• Through the Olive Trees

9/3/23 (Sun)

This is the final film in Kiarostami’s so-called Koker Trilogy. The second was a recreation of the director’s search for the stars of the first film after the deadly earthquake in the region. This one deals with trouble that the director had when making the second film, especially that between the man and woman who played the newlyweds in that film’s most memorable scene. The unplanned trilogy is like Matryoshka dolls emerging from inside one another.

The opening breaks the fourth wall for the only time as the lead actor (Mohamad Ali Keshavarz, a big star in Iran and the only professional in the cast) introduces himself as a director, obviously a stand-in for Kiarostami, making a piece about his experience out in the countryside in the filming of the second work. He then goes on to cast the film among a group of students (who don’t appear particularly excited by the opportunity). When one performer drops out of a key role during filming due to a stammer, he picks Hossein, an illiterate former bricklayer who does menial work for the crew, to take his place. Unfortunately it happens that Hossein not only knows the woman, Tahereh, who is playing his new bride, but has been actively pursuing her in real life to accept his marriage proposal. She has lost both parents in the quake, but her grandmother has rejected the proposal outright due to his lack of both an education and his own home. The woman refuses so much as to acknowledge his presence, simply ignoring him throughout. Still, encouraged by what he imagines to be a glance from her at her parents’ funeral, he continues with impressive tenacity throughout the film to try to talk her into taking him. (The film does not appear to be exaggerating: the bride is played by a different actress here since the actual woman from the second film refused to perform again with Hossein.) He notes that as everyone lost their homes in the quake, they’re all starting over again, putting them on an equal level, and tells her that he adores her and will do whatever it takes to make the marriage work. Receiving no answer whatsoever, he asks her to show her agreement by turning the page of her book. He gets excited when she looks about to do so, but again is disappointed as she maintains her stony silence.

Despite his persistence, his passion makes him a sympathetic character. As the relationship is negatively affecting the filming, he is taken aside by the director, who gives him advice. At the end of the filming, the girl walks home via the zigzag mountain path familiar from the previous two films. The director prods the hesitant boy to follow her. In an astonishing silent sequence lasting some four minutes with an unchanging camera angle, we see the boy from afar rushing down the hill after the girl as the director looks from above. By the time he catches up with her at the bottom of the hill, they are mere specks on the screen. The specks stop, suggesting that the two are talking, then the boy turns around and climbs back up the hill as the girl walks on. We await to see whether he finally got his wish as he gradually makes his way up, and as he approaches – the scene goes black. Just as in the second film, we’re left without knowing the answer to the question that has been looming over the entire movie. Whatever the artistic merit of leaving the matter open, we’re too invested in the actor by this point to be left hanging. It seems cruel to deny us the resolution, whether positive or negative. (That said, it’s worth remembering that the actress is not the one who Hossein actually loved, which suggests that the answer wasn’t positive – assuming, of course, that this is a reproduction of reality.)

In a bit of meta-theater, the man who played the director in the second film repeats his role here in the film within a film under the watch of Keshavarz, who of course is being directed by Kiarostami. The man who played the teacher in the first film is overheard asking for a role in this latest piece in order to get extra work. Meanwhile, the brothers who were the stars of the first film and the object of the director’s search in the second film (where they were never actually seen) appear almost casually here carrying flowerpots, never formally acknowledged as the earlier actors. Scenes that appeared spontaneous in the earlier film, most notably the husband-and-wife scene, are shown being filmed repeatedly here as actors flub their lines or misbehave, casting a new light on what we had seen before.

Hossein (his real name, as with all actors/characters here) has the most impressive moment with his heartfelt musings on why he believes the literate should marry the illiterate, the rich should marry the poor, and those with homes should marry those without so that all people can benefit. While his dogged perseverance is a bit much, it comes from desperation over circumstances that he had no control over, and the girl’s complete denial of his presence – not a look, not a word, not a nod of her head – is disturbing. We are rooting for him by the time the film is over, and while I understand the director’s desire to avoid melodrama regardless of the answer, it’s dispiriting to have been deprived. (The actor died a few years later at a young age of poverty-related causes.)

The director includes lots of odd scenes with no one in the frame, such as entire car scenes where a fixed camera faces the front window as the passengers talk. It felt random, though I’m sure it was perfectly planned randomness.

I still prefer the first film of the so-called trilogy for its coherent structure, but getting to know the one actor in particular was interesting, even without knowing whether any or all of the seemingly spontaneous scenes were actual occurrences, recreations, or total inventions. While trilogy is not really the right word for this set of films, they are a highly entertaining trio.