In spite of very favorable reviews from the media I failed to see any greatness in this movie. I do appreciate so called 'art movies', but in this case I did in fact fall asleep half way through watching; I continued next day to see the complete film. The story seemed interesting enough but as cinema it was heavy going and lacked a compelling dramatic narrative. The movie is overall very much of 'the camera'. The film however does provide some insight into areas of Iranian society (at the time the film was made) especially what appeared to be a rather casual but benign justice system for minor offences.
What begins as a courtroom curiosity soon turns into something deeper. A man bluffs his way into a family’s life by posing as a famous director, and the fallout is both absurd and quietly tragic. It starts with a chance bus encounter, when a journalist overhears Sabzian claiming to be Mohsen Makhmalbaf. The lie is plain, yet through it he reveals a truer self: his love of cinema, his need for respect, his longing to belong.
The contrast is striking. Sabzian is broke, drifting between jobs, while the family he deceives lives in middle-class comfort. His masquerade isn’t just a con but a fragile bid for recognition from a world that normally excludes him.
Kiarostami turns the episode into a meditation on film itself—less a record than a reinvention of reality. Nowhere is this clearer than in the final scene, when the real Makhmalbaf arrives on his motorbike. The sound falters, the moment stumbles, yet it remains overwhelming. Close-Up isn’t about the crime so much as the possibilities of art: to expose, to wound, and to console.