Abbas Kiarostami’s Humanist Legacy Lives on in Universal Language

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Warning: This discussion contains plot details from the movie “Universal Language,” which was released in cinemas towards the end of last year for an Oscar-eligible screening, and later became available in more locations on February 14, 2025.

A significant characteristic of Iranian cinema is its exploratory nature – a propensity to delve into multiple perspectives of a story, encompassing both reality and the abstract. This inclination can be attributed, in part, to the division between public and private life in Iran following the 1979 revolution, which has created a dichotomy where people’s outward expressions may not always align with their inner desires or yearnings. Filmmakers such as Abbas Kiarostami didn’t invent this exploration, but they certainly expanded it by using filmmaking itself as a storytelling tool, demonstrating that we all play roles for both our known and unknown acquaintances. Kiarostami’s impact has reached far beyond other Iranian directors, inspiring filmmakers to adopt a humanistic approach where every character – from immigrants to criminals, children to struggling adults, and young lovers in prohibited relationships – is portrayed with complex inner motivations and raw vulnerability.

Noticeably, films such as 1995’s “The White Balloon,” written by Kiarostami for his protege Jafar Panahi to direct, carry this legacy. (Panahi eventually emerged as a bold and influential figure in cinema who confronted the regime.) This same theme is seen in the works of younger Iranian filmmakers like Ramin Bahrani, whose films “Man Push Cart” and “Chop Shop” blend Kiarostami’s implicit class critiques with depictions of diaspora communities. It can also be found in Matthew Rankin’s “Universal Language,” where the bittersweet ending subtly explores the links between our identity and our origins, and contemplates what happens when these connections seem to disintegrate.

In a sense, the title “Universal Language” symbolizes Farsi in this movie’s fictional Winnipeg setting, where it is spoken by locals (Iranian citizens), tourists, the main character Matthew (also named Matthew), and even the turkeys that wander the snowy streets. This film is jointly written by Pirouz Nemati and Ila Firouzabadi who are fluent in Farsi. On a deeper level, the term “universality” signifies the human condition, encompassing all its complexities, fractures, voids, and warmth, which was a recurring theme throughout Kiarostami’s career.

In a wintery, quirky Winnipeg setting where Iranian merchants peddle samovar carts, serve hearty khoresht stews, and nurture crocuses amid gray concrete barriers and functional parking lots, the film “Universal Language” splits into multiple timelines that intersect in its latter part. Prior to this convergence, what ties the narratives together is their casual portrayal – there’s no reason given for why Winnipeg now mirrors Tehran; it simply does so – and the apparent influence they draw from various Kiarostami productions. The initial narrative follows a group of students at a French-speaking school, where their teacher, Mr. Bilodeau (Mani Soleymanlou), resembles an Iranian counterpart to Paul Giamatti in “The Holdovers.” Frustrated by his students’ grand career aspirations and their poor command of the language – one of the film’s funniest moments is when Soleymanlou exclaims, “You don’t have the courtesy to misbehave in French?” – he threatens them all with expulsion after young Omid (Sobhan Javadi) admits he has lost his essential glasses once more, rendering him unable to participate in class.

In contrast to most people who are excited about being released early, ambitious diplomat Negin (played by Rojina Esmaeili, a fiery individual with an impressive scowl) decides to aid Omid instead. The theme of children uniting to find or restore something lost is deeply rooted in Iranian cinema. For instance, Kiarostami’s film “Where Is the Friend’s House?“, the initial part of his Koker trilogy, tells the story of a boy going on a challenging journey to return his friend’s notebook so that the other child wouldn’t face trouble for missing schoolwork. A decade later, another Iranian filmmaker, Majid Majidi, gained international fame with “Children of Heaven“, where a boy loses his younger sister’s shoes and devises a plan to obtain new ones alongside their struggling family. In Kiarostami and Panahi’s “The White Balloon“, a brother-sister pair lose the money meant for a goldfish during their Iranian New Year celebration, and attempt to recover it. In the movie “Universal Language“, Negin understands that Omid was hindered by a turkey in a parking garage and lost his glasses, but she remains undeterred, especially when she discovers a 500-riel note frozen in the ground on her way home. (In the film, Winnipeg’s currency is named after Métis resistance leader Louis Riel, which resembles the Iranian currency rial.) Negin only needs to find a way to access or thaw the ice to reach the money, which she can use to buy new glasses for Omid — a task that becomes more challenging when an adult, Winnipeg tour guide Massoud (Pirouz Nemati), also spots the money and seems intent on keeping it for himself.

