El sabor de las cerezas

The man is driving his Range Rover across the deserted wasteland near Teheran but if it wasn't for the sights of a few veiled women, the setting could belong to any random impoverished Islamic country in the Middle-East. Not to deprive the film from its cultural texture but it's important to know this is not a political comment of any sort but a character study.... of the most puzzling kind, raising more questions than it provides answers, leaving us viewers the privilege or the burden to figure out what happens next.

"The Taste of Cherry" is a metaphor for the sweet taste of life only someone at the edge of death can truly appreciate, like a beautiful sunset, a colorful sunrise, the sight of children playing and smiling, a comforting thought, any sign of kindness... which the film is stingy of, deliberately, until its final act. Abbas Kiarostami doesn't paint the canvas of a happy nation because its focus is the sad face of a man named Mr. Badil, selfishly resigned to commit suicide and looking for someone to bury his corpse after he finds him dead in a pre-digged hole. Everything's planned except for that last formality.

To use a hackneyed expression, the destination here doesn't matter, only the car journey of a man trying to pick up a helper to fulfill his last wish. Over the course of this sad odyssey, he'll meet a young and shy soldier from Kurdistan, an Afghani seminarian and an aged taxidermist, the young man feels entrapped in a situation whose awkwardness go beyond the realm of ordinary problems he's used to live. The second embodies the religious side of the story and expectedly reminds Badil that suicide is taboo in religion and wouldn't make himself an accomplice, his tone is not preachy but rather amiable and friendly.

But Badil is a stubborn man, and for each argument finds a verbal counterattack, a job is a job, why would a poor man refuse the opportunity of a six-month wage for burying a corpse. Why would God punish someone whose unhappiness will only cause more harm to the beloved ones? Still, the tone changes and Badil gets more eloquent until he finds the wise old man who embodies our own vision: life is just too precious and valuable, he evokes what makes things worth to live, he tells a joke, he sings but finally agrees to do the job, hoping that Badil will do the right choice and choose not to kill himself.

Let's get back to Badil and more importantly, the car, which is inseparable from the story, as both a means to a morbid end and its paradoxical obstacle. The car is his life, it represents the only zone of comfort left in his supposedly meaningless life, through the windshield, he offers us a glimpse of a seldom seen Iran, not too religious, struck by employment, full of life and can only offer his Range Rover as a sign of his wealth, completely oblivious to the social realities of his own country. Badil doesn't even realize that his invitations sound like sexual pick-ups in a country where homosexuality is more taboo than suicide. He never finds the proper words to get to the point, maybe too focused on the road, to be able to empathize with his passengers' point of view. The car is his life, the road is his death.

But we're embarked as passengers in the car of life and from the regular external shots of the car driving through the deserted area, we see that the man is circling around the same road, and understand how truly lost he is. Badil the man in the car is hard to like and it's only after he meets the old man that he wises up a little, leaves the car and seems to have clear directions. Before, he joined a guardian up his little tower and enjoyed the sight while the guardian deemed it as dust and earth. For once, it's Badil who sees the half-full glass, all good things come from dust and earth, the guardian says everything gets back to dust. Outside the car, Badil can taste a few things, if not cherries, in the car, he doesn't even acknowledge the help of the workers who gave him a lift when one wheel fell near a ravine.

Kiarostami plunges us in the mind of someone who doesn't know where to go, it's not much a study on Badil but on the state of mind of suicidal persons. The film demands some patience and I'm not sure the ending rewards it but I guess it conveys the same sense of nothingness inherent to the lost soul. The ending is rather brave in the way it polarizes viewers but as someone who went through the same questioning, I know suicide is no kidding matter and I could feel the pain of Homayoun Ershadi, his desperation, his anger, his sadness, and after the man accepted to do the job, the realization that it was up to him now.

Whether he succeeded or not belongs to another movie and I'm not sure I would have loved a clear ending, in a way a satisfying study ends when the arc is fully closed, but the real focus isn't the driver, or the car, but the road. I know road movies can be wonderfully existential so this is a film that gets the perfect setting and road to contain these states of mind.

I used the word "existential dead end" for movies like "Magnolia" and "The Diving Bell and the Butterfly", the expression can apply for Badil's road. The whole irony is that as long as we can pick up passengers, no road will lead to a dead end.

Simple but not simplistic, complex but not complicated, straightforward in a circular way, the 1997 Golden Palm Winner is a special movie, not easy to watch but fascinating to contemplate.

Although I've seen many movies from other Iranian and Middle Eastern directors, this is the first I've watched from the late director, Abbas Kiarostami. And like some of those others - Nuri Ceylan from Turkey comes to mind - Kiarostami, in this story, exclusively concentrates on questions about the human condition. Specifically, it's about the self-destructive urge by one man. And it is here that Kiarostami inverts the whole idea of helping those who contemplate suicide.

Suicide, in itself, is a ready and obvious turn-off for many viewers, probably. And coupled with the apparent treacle-like pace of the narrative and the repetitive scenes of a lone man, Badii (Homayoun Ershadi), driving in and around hills outside Tehran, this story gives a whole new dimension to the idea of going over the same ground, again and again, to prove a point. And all the while we, as viewer, are inside the auto for most of this movie, up close and very personal....

But to avoid seeing this movie would be a big mistake, in my opinion.

I say that simply because the idea of suicide has probably occurred to most people, including myself, at some time in their lives. Whether that idea was part of Kiarostami's motivation for making this movie, we will never know, of course. I dare say it occurred to him, though.

