The beauty of not knowing everything

 Taste of Cherry—Kiarostami

I’m a know-it-all. I’ve spent my entire life fact-checking people, researching things I don’t agree with, and correcting people like an oath. I love having the answers and understanding the nature of events. The word I’ve found myself using the most in my gauche youth is “why?”.

Yet, as a know-it-all, I’ve been carrying a deep-rooted secret inside of me, hidden behind memories, and my fragile heart is the deep shame that I don’t know most things about myself. I’ve been so focused on uncovering everyone else’s being that I was unable to see how, with every secret dug out, I would cover myself up more and more. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love to overshare, and I tell my friends about the newest hot gossip in my life, but if someone were to ask me why, I don’t think I’d know the answer.

Abbas Kiarostami’s film Taste of Cherry plays with exactly that. You’re faced with a stranger. A stranger on a journey. A journey to end his life. (Why?)

It’s quiet but also screaming with noise at the same time, a beautiful depiction of daily life.

Badii is stripped of any identity; he’s nothing but an ambiguous and mysterious figure intent on ending his own life. As a viewer, you must follow him around as he drives around, talking to three figures—military, religion, and ultimately a man representing reason, memory, beauty, or simple vivacity. It’s a raw, emotional, and intense dialogue that leaves you with a heavy feeling in your stomach.

Who is he? Why is he doing this? For good reason? Because of despair? Anger? Loneliness? Should we root against him? Who is he?

He is a man, planning his death and wanting to be reunited with nature as he leaves the earth. Viewers must only consider this: we are not asked to ponder his identity or uncover his reasons, his life, and his past. Empathy, compassion, and patience are all that we are asked. Our only role is to follow the events and to take it all in.

 How does the film end? Other than with me bawling, it ends on an ambiguous note. Why? It’s open to interpretation, but I prefer not to dig into it. Each time that I watch the film, I feel different about the ending, but I’ve learnt to not understand every problem that I’m faced with. Not everything needs to be uncovered, dissected, and understood. Some things are meant to be vague, it’s their only way of making you see, feel and know.

I’ve fallen completely and irrevocably in love with Abbas Kiarostami. The first film I watched by him was Where is the Friend’s House?, and I haven’t been able to get him out of my mind ever since. I love his simplicity and his ability to capture the essence of humanity. There’s one adorable clip of him that I love: 

The cinematography is flawless, a true work of art. He’s the cause of my interest in Iranian culture. I got obsessed with him as a filmmaker and then felt stupid for saying “I love Iranian cinema” and not actually watching anything besides Kiarostami…

Currently, I’m trapped in the subgenre of Iranian films that mostly centre around children and present life as this sad but beautiful experience. 

Do I want to escape that bubble? Not yet. 

Why?