Hossain Sabzian

In Close-Up (1990), Hossain Sabzian is playing himself, having previously impersonated the director Mohsen Makhmalbaf. Watching him help reconstruct that deception is unsettling: we are being asked to hear him out while watching him perform again. He offers little of the reassurance that a polished actor might provide. We find him compelling because he does not make it easy to decide how much to trust him, even as we begin to understand him.

There is little point trying to describe his work as a steady climb through larger roles. Close-Up did not lead to further acting parts, though Sabzian returned as himself in the companion documentary Close-Up Long Shot (1996). There he reflects on his absorption in cinema and on the effect of Kiarostami’s film. Our judgement rests chiefly on Close-Up, where watching him perform his own actions keeps us questioning even the explanations that seem most candid.

Abbas Kiarostami, who directs, writes and edits, knows how much depends on giving Sabzian time to speak. Ali Reza Zarrindast’s cinematography allows us to study his face, and the plain images leave Sabzian to sustain our attention by explaining himself. Kambiz Roshanravan’s music is effective, but the patience of the filming does more to make us care. We were moved by Sabzian’s account of his attachment to cinema, because his wish to feel like somebody is heard with such seriousness. The awkwardness remains, and the film is better for not smoothing it away.

Allow for some slow passages. Kiarostami’s long takes sometimes drift towards ordinary activity, and we would not pretend that every delay is equally rewarding. Yet the humour in Sabzian’s deception never becomes an excuse to despise him, and his devotion gives us a reason to keep listening even when the film appears in no hurry to proceed. No prior interest in filmmaking is needed to recognise his wish to be taken seriously. Start with Close-Up and give him time to explain himself.