Five Dedicated to Ozu

Life lessons from Abbas Kiarostami for a world based on the hurry and the continuous need for change and stimulation.

If you try to see the film when you are in a hurry you will think that this is a joke without any respect for your valuable time.

If you have any expectations from the film for something to happen you will be disappointed.

In any case why to spend 1+ hour for something that the scene change too slow.

It seems that the dogs in the shore enjoying more than us the simple things, leaving the time to pass by. Sitting lazy. We will stop the film and be in hurry to move in the next chapter of our lifes that has to offer something always better than the present moment.. Or perhaps sit and meditate this simple moment for what it is.

(Although personally I don't know the connection with Ozu)

I found it charming! Nobody else but Kiarostami can do so little and, yet, get so much. You might think I'm weird, but I was so charmed that I couldn't speak during the movie. While during other movies I comment a lot. The short movie made by him for Lumiere et Companie, the one with the eggs, that one is unbeatable in my heart, but this is wonderful, too. I liked it better than Ten. Kiarostami is, maybe, the best director in my opinion, because he can see things! He doesn't need to use a lot of stuff "brought from home" to illustrate his images, he simply grabs a camera. Not many can do that.. Maybe I don't know to much about movies but I don't care about complicate stuff, all someone has to do is touch my soul. Kiarostami does.

SPOILER ALERT! Nah, just kiddin'... There's no plot here anyway. Well, I seriously think the world would be better if there were more films that show nothing but landscape. Of course you need some formal twist or concept to turn it into art. And Kiarostami does this: Even in this film, with its five long takes and no dialogue, he manages to address some of his central concerns: What is "real" and what is "directed"? Where does the director come in? So each shot makes artistic decisions - like to fix the camera on a small piece of wood that broke off of the larger piece of driftwood, until the letter moves outside the frame. Or the seaside avenue: As soon as the four old men gather, no other passersby appear, although there have been many before - was that arranged by the director? The take with the dogs fades out into white very very slowly... Then: Ducks. Many ducks! Walking to and fro. This is comedy! Ducks are funny beasts, anyway. And their footsteps are dubbed: As Tati once remarked, legwork is the clue to good comedy. Then, Kiarostami cheats in the last shot: This is edited. True, the moon on the water is wonderful, and Kiarostami is right in showing it for half an hour. But there is also a rainstorm, and in the end, after a cock's call, it becomes light in undue haste - everybody who ever spent a night outdoors knows it's not that neat. But well... It's still wonderful. Only the Betacam quality of the images is a bit off-putting; HD would have been more effective.

Coming from Kiarostami, this art-house visual and sound exposition is a surprise. For a director known for his narratives and keen observation of humans, especially children, this excursion into minimalist cinematography begs for questions: Why did he do it? Was it to keep him busy during a vacation at the shore?

"Five, 5 Long Takes" consists of, you guessed it, five long takes. They are (the title names are my own and the times approximate):

"Driftwood and waves". The camera stands nearly still looking at a small piece of driftwood as it gets moved around by small waves splashing on a beach. Ten minutes.

"Watching people on the boardwalk". The camera stands still looking at the ocean horizon and a boardwalk. People walk across the camera frame, their faces too far and blurry to make them interesting. Eleven minutes.

"Six dogs at the water's edge". The camera stands still looking at the ocean horizon with a sandy stretch of beach nearby. Far away at the water's edge, six dogs not doing much, just relaxing. Sixteen minutes.

"Ducks in line, gaggle of ducks". The camera stands still looking at the ocean horizon near the water's edge. Dozen and dozen of ducks stream in single file from left to right. I assume that Kiarostami released them gradually. The last two ducks stop dead on their track and suddenly a gaggle of ducks rolls quietly from right to left. I assume Kiarostami collected the ducks and re-released all at the same time. It is not the first time that he deals with the contrast between organized and disorganized behavior. Eight minutes.

"Frog symphony, oops, I mean cacophony, for a stormy night". The camera stands over a pond at night. It's pitch black except for what appears to be the reflection of the moon on the undulating water. It is a stormy night and clouds race to cover the moon. The screen goes dark. What remains for us is the cacophony of frogs, howling dogs and, eventually, morning roosters. Hit me on the head if this was done in a single take. I saw this segment as a sound composition put together in the editing room and accompanied by a simple visualization. Twenty seven minutes!

Except for the mildly amusing ducks, this exercise in minimalism left me cold. A nonessential film for Kiarostami admirers.

I thought I would rate "Five" a five, but four is what it deserves.

The film is dedicated to Yasujiru Ozu.

The movie starts with a seascape at dawn where a piece of wood is caught between the shore and the sea until it breaks into two. One part drifts into the sea, and the other stays-perhaps a symbol of solitude and migration. Perhaps because of this seascape, which shows no specific geography, the next landscape reveals the geography of a non-Iranian country. Each sequence is remarkable, but two elements play a crucial role: sound and movement. The waves moving, the ducks gliding-that amazed me-and finally, the symphony of the night, the chorus of frogs and insects. In the fourth sequence, everything happens at night; images are blurred and indistinct, and only the sounds linger. Experiencing nature at night becomes a matter of listening rather than seeing.