Through The: Olive Trees- Abbas Kiarostami

Through the Olive Trees ends by suggesting that the only place love might exist is in the frame, in the act of looking. The real Hossein might go home alone that night. But the filmed Hossein, the one who exists for eternity through Kiarostami’s lens, might have finally won the girl. In an era of bloated blockbusters and explicit narratives, Through the Olive Trees is a radical act of humility. It asks us to watch differently—not to consume a story, but to participate in the construction of meaning. It is a film about filmmaking that is never cynical; a romance that is never sentimental; a tragedy about an earthquake that is actually a comedy about a man carrying a plank.

Then, she turns. She runs. But not away. She runs back towards the set, back towards the crew. Hossein watches her go. Defeated? Perhaps. Through the olive trees- Abbas Kiarostami

At first glance, Through the Olive Trees is a deceptive puzzle. It appears to be a simple, neorealist tale of a poor, illiterate stonemason named Hossein who is desperately trying to convince a young, educated woman named Tahereh to marry him. But this description is like calling Moby Dick a book about a whale. To watch Through the Olive Trees is to enter a hall of mirrors where the director, the actors, and the audience are all complicit in the act of “making believe.” To understand the film, one must understand its context. The Koker Trilogy began with Where Is the Friend’s House? (1987), a simple, heartbreaking story of a boy trying to return a notebook to his classmate in the rural village of Koker, Iran. It continued with And Life Goes On (1992), a meta-documentary following a director (played by Farhad Kheradmand) searching for the boy from the first film after the devastating 1990 Manjil–Rudbar earthquake. Through the Olive Trees ends by suggesting that

The tragedy of the earthquake is the backdrop; the foreground is the hilarious, agonizing, and ultimately transcendent pursuit by Hossein. He follows Tahereh through the rubble, badgering her with the same question: "Why won't you marry me?" He argues that his poverty is irrelevant, that she should look past material things, that he will treat her better than any wealthy man. In an era of bloated blockbusters and explicit