Art itself has become a bit of an ironic concept. You hear people say, “Oh, art is universal, literally anyone can appreciate it, I mean, isn’t that the point entirely?” To that I say, maybe it is—maybe art is something that can be universally perceived as beautiful and full of emotional depth, even the Jens Haaning Take the Money and Run’s of the world. But, it’s hard to look past what art has become in recent years, transforming into nothing more than a performative and artificial gesture of “Look at me! I bought this horrifically modern piece of art for no more than five hundred thousand dollars! Call me tasteful, please.” It sometimes feels like we’ve lost the essence of art, and our minds along with it; art has become something that can only truly be ‘enjoyed’ (if you can even call it that anymore) within the lens of wealth and freedom.

That then leads me to Abbas Kiarostami’s Iranian documentary-film Close-Up, which poses the question: Has art become some sort of privilege?

Close-Up details the true story of Hossain Sabzian’s arrest for impersonating famous director Mohsen Makhmalbaf. Sabzian, without too much hesitation, convinces the clueless Ahankah family to star in his made-up film, forcing himself into the intricacies of their very lives, and tirelessly spending day and night crafting a film that the world will never see. Kiarostami blurs the lines between fiction and reality by casting Sabzian and the Ahankah family as themselves in this reenactment of Sabzian’s crime, blurring real courtroom footage with fictionalized and re-characterized versions of real people.

What’s interesting is that this story allows Kiarostami to explore not only the ethics of Sabzian’s actions but also his role as a spectator of art and cinema. Kiarostami raises a multitude of questions surrounding the value of cinema within society, particularly for those similar to Sabzian, who are forced to admire the art from afar and are never able to draw close enough to become a part of that world. Sabzian’s actions almost then appear as a desperate attempt to live in his own fantastical film world, to create a form of art to finally experience for himself. Yes, he produces an artificial reality and takes on this role he conjures out of thin air—but, is that really so different from what we call cinema? Is this not only an attempt for Sabzian to make an escape from a reality where he doesn’t know when he’ll next be able to feed his children? The very same reality in which we all get to escape through cinema? His character blurs the line between fiction and reality, but also the line between justice and injustice.

Kiarostami continues to force viewers to look beyond Sabzian’s motivations and actions, to question why society has positioned art as a concept so unachievable. Sabzian wasn’t simply a man who wanted to live a different life for once, nor was he someone who had ill intent towards the Ahankah family. He was just one of the many working-class citizens who were never able to acquire the privilege, the time, and the wealth that is so unknowingly needed to pursue something as sacred as art. Art has become reserved for the higher end of social hierarchies, becoming just another working part in the gears of this capitalist system, but Kiarostami tries to bring the essence of it back by combining art with reality.

Art cannot shy away from reality. It has to accept into itself the sufferings of the real world and the lives of people who may never get the chance to create, to become more than the life they were given. And so, Close-Up acts as a metaphor for the entire societies that are oppressed and misunderstood, only wanting to be a part of a world so distant and disconnected from them.

By the end of the film, nothing is truly resolved, the viewer is not given an answer to who or what was guilty. Was it Sabzian, for fabricating his identity? Or maybe it was society itself, for putting him in that position.

Or was it art, for having become an unattainable privilege?

I don’t know, maybe it’s also a bit ironic that we’re a fashion and arts magazine.