What do you get when you cross an Iranian filmmaker, French co-producers and an all-Japanese cast? Thankfully, it’s not a punchline, but it’s not exactly a tour de force either. Nevertheless, director and screenwriter Abbas Kiarostami has been garnering attention from the festival circuit with his new film, “Like Someone in Love.” Martin Scorsese has been quoted saying, “Kiarostami represents the highest level of artistry in the cinema.” The artistry and acumen that has earned him reverence among his filmmaking peers is on full display in this film. However, his confinement to art house cinema is apparent as well. Viewers should not expect conventional storytelling.
In the film’s namesake, a classic jazz song, Ella Fitzgerald wistfully resonates, “Sometimes the things I do astound me, mostly whenever you’re around me.” It is an appropriate soundtrack for the events that transpire. The title’s inclusion of the word “like” is crucial to the viewing experience. The film focuses on two characters that are not actually in love — they just behave as they do to pursue their particular motives.
Akiko (played by Rin Takanashi) is a sociology student moonlighting as a prostitute unbeknownst to her bellicose fiance. She is hired by an elderly sociology professor, Takashi (played by Tadashi Okuno) who pretends to be her grandfather when he is approached by the fiance the next day. The three clash as a result of their loneliness and how they choose to deal with it — Akiko faces the loneliness of having to play multiple parts for multitudes of people, Takashi lives with the loneliness of being a widower with an estranged daughter and Noriaki, the fiance, struggles with the loneliness of having a lover with fragmented, essentially nonexistent communication.
The film begins with the words, “I’m not lying,” spoken by someone off-screen in a crowded bar in Tokyo. The sequence continues with the voice providing a long string of unquestionably dishonest responses to a muted voice, and her face is finally revealed — the first of several borderline unnervingly lengthy and disorienting scenes. However, the impeccable acting and mesmerizing cinematography prevent the viewer from crossing into tedium.
The most poignant scene in the film occurs when Akiko is sitting in the back of a taxi looking out into a sea of neon lights, listening to her voicemails, which were noticeably time-consuming. The drawn-out look at her face accentuates her every microscopic movement.
The other central character, the professor, is introduced nearly 30 minutes into the film — a fact that, in retrospect, is startling. Time flies by when Kiarostami is having fun. While Akiko attempts to play the part of a seductress for the elderly professor, he seems to be more intent on holding a conversation and eating the dinner he prepared for the both of them. She falls asleep in his bed, and he evidently does not sleep with her. His intentions, like Kiarostami’s, are never made clear. Is he trying to rekindle the romance he lost with his wife or restore the fatherhood he lost with his daughter?
However, any semblance of plot that has been developed comes crashing down abruptly (and literally), then the film fades to black, rolls the credits and plays the title song to a most likely flabbergasted audience. The result is a film that is compelling but never feels complete. Regardless, it is an offering that is worth watching for its distinctive cinematography and usage of on-screen and off-screen space, as well as for its captivating acting. Like someone in love, the viewer is left feeling vulnerable with a lingering desire to decipher the film’s open-ended messages.
Contact Ephriam Lee at [email protected].