HOME CINEMA
November 2019 | Sight&Sound | 83
son Pouya (Buba Bayour). Only by slow degrees
do we discover that the man is a film director
trying to find a clear and undamaged road to the
village in the earthquake-affected region where
he shot the film Where Is the Friend’s House? His
route takes him through scenes of absolute
devastation (the film, whose POV is often from
inside the car, was shot some months after the
quake), consistently meeting people who take
the time to talk to him even though they’re
in mourning and busy trying to rebuild their
shattered lives. So terrible and poignant is the
subject matter that it’s as if the film cannot long
contain the illusion of re-enactment. A putative
house-owner who invites them in admits that
it’s not really his house but one co-opted for the
film they’re shooting. What seems at first like a
moment of wry post-modern distancing becomes,
as we shall see, a portent of the final film.
One of the pleasures of watching the trilogy
back-to-back is how much easier it is to spot the
actors, or rather non-professional actors, from
each film as they appear in the next – especially
the Ahmedpour brothers, who played the two
friends in the first film. In Through the Olive Trees,
the most playful of the three, they pop up all the
time in the background, almost like recording
angels. This film’s story takes place in and around
the shooting of And Life Goes On. It centres on
Hossein, who in And Life Goes On briefly portrays a
young husband who tells the director figure why
he and his wife married straight after the quake,
even though they were mourning 85 relatives.
In Through the Olive Trees, Hossein is deeply in
love with his co-performer, Tahereh (both use
their real names), trying to woo her while they
wait for their next take, even though she ignores
him and her grandmother has already rejected
him as a suitor because he is illiterate and has
no house of his own. From a Western viewpoint,
Hossein’s behaviour looks like harassment, but it’s
arguable that local mores, which circumscribe the
actions of those poorly educated in matters of the
heart, leave him little recourse. We see Hossein go
through several takes of his scene in And Life Goes
On which Tahereh messes up because she won’t
refer to him as ‘Mr. Hossein’ as the script demands.
Hossein’s insistent personality is the magnet
that draws us through this, the most difficult yet
relaxed film of the trilogy, with its gorgeous, long-
shot ending and its ‘you decide’ interpretation
of what happens when Tahereh finally speaks.
The whole trilogy is an enriching experience
that despite Kiarostami’s sleights of hand feels
immediate. There’s a charm in the way films
that at first seem so simple gradually proffer
complexity. They’re crammed with incidental
detail about a rural Muslim culture with which,
given the current direction of world politics, the
US and UK may soon be in conflict: its people
are presented with a severe kind of love by a
critical mind that wants the best from them.
All three films look pristine, though image
quality varies from film to film – there’s a
particular improvement in sharpness and
colour depth with Through the Olive Trees,
probably because Kiarostami could afford
higher production values. The extras are very
strong. There’s the bonus of Homework (1989),
an 86-minute documentary film in which
Kiarostami interviews poor schoolchildren. The
conversation between Jamsheed Akrami and
Godfrey Cheshire queries whether it is correct to
describe the three films as a trilogy, partly because
it was never conceived as such by its author until
after it was done and someone else described
it that way. Speaking of severe love, one of the
most enjoyable tropes of Abbas Kiarostami: Truths
and Dreams, the excellent French documentary
I mentioned at the start (only slightly marred
by a brief interlude of ‘snow’ scratches), is the
way Kiarostami, whenever he is talking to
one of his non-professional actors, will say, “Of
course I don’t agree with this, but people say you
acted very well in that film.” Yes, there is gently
waspish humour here too as you would expect
from a director who says – as his son Ahmad
Kiarostami explains in a warm interview – he
never makes complete films, only ‘half films’,
that have to be completed by the viewer.
A boy’s own story: Where is the Friend’s House?
New releases
COMES A HORSEMAN
Alan J. Pakula; US 1978; BFI; Region B Blu-ray; Certificate
15; 119 minutes; 2.35:1. Extras: commentary by Scott
Harrison; Pakula on stage at the BFI (1986, audio only);
Jane Fonda at the BFI (2018); vintage British shorts;
isolated score; booklet notes by Peter Tonguette.
Reviewed by Trevor Johnston
After Klute (1971), The Parallax View (1974), and
All The President’s Men (1976), Alan J. Pakula and
his ace cameraman Gordon Willis evidently
decided some fresh air would be good for them,
and turned to this 1940s-set neo-western, in
which fear stalks the wide open spaces.
In a beautiful Montana valley, stoic rancher
Jane Fonda faces an uncertain future after
rejecting a marriage proposal from her powerful
neighbour Jason Robards, who’s now determined
to possess her property – at gunpoint if necessary.
The horseman of the title is demobbed soldier
James Caan, who throws in his lot with Fonda
as tensions rise. There’s horsemanship, cattle
stampedes, lassos, campfires and chewin’ baccy;
but amid the western trappings, it’s a modern
film. America is on the cusp of post-war social
and industrial upheaval, and we explore the
layering of power. A vulnerable woman is at
the bottom of the ladder, an older man wields
financial and possibly sexual leverage over
her – and the corporate muscle of a big oil
company has no qualms about obliterating both
of them and their traditional pastoral ways.
While the combination of deliberate,
European-feeling pace and shocking moments
is ungainly at times, it gives the film a striking
formal profile to add to its richly saturated
subject matter, rendered by Willis with
restrained grandeur. Veteran stuntman Richard
Farnsworth’s turn as a leathery old-timer took
most of the plaudits at the time, but Fonda’s
taciturn intensity and Robards’s tightly wound
malignancy are impressive. Michael Small’s
splendid score blends open-air, Coplandesque
Americana with an underlying anxiety.
Disc: The transfer shows a somewhat speckled,
unrestored print, but nothing too distracting.
Jane Fonda’s 2018 on-stage interview at the
BFI is compelling, and the audio of Pakula’s
1986 appearance is a deep dive into Hollywood
history from a wise observer. Scott Harrison’s
commentary is halting and declamatory, though
with fascinating nuggets. A worthwhile package.
COME BACK TO THE FIVE AND
DIME, JIMMY DEAN, JIMMY DEAN
Robert Altman; USA 1982; Eureka Masters of Cinema;
Region 2 DVD & Region B Blu-ray dual format; Certificate
15; 109 minutes; 1.89:1. Extras: commentary by historian
Lee Gambin; interviews with editor Jason Rosenfield, art
director David Gropman; theatrical trailer; essay booklet.
Reviewed by Kate Stables
The first of Robert Altman’s stage-to-screen 1980s
chamber pieces, this intimate and febrile
adaptation of Ed Graczyk’s stage play
A RT
PRODUCTION
CLIENT
SUBS
REPRO OP
VERSION
Home cinema, 2
