



There is a rift between those who claim this film to be the sublime pinnacle of Iranian Abbas Kiarostami's film making and those who wait in vain for the slow burn plot to weave meaningful threads or at least hint at cathartic redemption. Mr Badii cruises the streets of Tehran like a punter in search of young unemployed men. He interrogates them with a confident yet unsettling intensity and is initially vague about the nature of his proposed employment opportunity for these young men. One boy unnerved by his persistence threatens violence and a doe eyed young soldier takes fright at the bizzare requests, as they drive across a wasteland on the periphery of the city he jumps out and flees. Badiis quest for death becomes almost banal as one after the other finds a reason not to assist him in his search for an accomplice.
Quiet, meditative, and stripped to its essentials, Taste of Cherry unfolds more as a journey than a traditional story—measured, searching, and quietly profound. A man drives the dusty outskirts of Tehran, asking strangers for a peculiar kind of help. No backstory, no clear reason—Just his quiet persistence, met with response that range from wary to tender.
Kiarostami directs with the patience of a poet. Long takes, uncluttered framing, and a cast of mostly non-professional actors lend the film a realism that borders on documentary. Homayoun Ershadi brings a quiet intensity to the central role—composed, courteous, unreadable. His restraint creates space for the passengers' reflections to carry the emotional weight.
What emerges is less a film about death than one about the meanings people attach to life—through faith, work, family and small, fleeting moments of beauty, The conversations that take place in the car touch on kindness, despair, religion, poverty, and perspective. Kiarostami's minimalism isn't cold or austere—it's generous, leaving space to think, to breathe, and to listen.
Taste of Cherry is a fable as much as a film. It raises questions without offering tidy answers, and its refusal to define or conclude feels like an invitation rather than a dodge. The film doesn't hold your hand—but does leave one outstretched.