'Shirin' is nothing if not a curiosity. Unless one deconstructs the picture to its fundamental elements of light and sound, there is nothing conventional about this movie, neither in production nor in realization. This is not a feature that will be accepted by any viewer who isn't receptive to the most purely artistic of films.
This is, to my amazement, the second movie I've watched in which the camera is focused on all times on the face of someone in front of it. Yet while Andrew Bowser's 'Worm,' made in 2013, is a dynamic crime thriller, Abbas Kiarostami's 'Shirin' dispenses almost entirely with a sense of narrative. The individuals in the camera's eye are themselves simply seated, and ostensibly watching a film. The sound, music, and dialogue of the feature in our vision is only that of the "film within a film" we don't see. The only story in the 90 minutes before us is the one playing out on the unseen screen.
It's worth mentioning that story, for it's the tale of Shirin and Khosrow, a classic romance of Persian literature many centuries past. This isn't a work that is at all familiar to audiences outside historical Persia, yet to explore it as one can is a worthy endeavor. It's a rich saga with timeless themes, and complex characters and drama. The rendition presented in 'Shirin' is a decisively truncated adaptation that focuses largely (though not exclusively) on the titular figure; the thrust of the story would be lost on anyone who doesn't already have at least passing knowledge.
With our movie built as it is, we are left to gauge the reactions of the audience to the spectacle playing out on their screen. It's a wondrously intriguing concept, one that could just as well be woven into a silent picture and be just as bizarrely captivating. The exploration of wide-ranging emotion, as tied to spectatorship and engagement, is a beautiful notion. To be sure, there is a well-spring held within the gaze of every individual assembled to participate in this project; as the faces before us are collected from among many Iranian actresses (and special guest Juliette Binoche), the sight is fetching. In the alignment of audience reaction with unseen adaptation, there is a message about the universality of the tale of Shirin, an experience shared by all women living in explicitly or tacitly patriarchal societies.
There's just one problem: It's not quite real.
To read of the production history, or watch a widely-available making-of featurette, 'Shirin' was filmed by presenting actresses with a nondescript image to which they were instructed to impart varied natural reactions. The rendition of the ancient epic to greet our ears is merely a narration, enhanced by sound, and shots of the audience's responses are edited together to match the post-production insertion of the audio. To that end - by all means, hats off to Kiarostami and Arash Sadeghi for their tight editing prowess.
For the skills of all involved, the emotional responses we see play out feel nearly, mostly genuine - 'Shirin' feels nearly, mostly genuine. But they're not, and it's not, and one can somewhat tell. There's a notable lack of absolute comportment of reaction to supposed scenes, and for that matter, the direct and abbreviated course of events in the "adaptation" limit what a truly natural emotional response may otherwise be. Hand in hand with this, the random dance of light across audience members' heads is too dynamic to accurately reflect scenes which, judging by the audio, would be less so in actuality. Think of any other film you watch: If a shot is unchanging as two characters share dialogue, then the glare cast by your screen across objects before it will be at least more static than the rustling of leaves in wind. But not so in 'Shirin.' The end result, for the fact of our knowledge, is an artistic endeavor that doesn't wholly achieve what it intends.
That process of filming is fascinating in and of itself, and worth consideration. Yet overall, I can't immediately think of another production that so handily embodies the conventional wisdom against "seeing how the meat gets made."
With all this having been said, I am somewhat divided. The skills of all involved are undeniable. There is worth in the very craft behind 'Shirin.' The artistry of the undertaking is admirable, and rewarding. But it's not as fulfilling as it could be, because for however authentic the experience seems broadly, to know that it isn't casts an inhibitive pall over the full potential.
Yet perhaps I'm nitpicking. After all, it's no one's fault but my own that I peeked behind the curtain. And whatever its idiosyncratic deficiencies as a feature film, the fact remains that assessed on its own, 'Shirin' is unexpectedly entrancing. On the balance I like it more than I don't, with full recognition that it's a title only the most patient and open-minded viewers will appreciate. But if all I've written hasn't dissuaded you, or has in fact appealed to you, then 'Shirin' is quite worth seeking out.
