The Quiet Humanity of Abbas Kiarostami
The celebrated Iranian director’s signature style was visible early in his career, as is clear in a new collection of his films from Criterion.
For decades now, Iranian cinema has regularly been making news. This year, the Palme d’Or at Cannes went to Jafar Panahi’s “It Was Just an Accident,” and there’s little doubt the film will secure at least one Oscar nomination. Twice in the previous decade, movies directed by Asghar Farhadi won the Oscar for best foreign film. But the most famous Iranian filmmaker in the West remains Abbas Kiarostami, who died in 2016 at age 76.
His “Taste of Cherry” won the Palme in 1997. And groundbreaking efforts like the so-called Koker trilogy (1987-94) and “Close-Up” (1990) propelled Iranian movies to international renown. That trend only accelerated with the projects he made outside Iran—“Certified Copy” (2010) and “Like Someone in Love” (2012)—and his final picture, “24 Frames” (2017), released posthumously.
But what many of us may not have realized is that Kiarostami’s trademark tropes—the reliance on nonprofessional actors, unscripted dialogue, slow pacing and, with the insertion of behind-the-camera footage into the narrative, the open acknowledgment of cinema as artifice—were established, or at least nascent, well before he achieved international fame. They were, in fact, present in some of his earliest work.
And now one can easily explore these films thanks to a new set on three Blu-rays from Criterion titled “Abbas Kiarostami—Early Shorts and Features.” Its arrival also marks the resurrection of Criterion’s invaluable Eclipse line, a no-frills, hitherto exclusively DVD series that bundled often-obscure titles, usually grouped by director. The release, number 47 in the line, is the first to appear since 2018.
The 17 films in this collection—running from four to 84 minutes, in black-and-white and color—span the years 1970 to 1989, and viewers with a sense of history will immediately perceive that two very different worlds are depicted, divided by the Iranian Revolution of 1979. (The final film, “Homework,” though a welcome bonus, is already available on Blu-ray in Criterion’s edition of the Koker trilogy.)
All the material was produced under the auspices of the Institute for the Intellectual Development of Children and Young Adults (colloquially referred to as Kanoon in Farsi), whose film department Kiarostami helped found. He had studied art and intended to became a painter until life intervened. The focus on children in these shorts and features was essential given his employer, but much of the work itself, though suitable for youngsters, appeals no less to adults for the filmmaker’s deep insights into human character.
Take, for example, the five-minute “Two Solutions for One Problem” (1975), in color. Kiarostami sets up a scene in which a young schoolboy returns his peer’s notebook, now torn. The other boy responds with his own form of destruction, and so the situation escalates, until clothes are torn, possessions are damaged and battery is endured. Then the director replays the scene, but with a different beginning: On seeing that he has damaged his schoolmate’s notebook, the first boy repairs the rip, thus not only avoiding the escalating violence, but also preserving the friendship.
Kiarostami expands on his “either/or” approach in “First Case, Second Case” (1979), a 48-minute color documentary made shortly after the revolution in which members of the Iranian educational establishment are asked to comment on two staged scenarios. The first has a group of students refusing to name which among them mocked the teacher; the second finds one of them willing to fink. The educators, separately, debate the actions from various perspectives—often surprisingly but rarely compellingly.
Naturally, the longer films grow more complex—and are clearly aimed at audiences with more substantial attention spans. Shot in black-and-white and running 74 minutes, Kiarostami’s first feature, “The Traveler” (1974), grippingly recounts the desperate measures young Qassem (Hassan Darabi) hatches to escape his provincial town for Tehran, in order to attend a professional soccer game. But when, against all odds, he seemingly achieves his goal, he muffs it. And Kiarostami’s final shot is as audacious as it is a gut-punch.
“A Wedding Suit” (1976), in color, is 14 minutes shorter but lacks for nothing in its indictment of young-teenage machismo, in which a supposed friend bullies his pals into lending him a suit that belongs to none of them. And though in the end the day is saved, the bully endures a beating from his backward older brother neither he nor we will soon forget.
All these films, save three, are also now streaming on the subscription-based Criterion Channel, but one not on the platform, “Fellow Citizen” (1983), is almost itself worth this set’s price. The 51-minute color documentary observes the imposition of strict traffic controls at a busy Tehran intersection, where a harried but strong-willed traffic official determines who may pass and who may not. What viewer won’t feel a shiver at the prospect of encountering such a man, or fail to wonder what tales we are capable of spinning to get through?
And then there is “Homework” (1989), in color and running 77 minutes. The film’s title is not inaccurate, but like Agnès Varda’s best documentaries, the real subject lies beneath. A parade of children are asked by Kiarostami himself a series of questions relating to the topic, but as he probes—and as one of his cameras turns to shoot him and the cinematographer filming the children—we begin to learn much about the home lives of these boys, many of whose parents are not just poor, but also illiterate. Later, two parents must themselves face Kiarostami’s “inquisition.”
Not all movie lovers have embraced Kiarostami’s later efforts. The self-consciousness of his expression can be alienating, even arch. These early films lack those characteristics and are therefore more inviting, raw in a welcoming way. Kiarostami isn’t one to judge his subjects—who, often as not, are just ordinary people. A word, too, about the children, so many children. Like Julien Duvivier and François Truffaut before him, Kiarostami captures their innocence and guile with righteous force.
Criterion’s set expands our appreciation of Kiarostami in significant ways, charting his development and furthering our comprehension of his worldview. Perhaps no less important, this compendium captures both the end of the Pahlavi monarchy and the start of the theocracy that still governs Iran, granting viewers an often telling glimpse of Persian society in flux.
