This film is set in the front seat of five cars in Tehran. The reason for the claustrophobic surroundings is that the cars are all driven by women, and their passengers are women in four cars and a boy in the other. The boy is the son of the first woman in the film, and she is divorced from his father. The reason for him being in the car is that she is driving the boy to school. He is not a pleasant boy and is very angry with his mother. Another reason for him being there is that the director, Abbas Kiiarostami, wants to show us is that in Iran, and indeed all over the world, some men are not always particularly nice to women. The other women have passengers who are all treated quite badly by men, although in the passage about the prostitute, this woman seems to be very fatalistic and worldly about the opposite sex.
It is a riveting film, and although the women seem to be well off enough to be able to drive good cars, they appear to be trapped in a system which men rule. Hence the claustrophobia.
Sounds like a spreadsheet exercise, but it's really just two digital cameras bolted to a dashboard, and somehow that's the whole film. Kiarostami's Ten sets them rolling, then all but disappears — skeleton crew, no visible directing — and just lets Mania Akbari drive and talk.
The blow-ups with her son land hardest because there's nowhere to hide: two fixed angles, trading dialogue like the world's cheapest shot-reverse-shot. Knowing Akbari now says most of the footage and words were hers muddies the old "director erases himself" reading — less bold minimalism, more someone stepping back from work he still took credit for.
I liked the ride, but by segment five the setup's running on fumes: same windscreen, new passenger, diminishing returns. Starts sharp, ends a bit stalled.
Intelligent cinema, heavy yes, a hollywood antidote.