At the first frame, we're in Baddii's well-worn Range Rover as he drives, his face set, his gaze wandering here and there, searching for a likely assistant for his plan to kill himself. In sequence, he stops a variety of men - a seminarian, a young soldier, a security guard; each man and Badii converse about his need to have somebody help him to suicide, Badii describing what a helper must do. Each time, Baddi has no success until, with a blindingly quick jump-cut, an old man, Bagheri (Abdolrahman Bagheri) is in the car, a helper who finally agrees to abide by Badii's wishes.

So, after taking Bagheri to close where he lives, Badii drives off, content that he has secured a deal; rapidly, however, he drives back in a fluster, as doubts creep into his mind. Frantically, he walks around the area until he finds the old man Bagheri to seek further assurance he will indeed help Badii next morning. Somewhat annoyed, the old man again gives his solemn promise. And stalks off.

Slowly then, Badii returns to his home/apartment, makes his final preparations, makes a point of turning off all the lights as he leaves, locks the door, leaves his car, and then takes a taxi back to the cherry tree, he had previously selected, at which he will terminate his life during the night, and as thunderstorms - a much-overused trope perhaps - begin.

It is there, then, that I will leave you to find out why Bagheri decided to help, and about Badii's fate that night. And about an absolutely unexpected ending.

It's a bleak story, but one that is played out in too many ways by thousands every day, more or less in every country on the planet, probably. Perhaps then, Kiarostami is urging us to think upon that more often as we all traverse our own daily ups and downs - and especially in relation to those who are nearest. Once seen, this is not a movie to forget.

Recommended for all, except toddlers obviously. Give it eight out of ten.

I watched the Criterion DVD a few days ago and I thought this film was incredible. It's amazing to me that such an incredible film could be made without the use of tracking shots, multiple camera angles, tilts, pans, and all the other camera techniques that most countries use in their films.

Iran has a very young film industry that doesn't have the money or resources that many other film industries have. For what the Iranian film industry has at its disposal, this film is an exceptional achievement!

This film is a great example of how the expression of human beings' feelings and ideas cannot be held back by censorship. Kudos to Kiarostami for creating a very heartfelt commentary on the effects of oppression on the human soul.

I'll watch just about anything; I can appreciate almost any style of film. Having come across 'Taste of cherry' strictly because of the awards it has won, I did have some expectations. By the nature of its construction this certainly won't be for everyone, and potential viewers should be fully aware of what they're getting into before watching.

The premise is very simple: A man drives around, seeking someone willing to bury him after he commits suicide. It's not truly necessary to discuss narrative further, because there is little further narrative beyond the details of the drive and the conversations held. 'Taste of cherry' is as minimalist as one could get: there is no music save for what may be heard in passing on a radio. Outside of dialogue, sound is limited to the rumble of the car engine, and ambient sounds of the surrounding scenery. The film is comprised in no small part of many long, continuous shots, whether the camera is stationary for an exterior shot following the vehicle along a road, or within the vehicle as it focuses on the protagonist.

There's no dramatic twist or turn, and no overarching grand meaning. There's a kernel of wisdom imparted in one of the film's conversations, conveyed naturally in passing and not heavily emphasized. But at no point is there any added emotional weight beyond what a given viewer may derive individually from the film. Even the ending offers no resolution - open-ended, with the narrative concluding abruptly.

There are some gorgeous shots arranged or captured, including much footage simply of the hills outside Tehran. Save for the pure essence of a viewing experience, the imagery seen through the camera's eye is the most immediately fetching aspect of 'Taste of cherry.'

For all these reasons, the movie is undoubtedly a hard sell for a general audience. It's very much an art film, and likely to find favor only with viewers who are receptive to this style. This is famously on the late Roger Ebert's list of most hated films; I find no particular fault with the feature, and even I have a hard time engaging with it. Still, for anyone open to features of this kind, and fully aware of what to anticipate, 'Taste of cherry' is worth watching.

Kiarostami strikes again with another provocative film, very much in the same vein as his others: drawn out films that involve a very introspective soul-searching of all of the character's involved, and in so doing, finding some more meaning to the idea of what life is all about.

From the beginning to the end, Kiarostami gives us a complex script of characters that we come into contact with, and as we learn about each one, we learn more about the idea of life. What makes the film very interesting for a Western viewer is that I find closer to Kiarostami's Iran after each of his films that I watch, and become more informed to it. We learn intimate details about the lives of several Iranians.

Throughout the film I found that, although like many of his films it was quite slow-paced, it contained the extraordinarily rich dialog that is expected of a Kiarostami film. His films advance through their rich dialog while using the dusty Iranian landscape as their backdrop. I found a lot of the cinematography to be terrific, viewing the city from a distance and looking into the dusty foot-hills on the outskirts of Tehran. It is more than poetic to see a man at the end of his rope searching through the dust and faces of Tehran's poor laborers for answers about life and death. In many ways, the film is a large metaphor for the human state of affairs.

The film culminates very well, and we all eventually find our own taste of cherry in the film. I always feel as if Kiarostami's films are a very philosophical experience, and are quite personal. In this sense, Kiarostami's films are amongst the best that I have seen.

However, they are undoubtedly slower paced than other films, and they require the viewer to detach himself from any western stereotypes that he has about film. This would not be a good film for somebody expecting action or a typical Western film, but rather, this would be a film that I would recommend only to those who are in the mood for an insightful, philosophical film that shows an alternative view of life. Overall, it was an emotionally powerful film that will stick out in my memory as all Kiarostami films do.