miles, the camera that
has trailed behind the two stops at the top of a hill. I could only speculate as to what this pause
of secondary motion* symbolizes for Kiarostami, but I can say with certainty
that to watch these two people continue to walk on, her leading and him
following, as they get smaller and smaller, is deeply moving. Aided by Domenico Cimarosa’s “Conc. C
4.Allegro Giusto,” it is an almost perfect shot.
Through
the Olive Trees, like all of Kiarostami’s work, builds to a conclusion that
leaves more questions than answers. When
I reviewed his The Wind Will Carry Us (1999;
#70) back in December I noted that I was interested in seeing his Certified Copy (2010), which was
stirring up notable debate amongst critics as to the possible twists contained
therein. Having now seen that film I can
attest to its greatness and to the credibility of this debate. In the end, I don’t think it really matters
what you believe about the couple at the film’s center (the same could be said
for Through the Olive Trees), but
that you’ve experienced what they’ve experienced for the time you’ve been with
them. After all, the film wouldn’t be
half the fun without the speculation.
This was the final Kiarostami film I
needed to see from the 1001 list, and in a way I’m glad this worked out
to be the last. It is my favorite of the
four, surpassing along with Taste of
Cherry and The Wind Will Carry Us
the dreadful Close-Up (1990). I have no doubt that Certified Copy will be canonized in the next edition, and
rightfully so, but for now this is Kiarostami’s best film on the list. My favorite theory about film writing says
that essentially there are only two stories: a man goes on a journey, and a
stranger comes to town. The great thing
about the best Kiarostami films is that you have to decide which one of those
stories you are watching. That’s usually
the secret to the mysteries they hold.
Language:
Persian
Runtime:
103 Minutes
Available
@Youtube.com
Grade:
3 Hats Off
*camera
movement
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