Cinema is usually a lie that tells the truth. But with Close-Up film Kiarostami turned that idea inside out, filmed it, and then asked the audience to figure out which part was the lie. Honestly, it's one of those movies that sounds incredibly dry when you describe it on paper. A guy pretends to be a famous director, gets caught, goes to trial. Big deal, right?
Wrong.
It’s a masterpiece. It's a hallucination of reality. Abbas Kiarostami didn't just document a crime; he re-staged the crime with the actual people involved while the actual trial was still happening. It's meta before "meta" was a marketing buzzword. If you haven't seen it, you're missing the moment Iranian cinema changed forever.
The Real Story of Hossain Sabzian
In 1989, a man named Hossain Sabzian was sitting on a bus in Tehran. He was reading a screenplay for The Cyclist by Mohsen Makhmalbaf. A woman sitting next to him, Mrs. Ahankhah, asked where he bought it. Instead of saying "at the bookstore," Sabzian told her he was Makhmalbaf.
He wasn't. He was a poor, unemployed man with a deep, almost painful love for movies.
The Ahankhah family invited him into their home. For weeks, Sabzian played the part. He promised to cast them in his next film. He even took money from them—not a lot, just enough for a bus ride or a small gift. Eventually, they got suspicious. They called the cops.
Kiarostami read about this in a magazine called Sorush. He was supposed to be prepping another film, but he dropped everything. He realized that the "fraud" wasn't just a scam; it was a tragic, beautiful performance by a man who felt more real as a fictional director than as himself.
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When Reality and Fiction Collide
What makes Close-Up film Kiarostami so jarring is the casting.
Kiarostami convinced the judge to let him film the trial. Then, he convinced the Ahankhah family to play themselves. He convinced the police to play themselves. Most importantly, he got Sabzian to play Sabzian.
You’re watching a movie where people are re-enacting things they actually did just weeks prior. There’s a scene where Sabzian is arrested. The "police" arresting him are the same officers who actually cuffed him. It’s awkward. It’s raw. You can see the flicker in Sabzian’s eyes—is he ashamed, or is he finally the movie star he always wanted to be?
The Trial That Wasn't Just a Trial
The courtroom footage is the heart of the film. It's shot on grainy 16mm. It looks like a documentary because, well, it is. But Kiarostami is behind the camera, nudging the questions. He asks Sabzian why he did it.
The answer is heartbreaking. Sabzian didn't want the money. He wanted the respect. He wanted to be the person who could make people listen. In the courtroom, the line between "impersonator" and "artist" gets real thin. He tells the judge that "Makhmalbaf's soul entered my body."
Some critics, like Jonathan Rosenbaum, have argued that Kiarostami was actually being a bit of a manipulator here. He was using Sabzian's real legal trouble to make a high-art film. It’s a valid point. Kiarostami wasn't just a fly on the wall; he was the one holding the flypaper.
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Why the Ending Makes Everyone Cry
If you haven't seen the ending, stop reading. Go watch it.
Okay, if you're still here: the finale is pure magic. Sabzian is released from prison. Kiarostami is there to pick him up on a motorcycle. But he’s not alone. He’s brought the real Mohsen Makhmalbaf.
The two men ride through Tehran on a bike. Sabzian is clutching a pot of flowers, crying on the back of the real director’s jacket. Kiarostami "pretends" the audio equipment is malfunctioning. You hear bits and pieces of their conversation through static and radio interference.
- "Do you know who I am?"
- "Yes, I recognize you."
- "I'm the one who should be you."
That "broken" audio was actually a choice. Kiarostami claimed the mic failed, but years later, people suspected he edited it that way to give the men privacy—or to add a layer of poetic distance. It forces you to watch their bodies, their gestures, and the sheer, overwhelming humanity of the moment.
Breaking the Fourth Wall Before It Was Cool
Most people get it wrong when they call this a documentary. It’s not. It’s "cinema verité" pushed to an extreme.
Kiarostami constantly reminds you that you’re watching a movie. You see the clapboard. You hear his voice from behind the lens. He’s not interested in the "illusion" of film. He’s interested in the "truth" of the emotion.
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When the Ahankhah family finally forgives Sabzian at the door of their house, it’s one of the most tense moments in cinema history. They aren't actors. They are victims of a scam meeting the guy who lied to them, all while a camera crew stands in the driveway. It’s uncomfortable. It’s messy. It’s real life.
The Impact on World Cinema
Before Close-Up, Iranian film was mostly known in small festival circles. This movie blew the doors off.
- Jean-Luc Godard famously said, "Film begins with Griffith and ends with Kiarostami."
- Martin Scorsese cites it as a masterclass in empathy.
- It ranked #17 on the Sight & Sound "Greatest Films of All Time" poll in 2022.
It proved that you don't need a budget. You don't need a script, really. You just need a human being with a story and the guts to put them in front of a lens.
How to Watch It Today
If you’re going to watch Close-Up film Kiarostami, don't expect an action movie. It’s slow. It’s quiet. You have to sit with it.
- Watch the Criterion Collection version. The restoration is beautiful, and it includes a documentary called A Cinema of Discontent that explains the political climate in Iran at the time.
- Pay attention to the flower pot. It’s a recurring motif. It represents Sabzian's attempt to bring something beautiful into a world where he felt invisible.
- Don't Google the "real" Sabzian until after. His life after the film was complicated and somewhat tragic, and knowing it beforehand changes how you see his hopefulness in the final frames.
What This Film Teaches Us About Identity
We all do what Sabzian did, just on a smaller scale. We post the "director's cut" of our lives on Instagram. We pretend to be more successful, more stable, or cooler than we feel inside.
Sabzian just took it to the logical extreme. He lived the lie so hard it became a movie.
Kiarostami’s genius was realizing that the lie was more revealing than the truth. By pretending to be Makhmalbaf, Sabzian revealed exactly who he was: a lonely man who loved art more than life.
Practical Steps for Film Lovers
If this article sparked an interest in Iranian cinema or the works of Abbas Kiarostami, start with these specific actions:
- Screen "The Koker Trilogy": This is Kiarostami’s other massive achievement (Where Is the Friend's House?, And Life Goes On, and Through the Olive Trees). It uses a similar blend of real people and scripted drama.
- Research Mohsen Makhmalbaf: To understand why Sabzian chose to impersonate him, watch The Cyclist or Salaam Cinema. It provides the necessary context for his celebrity status in 1980s Iran.
- Explore the concept of "Docufiction": Look into films like F for Fake by Orson Welles or The Act of Killing by Joshua Oppenheimer to see how other directors have blurred the lines between reality and performance.
- Visit the Criterion Channel: They often host the most complete versions of these films with essential director interviews that explain the technical hurdles of filming a live trial in a post-revolutionary legal system.