Director Abbas Kiarostami in the documentary 10
on Ten: “The subject of Ten is based on everyday life. Undoubtedly
many serious viewers as well as some critics, mainly the advocates of modern
cinema, will find such a subject dull.”
Roger Ebert, in his 2-star
review of Ten: “...his films--for example his latest work,
"Ten"--are meant not so much to be watched as to be written about;
his reviews make his points better than he does.”
Ebert (who also hated
Kiarostami’s Palme d’Or winning A Taste
of Cherry) makes a valid point of course, though obviously nothing that
Kiarostami was not already aware of. Some people will not respond well to this
film, and I get that. It consists almost exclusively of static shots from
digital dashcams of a woman driving around Tehran with different passengers -
her son, her sister, an older woman en route to worship, a younger woman
leaving worship at the same mausoleum, a friend in tears over a relationship
falling apart, and a prostitute who has mistakenly gotten in her car believing
her to be a man - in ten segments, counted down at the beginning of each
segment like an old film reel. Anyone could make this film, Ebert opines
elsewhere in his review, and I start to think of folks saying the same “My kid
could do that!” thing about Jackson Pollock’s drips or Cecil Taylor’s piano
banging and I know he’s wrong, because nobody else would A) conceive of such a
film or B) be in a position in their career as an internationally famous
filmmaker to make such a radical shift to make this kind of film, and that has
meaning in itself. Kiarostami had already explored more plot-oriented films,
and shot dusty roads and urban landscapes of Iran with a stunning eye for
composition, rather than something “anyone” could make. But what does the film
mean? If we’re literally watching two people driving around and talking, what’s
interesting about that?
It gets more complicated.
Reduced to the simplest mechanics of plot, yes, that’s what happens (and all
that happens) and you probably have a good idea already if this film is not for
you or if you’re thinking “Hmm… tell me more.” Kiarostami coached his actors
(none of them professionals) about the subjects they’d talk about, made
suggestions about where to go with their conversations, put them in the car,
started the cameras, and let them go, ultimately editing many hours of footage
down to the 94 minutes of the final film. So what happens?
1) The driver (Mania Akbari,
whose character remains unnamed throughout the film) talks first with her son,
Amin (played by the actress’s actual son), arguing about her divorce from his
father and recent remarriage to another man. He feels angry, accusing her of
abandoning the marriage and lying about her ex-husband’s shortcomings; she says
she was trapped in a loveless marriage and had to tell the courts that her
husband was an addict merely to be granted a divorce. Such are the laws that
women face in Iran. For almost the entirety of this segment the camera remains
on her son (showing only one side of a conversation is a common Kiarostami
tactic), letting us see the woman only at the very end of this lengthy segment.
2) The driver’s sister waits in the car for her to return from a bakery with a
cake for her husband. They discuss how difficult Amin has been lately with the
rest of the family. Unlike the first segment, the film cuts back and forth
between them. 3) It opens on the driver offering an old woman a lift to a
mausoleum to worship. The camera sticks with the driver the entire time while
the woman talks about the importance of faith and prayer in the world until she
is dropped off to go worship.
And so it goes. Roads fascinate Kiarostmai, and
so do cars. Many of his films feature his characters driving around from one
place to another. In the first segment of this film, Amin says to his mother “You talk as soon as we’re in the car.” Kiarostami has said
that one reason he uses the car as a regular setting is that in cars people can
speak freely and openly – they also can’t leave the conversation once it’s
started. Going further, the driver discusses love, sex and marriage openly with
a prostitute (actually an actress portraying one – Kiartostami couldn’t find an
actual prostitute willing to appear in the film), she discusses the pros and
cons of marriage with a young woman whose boyfriend won’t commit to their
relationship then later gives her another ride after things have fallen apart
in her relationship and the woman has taken the drastic step of shaving her
head to symbolically move on, she also talks with her friend who’s upset about
her relationship disintegrating, and she give Amin more rides (and more
opportunities to appear as obnoxious as her sister had said he’s been).
For the film’s supporters (of which I am an
enthusiastic one), the privileged opportunity to be present for these
conversations is remarkable. Ebert worries that viewers can’t connect to the
characters, only to Kiarostami’s ideas on an intellectual level, but I’d
disagree. I’m drawn in from the first minute of the film to the day-to-day life
of a seemingly average woman in modern Tehran, hearing from her mouth and those
of her passengers about both the lives and problems we all face (relationship
woes, a shaky relation to her faith, and so forth) and those more specific to
her position as a woman in Iranian society, where talking openly with a
prostitute (who says of women in marriages: “You’re
the wholesalers. We’re the retailers.”) or showing an uncovered female
head challenges Iranian laws. It engages me knowing that Kiarostami has made a
film that feels as immediate and real as any documentary, but he’s created the
narrative so craftily that it could be mistaken as being made with a hidden
camera. It’s fascinating to get a glimpse into the society that we in the West
may have preconceptions about, prejudices about, and see how a typical woman
functions in that society. It’s also fascinating for an artist to make such a
drastic change from the area he’d been working in and have it be successful,
even if there are clear precursors for what he does here (conversations in
cars, blurring of the lines between documentary and fiction, experimental
techniques, etc), and its seemingly simple surface hides the deep layers of
craft and thought that went into the making of the film. For me, it’s a
masterpiece, plain and simple – or layered and complex.
- Patrick Brown
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