Five Dedicated to Ozu

No-one so far has tackled the awkward question: what has this to do with Ozu? By using the great man's name in his title, this director has invoked certain expectations which he comes nowhere near to fulfilling. Where is Ozu's social commentary, his humour? Ozu was strongly motivated by telling stories: about post-war Japan; about troubled youth; about generational change. Kiarostami in his own words has said that he doesn't believe in narrative cinema. Let's move on. How can leaving scene composition to luck compare to the strictly composited (one might even say 'Japanese') cinematography of Ozu? Experimental, yes, creative in any true sense, no.

Ozu used fixed camera positions and arranged his actors deliberately and aesthetically, also he invented a tatami-level eye view, intensely personal. Kiarostami has employed static cameras for his audio/visual experiments (without being overly inventive). There the similarity ends. Hardly worthy to be called a tribute, a bit of coattail riding perhaps?

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)

Can this "film" be considered as a film? Imagine the situation: somebody puts a handy cam over a tripod and in front of a sea promenade and film people walking or jogging along it. Then, he places the camera in a beach, buys some ducks in a pet shop, open their cages and let them run in front of the camera. Later, he just films the water surface and the sound of birds and insects in an absolute darkness. Is it an experiment or just an insult to the audience intelligence? What would it happen if any unknown director did a film like that? Would we mark his job with 10? I always disappoint directors who believe that can do everything they want once they became famous.

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.