This is, to my amazement, the second movie I've watched in which the camera is focused on all times on the face of someone in front of it. Yet while Andrew Bowser's 'Worm,' made in 2013, is a dynamic crime thriller, Abbas Kiarostami's 'Shirin' dispenses almost entirely with a sense of narrative. The individuals in the camera's eye are themselves simply seated, and ostensibly watching a film. The sound, music, and dialogue of the feature in our vision is only that of the "film within a film" we don't see. The only story in the 90 minutes before us is the one playing out on the unseen screen.
It's worth mentioning that story, for it's the tale of Shirin and Khosrow, a classic romance of Persian literature many centuries past. This isn't a work that is at all familiar to audiences outside historical Persia, yet to explore it as one can is a worthy endeavor. It's a rich saga with timeless themes, and complex characters and drama. The rendition presented in 'Shirin' is a decisively truncated adaptation that focuses largely (though not exclusively) on the titular figure; the thrust of the story would be lost on anyone who doesn't already have at least passing knowledge.
With our movie built as it is, we are left to gauge the reactions of the audience to the spectacle playing out on their screen. It's a wondrously intriguing concept, one that could just as well be woven into a silent picture and be just as bizarrely captivating. The exploration of wide-ranging emotion, as tied to spectatorship and engagement, is a beautiful notion. To be sure, there is a well-spring held within the gaze of every individual assembled to participate in this project; as the faces before us are collected from among many Iranian actresses (and special guest Juliette Binoche), the sight is fetching. In the alignment of audience reaction with unseen adaptation, there is a message about the universality of the tale of Shirin, an experience shared by all women living in explicitly or tacitly patriarchal societies.
There's just one problem: It's not quite real.
To read of the production history, or watch a widely-available making-of featurette, 'Shirin' was filmed by presenting actresses with a nondescript image to which they were instructed to impart varied natural reactions. The rendition of the ancient epic to greet our ears is merely a narration, enhanced by sound, and shots of the audience's responses are edited together to match the post-production insertion of the audio. To that end - by all means, hats off to Kiarostami and Arash Sadeghi for their tight editing prowess.
For the skills of all involved, the emotional responses we see play out feel nearly, mostly genuine - 'Shirin' feels nearly, mostly genuine. But they're not, and it's not, and one can somewhat tell. There's a notable lack of absolute comportment of reaction to supposed scenes, and for that matter, the direct and abbreviated course of events in the "adaptation" limit what a truly natural emotional response may otherwise be. Hand in hand with this, the random dance of light across audience members' heads is too dynamic to accurately reflect scenes which, judging by the audio, would be less so in actuality. Think of any other film you watch: If a shot is unchanging as two characters share dialogue, then the glare cast by your screen across objects before it will be at least more static than the rustling of leaves in wind. But not so in 'Shirin.' The end result, for the fact of our knowledge, is an artistic endeavor that doesn't wholly achieve what it intends.
That process of filming is fascinating in and of itself, and worth consideration. Yet overall, I can't immediately think of another production that so handily embodies the conventional wisdom against "seeing how the meat gets made."
With all this having been said, I am somewhat divided. The skills of all involved are undeniable. There is worth in the very craft behind 'Shirin.' The artistry of the undertaking is admirable, and rewarding. But it's not as fulfilling as it could be, because for however authentic the experience seems broadly, to know that it isn't casts an inhibitive pall over the full potential.
Yet perhaps I'm nitpicking. After all, it's no one's fault but my own that I peeked behind the curtain. And whatever its idiosyncratic deficiencies as a feature film, the fact remains that assessed on its own, 'Shirin' is unexpectedly entrancing. On the balance I like it more than I don't, with full recognition that it's a title only the most patient and open-minded viewers will appreciate. But if all I've written hasn't dissuaded you, or has in fact appealed to you, then 'Shirin' is quite worth seeking out.