Alongside its stirring illustration of socio economic impediments, and disenfranchisement, it is what Ali Sabzian reveals about the nature of acting, as it relates to the cultivation of experience that permeates the relationship between actor and audience - that underscores the brilliance of this film. In the court scene which functions as the beating heart of this film, Ali points out that the family he deceived, helped provide the tools by which he, his performance, (and indeed the confidence in it) was developed, and encouraged. In essence, he points out that the more they believed, the more he too believed, demonstrating with humble but almost divine clarity the co-dependant relationship between audience and player, artist and patron, failure and success. Sabzian's words and story are also representative of both the reality and the over-simplified myth of meritocracy as a pure by-product of preparation and opportunity, when the truth belies a much more complex relationship. As Ali seizes his opportunity, his audience becomes vital to the success of his role and his scheme. Their belief is swelled by his passion, his dedication, his knowledge, and so Ali begins to leave the ground on the wind they provide beneath his wings, BUT as he does, the odds of successfully negotiating , and shirking all the well constructed social and aesthetic weights (appearance, finances, shame) that pave the way out of poverty weigh him back down, swallow him up, and spit him back out to where he began. Watching Ali’s story, it’s not hard to come by the conclusion that success (like a good caper) comes by way of a mutual deception similar to the premise put forth by the film “The Prestige” ( an audience willing to be deceived) , a confidence in that deception, and some well timed breaks . Ali fakes it, and he does it well because in a way he had been preparing for this his whole life. When an opportunity does present itself through happenstance, Ali didn't hesitate, he lept, almost involuntarily to take advantage, but it was only a matter of time considering all he didn't have. Ali’s lack of resources, and the limiting will of the players to provide a genuine opportunity. Once they discover what amounts to merely a label, a construct of Ali's identity, the play morphs from daring story of an ingenous, but desperate scheme to realize ones dream, to a ticking clock story set to eventually alarm the audience to deflate a promising balloon filled with human will and passion. After all disingenuous scheme that it was, as the director points out in court for all intensive purposes, Ali is an actor, if not a director. The only ingredients missing from a fully realized reality of his art are those out of Ali's control, the belief, of others, the finance. Every single production of art done through distribution is the result of a community of believers, and fellow role players who believe. Without them what your left with is what society might deem delusion, or even worse and more stigmatizing, poor mental health. What close-up reveals with it's penetrative gaze is the limitations of passion, ingenuity, hustle, and potential in society for any man or woman. The frustration of the impoverished artist is both the nearness and the distance of opportunity. It is the mirage of the oasis always just out of grasp. Sabzian can only have his dream for so long as the audience is willing to uphold his fantasy. He is a have -not, and while a few very fortunate players may "play" their way to success, it is largely inaccessible due to the constant molestation of chance, class, and in other situations sex, and race. In this is the tragedy of the play . The dreamers whose dreams are deferred, as much by his or their own failings as the many of society. The members of the Ahankhah family , who themselves struggle with the chasm between passion and opportunity (The Older brother is an engineer who ends up running a bread factory ) cannot abide his deception, nor believe his passions because they're pride is hurt by the fact that they ever believed in this man. He is a hustler to them, by their own estimation this is somehow vastly different from how a a “real director” would behave. There was a physical identity theft here, and yet it can be argued this is part of Ali's identity. Ali is both who he says he is and not who he says he is. No one including maybe even Kiarostami is willing to engage on any real level with the artist, to indulge him in his “play” a brechtian meta tragedy on identity and desire. In the end Ali is given some flowers, a bike ride, and a memory of just how close he came to realizing his potential. Close up, goes in to go out, and what it captures at the point of convergence is a paradox that breaks down the convenient conventions of unfettered access by way of will, and determination, for all his desire, his ingenuity, and willingness, Sabzian would end up hawking dvd’s in a subway station. And one has to find themselves asking why did no one give this man one opportunity, one chance to prove his worth. A production assistant, a tiny role, or even a scholarship? How far might he have have flown? Would he have crashed? I’m reminded of the great Rolling Stones song, You can’t always get what you want, but if you try SOMETIMES, you MIGHT find, you get what you need.
