This is one of the great works on youth, and Kiarostami wrings out as many ounces of emotional truth as he can. When a teacher punishes a student in front of the class and he cries, it has the potential to be cloying, but it's the more breathy, hiccupping type of crying as opposed to that doe-eyed variety that usually accompanies children in tears. The acting, as per usual with Kiarostami, is perfect, not at all showy or actorly. The film is told from the child's perspective, and we see how the adults view children as pestering annoyances, and how adults' duty-oriented simple-mindedness is so often not in tune to the rigid sense of morality that children sometimes have. The film is like an examination of children's moral code of righteousness -- the young hero here needs to return his friends' notebook so he can do his homework, but his parents fail to understand him and see it as more important for him to tend to his requirements outside of school. Meanwhile, his teacher tells the children that their schoolwork should come first. What is he to do? He's trying to do one right thing (that would help another) and getting quashed for not doing another right thing.
The film, which is addictively watchable, plays like a thriller in some ways (albeit a slow one): the notebook is its own character, and in jeopardy when another adult wants to write in it. The search for the friends' house (and the darkening of night indicating the loss of time for his friend to do his homework should he find him) is invigorating and thrilling. But more than that, the film has those little moments of pureness that Kiarostami blesses us with: The soft tenderness when one boy rubs water on another's knee after falling down outside; the wonderful images of children wandering in the slum-like houses and not at all worried about our immediate fears like violence or drugs; or the great scene where our hero sneaks away from his mother, who has forbade him from his mission, with the notebook tucked under his vest -- then realizing he's mistaken his own for his friends'. 9/10
The film, which is addictively watchable, plays like a thriller in some ways (albeit a slow one): the notebook is its own character, and in jeopardy when another adult wants to write in it. The search for the friends' house (and the darkening of night indicating the loss of time for his friend to do his homework should he find him) is invigorating and thrilling. But more than that, the film has those little moments of pureness that Kiarostami blesses us with: The soft tenderness when one boy rubs water on another's knee after falling down outside; the wonderful images of children wandering in the slum-like houses and not at all worried about our immediate fears like violence or drugs; or the great scene where our hero sneaks away from his mother, who has forbade him from his mission, with the notebook tucked under his vest -- then realizing he's mistaken his own for his friends'. 9/10