mariosbenjamin

Tony is a film about aimlessness. It follows a man no one sees, and more importantly, no one wants to see-a forgotten figure drifting through society's cracks. Tony isn't a monster created in isolation; he's the result of social decay. The film doesn't give him a backstory, a goal, or even a real conflict. He exists. And that's enough to unsettle.

Peter Ferdinando is brilliantly hollow as Tony-a loner drifting through the gray, indifferent streets of East London. He kills as casual as throwing out the trash. He's not a charming psychopath; he's invisible. There's no glamour, no action-just awkward silences, decaying walls, and a disturbing sense of realism.

The film's tone is suffocatingly quiet. There's no score to guide your emotions, no dramatic build-up. Just silence, awkward pauses, cheap lighting, and damp wallpaper. It plays like a social realist documentary, and that's its strength-and its limitation. Some scenes drag. Some interactions feel aimless. But maybe that's the point: Tony's life is aimless.

Of the Koker Trilogy, this was the one I connected with the least. From the beginning, I struggled to find the thread-I felt confused, unsure what was going on or what Kiarostami was trying to tell me. It took until the middle of the film for things to settle down, for the story to feel clear and stable.

Having watched the previous two films, I couldn't help but question what was real and what was fiction. Was I watching a film about the filming of a film about a film? Or did something real happen during the making of Life and Nothing More...? The deliberate layering felt like a cinematic hall of mirrors, and it left me in a strange place-curious, but also a little lost.

That disorientation especially marked the first half of the film. I didn't know what the director wanted to say. But in the second half-when we step more into the behind-the-scenes world-I started to feel more grounded, more "safe" within the film's logic.

My experience watching Through the Olive Trees was similar to the other two films in tone, but this time, I felt more annoyed than moved. I found myself sharing the same frustration Hossein feels-especially toward Tahereh. She was silent to the point of being emotionally unreadable. I kept asking myself: does she truly have a heart of stone, or is her silence heavy with cultural pressure, class tension, or something unspoken? Kiarostami usually invites us to fill in the gaps-but here, I couldn't fill them properly. The silence didn't open up meaning for me; it just left me uncertain.

And yet, the final long shot changed everything. It's quiet, stretched out, and unresolved-but it speaks volumes about emotional risk and the courage to hope, even when you might be ignored. That final moment gave the film its power.

In the end, Through the Olive Trees asks for a lot of patience. It's not emotionally direct like Where Is the Friend's House?, but it's intellectually rich and thought-provoking. Still, I'm not sure if it completes the trilogy-or if it's just a film that could have been made in another cinematic world.

After watching Where Is My Friend's House?, I was curious to see what came next - and And Life Goes On was definitely different. The movie feels like a greeting, or even a tribute, from the director to the villages and people where he filmed Where Is My Friend's House?. I really appreciated that - he didn't forget them.

By putting himself as a character in the film, Kiarostami makes the experience feel personal. The idea behind the film is interesting: a director (a stand-in for Kiarostami himself) returns to the village after the real 1990 earthquake to look for the child actors from his earlier movie. I respect that the film blurs the line between fiction and documentary, following the director and his son on this journey through devastation.

It gives you the same quiet, intimate vibes as the first movie. Minimalist storytelling, long takes, real locations, and non-professional actors create a raw, meditative tone. But this time, we see how Kiarostami has learned something from Ahmad in the first film - that same determination and discipline. Just as Ahmad searched for his friend's house with complete dedication, here the director searches for the child actor with the same energy. It's like Kiarostami is now embodying the moral of his previous film.

That said, while the subject of this film is heavier and more tragic, it didn't move me as much emotionally. Kiarostami captures how ordinary people confront unimaginable loss - and still smile, rebuild, and live. Without sensationalizing anything. But although the conversations felt natural and the scenes real, they didn't always pull me in. I wasn't bored, but I didn't feel fully connected either. It's more about the atmosphere and message than a traditional story, and while that has value, it didn't hit me as hard as I hoped.

There were definitely touching moments, and I appreciate what the film stands for. But as a whole, it didn't leave a deep emotional impact on me. I'd say it's a thoughtful and respectful film - just not one I'd personally return to.