Abbas Kiarostami's Certified Copy as a Literary Film

Particularly in the hands of an auteur who recognizes it as a literary form, the film is a rich product thanks in part to some work’s ability to be understood in different ways. Such is the case for Abbas Kiarostami and his nuanced, layered criticism of art titled Certified Copy (2010). With precise manipulation of mise-en-scene conventions and a dramatic shift in the narrative arc that affects camerawork, Kiarostami’s work shows the power of film as a literary form through a discussion (as well as a portrayal of) copies. Much like how the play, 12 Angry Men, struggled to parlay into film form. 

Though mostly made up of an extended conversation had between strangers on an autumn weekend afternoon in northwestern Italy, Certified Copy is not what it at first seems. The work’s unlikable main character – art critic James Miller – meets an antique dealer (referred to only as ‘she’ in the script) who is unwittingly bound to sight-see with him until he departs for the next leg of his book tour later that day. The two discuss art and the value of copies, and the theme of copies becomes a central plot point for the duration of the work. 

Throughout the film, Kiarostami urges viewers to consider the very idea of copies and reproductions as failures of viewpoint or interpretation. As a literary form all its own, he uses film to simultaneously show and tell in a way that, for example, a novel could not. To this point, one professor of philosophy at Federation University Australia suggests that “Certified Copy turns on dialogue: it is basically one long conversation between the protagonists" (Abbott 116). Throughout the work, "like Miller, we keep looking but keep failing to see" (Abbott 116). The dialogue and camerawork both distract and encourage viewers to look off before the leads confront them. 

The potential reality of what audiences see is challenged when the film's two major players start acting as if they are a married couple – another theme which continues thereafter.  Subsequently, the two discuss the statue (of a “man protecting his woman” [Kiarostami 1:05:02]) while, in the center of the screen, that statue appears in the reflection of a mirror. This event is in many ways the climax of the work. 

Kiarostami uses his camera's lens as a dubious perspective from which the events and objects on the screen can be challenged. After she reminds him that the value of art is based on perspective — a nod to the fact that audiences can now see the full aforementioned statue for the first time as a reflection — 'she' leaves to ask other visitors in the garden if they consider the centerpiece is a masterwork. Kiarostami chooses to keep the camera in the same position, hardly moving though clearly operated by a mobile cameraperson. Miller then, after momentarily scrutinizing it, crosses behind a motorcycle and viewers see (now that she is off-screen) another side view mirror on the bike which also encapsulates the same scene behind the frame. 

Viewers are forced to wonder what the real statue looks like in clearer definition; or, consistent with the work's general ideas, if it is mostly extant in conversation. Another issue of dubious perspective occurs right after, as Miller sees a man who appears to be beating his wife. A moment of reflection is thrust upon viewers when a question is raised through the paralleling of bust shots: does the film's protagonist realize that he appears to be replicating this misogynistic-seeming display (as in the film, Some Like it Hot) with his argument with ‘she’? The man then turns slightly to reveal that he is speaking on a mobile phone and that his companion has merely been waiting for him to finish that conversation. To these travelers, she (in French) describes as her 'husband' as a “cultural expert […] on the psychological value of art on the public” (Kiarostami 1:12:22). His opinion is limited by her unclear and somewhat ironic introduction, a choice linked to the shift in plot. Reflecting on the copied mirror theme, meanwhile, audiences here relate to as well as question Miller's judgment because of how he interpreted the couple.

Lastly, the pair have a climactic argument in a nearby cafe that ultimately suggests this film is more concerned with the interpretation of copies than a presentation of reality. Facing into the camera as a line of sight for Binoche’s character, Miller asks viewers: “if you’re not going to at least try to see things from my point of view, then what’s the point” (Kiarostami 1:22:37)? Immediately after prolonged shots where she stares ahead, directly into the camera lens, (and oftentimes around Miller as well as viewers), ‘she’ sees the married couple through the window and her sullen expression changes to enthusiasm. 

She motions that she is coming to talk to them, but when she exits she instead visits a pharmacy with James Miller following her idly behind before the two enter a church. Manipulating mise-en-scene conventions (here, we see two dividing panels instead of three; though the rule still holds) right after a common cinematic one (looking straight-ahead), Kiarostami's script here starts to become an untamable creation. 

Certified Copy finds Abbas Kiarostami asking audiences if they recognize themselves in the duplications and intimations from within the limited filmic world he presents. Flouting conventions like not breaking the fourth wall underscore the breakdown of the script’s logical parameters in a way that has a real effect on interpretability. Kiarostami’s film highlights the interpretative potential in film willing to ask difficult questions, which demonstrates its value as a literary form.

Works Cited

Abbott, Mathew. Abbas Kiarostami and Film-Philosophy. Edinburgh University Press, 2016.

Kiarostami, Abbas, director. Certified Copy. MK2, 2010.