Mr. Mermelstein, the Journal’s classical music critic, also writes on film.
For decades now, Iranian cinema has regularly been making news. This year, the Palme d’Or at Cannes went to Jafar Panahi’s “It Was Just an Accident,” and there’s little doubt the film will secure at least one Oscar nomination. Twice in the previous decade, movies directed by Asghar Farhadi won the Oscar for best foreign film. But the most famous Iranian filmmaker in the West remains Abbas Kiarostami, who died in 2016 at age 76.
His “Taste of Cherry” won the Palme in 1997. And groundbreaking efforts like the so-called Koker trilogy (1987-94) and “Close-Up” (1990) propelled Iranian movies to international renown. That trend only accelerated with the projects he made outside Iran—“Certified Copy” (2010) and “Like Someone in Love” (2012)—and his final picture, “24 Frames” (2017), released posthumously.
But what many of us may not have realized is that Kiarostami’s trademark tropes—the reliance on nonprofessional actors, unscripted dialogue, slow pacing and, with the insertion of behind-the-camera footage into the narrative, the open acknowledgment of cinema as artifice—were established, or at least nascent, well before he achieved international fame. They were, in fact, present in some of his earliest work.
And now one can easily explore these films thanks to a new set on three Blu-rays from Criterion titled “Abbas Kiarostami—Early Shorts and Features.” Its arrival also marks the resurrection of Criterion’s invaluable Eclipse line, a no-frills, hitherto exclusively DVD series that bundled often-obscure titles, usually grouped by director. The release, number 47 in the line, is the first to appear since 2018.
The 17 films in this collection—running from four to 84 minutes, in black-and-white and color—span the years 1970 to 1989, and viewers with a sense of history will immediately perceive that two very different worlds are depicted, divided by the Iranian Revolution of 1979. (The final film, “Homework,” though a welcome bonus, is already available on Blu-ray in Criterion’s edition of the Koker trilogy.)
All the material was produced under the auspices of the Institute for the Intellectual Development of Children and Young Adults (colloquially referred to as Kanoon in Farsi), whose film department Kiarostami helped found. He had studied art and intended to became a painter until life intervened. The focus on children in these shorts and features was essential given his employer, but much of the work itself, though suitable for youngsters, appeals no less to adults for the filmmaker’s deep insights into human character.
Take, for example, the five-minute “Two Solutions for One Problem” (1975), in color. Kiarostami sets up a scene in which a young schoolboy returns his peer’s notebook, now torn. The other boy responds with his own form of destruction, and so the situation escalates, until clothes are torn, possessions are damaged and battery is endured. Then the director replays the scene, but with a different beginning: On seeing that he has damaged his schoolmate’s notebook, the first boy repairs the rip, thus not only avoiding the escalating violence, but also preserving the friendship.
Kiarostami expands on his “either/or” approach in “First Case, Second Case” (1979), a 48-minute color documentary made shortly after the revolution in which members of the Iranian educational establishment are asked to comment on two staged scenarios. The first has a group of students refusing to name which among them mocked the teacher; the second finds one of them willing to fink. The educators, separately, debate the actions from various perspectives—often surprisingly but rarely compellingly.
Naturally, the longer films grow more complex—and are clearly aimed at audiences with more substantial attention spans. Shot in black-and-white and running 74 minutes, Kiarostami’s first feature, “The Traveler” (1974), grippingly recounts the desperate measures young Qassem (Hassan Darabi) hatches to escape his provincial town for Tehran, in order to attend a professional soccer game. But when, against all odds, he seemingly achieves his goal, he muffs it. And Kiarostami’s final shot is as audacious as it is a gut-punch.
“A Wedding Suit” (1976), in color, is 14 minutes shorter but lacks for nothing in its indictment of young-teenage machismo, in which a supposed friend bullies his pals into lending him a suit that belongs to none of them. And though in the end the day is saved, the bully endures a beating from his backward older brother neither he nor we will soon forget.
All these films, save three, are also now streaming on the subscription-based Criterion Channel, but one not on the platform, “Fellow Citizen” (1983), is almost itself worth this set’s price. The 51-minute color documentary observes the imposition of strict traffic controls at a busy Tehran intersection, where a harried but strong-willed traffic official determines who may pass and who may not. What viewer won’t feel a shiver at the prospect of encountering such a man, or fail to wonder what tales we are capable of spinning to get through?
And then there is “Homework” (1989), in color and running 77 minutes. The film’s title is not inaccurate, but like Agnès Varda’s best documentaries, the real subject lies beneath. A parade of children are asked by Kiarostami himself a series of questions relating to the topic, but as he probes—and as one of his cameras turns to shoot him and the cinematographer filming the children—we begin to learn much about the home lives of these boys, many of whose parents are not just poor, but also illiterate. Later, two parents must themselves face Kiarostami’s “inquisition.”
Not all movie lovers have embraced Kiarostami’s later efforts. The self-consciousness of his expression can be alienating, even arch. These early films lack those characteristics and are therefore more inviting, raw in a welcoming way. Kiarostami isn’t one to judge his subjects—who, often as not, are just ordinary people. A word, too, about the children, so many children. Like Julien Duvivier and François Truffaut before him, Kiarostami captures their innocence and guile with righteous force.
Criterion’s set expands our appreciation of Kiarostami in significant ways, charting his development and furthering our comprehension of his worldview. Perhaps no less important, this compendium captures both the end of the Pahlavi monarchy and the start of the theocracy that still governs Iran, granting viewers an often telling glimpse of Persian society in flux.
Mr. Mermelstein, the Journal’s classical music critic, also writes on film.
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