As Negin and her elder sister Nazgol (Saba Vahedyousefi) dart about, searching for a path across the ice before Massoud does, the character Universal Language follows a man named Matthew (Rankin), who seems somewhat directionless. Matthew has been stuck in a monotonous government job in Montreal for years, and his trip back to Winnipeg for his mother’s birthday feels like an inevitable journey. He can’t articulate why he was gone for so long, but he quickly slips back into the Iranian tongue, traditions, and practices of his childhood home. The filmmakers in Kiarostami’s films, such as ‘Through the Olive Trees’ and ‘The Wind Will Carry Us’, have a similar connection with the people they encounter during their travels in rural Iran – even when they don’t understand the local dialect or know the town news, there’s an underlying feeling of empathy and camaraderie.

In his journey, Rankin’s expressions reflect a blend of tentative return and astonished exploration. He treads paths that are both forgotten and remembered, revisiting his childhood home (now inhabited by a warm Iranian family), his father’s grave (located in a small plot sandwiched between highways, symbolizing comings and goings), and a Tim Hortons where tea with a sugar cube clenched between teeth is the preferred drink, a custom from the Iranian community. He moves through others’ lives, much like the cab driver in Kiarostami’s film Taste of Cherry, learning snippets about each passenger before asking if they would bury him after his death by suicide. Although Matthew’s fate may not be as definitively planned, a form of death looms over him. This becomes evident when Matthew meets Massoud, the one who answered Matthew’s mother’s call and guided him to their shared residence. With this encounter, Universal Language concludes its tribute: to Kiarostami’s 1990 masterpiece, Close-Up.

Titled “Close-Up,” this film explores the intricate real-life relationship between Hossain Sabzian, an Iranian film enthusiast who pretended to be director Mohsen Makhmalbaf in the late 1980s, and Makhmalbaf himself. The movie challenges the traditional role of directors and audiences as craftsmen and passive observers respectively, blurring these boundaries significantly. With its documentary-style approach, it also underscores the part Kiarostami played in shaping this narrative, with his crew, Sabzian, Makhmalbaf, the family deceived by Sabzian, the judge presiding over Sabzian’s trial, and many others involved in the actual case all appearing as themselves. The result is a thought-provoking exploration of our tendency to place ourselves at the center of our own stories to feel unique, recognized, and desired. Interestingly, Makhmalbaf would employ a similar device in his 1996 film “A Moment of Innocence,” where he acts alongside the real-life policeman he had assaulted during a protest in his youth.

In this concluding part of the story, dubbed the Universal Language, multiple plotlines intertwine: Nazgol recovers Omid’s glasses from a turkey’s foot after a brief struggle with the bird; Massoud swipes 500 riels from his sisters and retrieves an ice block containing the money to melt at home; the sisters uncover the truth that Massoud is Omid’s father during a celebration of Matthew’s mother’s birthday, when they invite him over for cake after the return of Omid’s glasses brings joy to both boy and mother; and Massoud feels remorse for his deception in keeping the frozen money safe from the sisters.

In a twist of events, Matthew initially perceives the origin of the money dispute between the sisters and Massoud. However, his perspective shifts when he learns about the compassionate care Massoud and his family have provided for Matthew’s ailing mother, who mistook Massoud for Matthew due to her dementia. Despite Massoud’s questionable actions, Matthew feels remorseful for neglecting his elderly mother, while Massoud is tarnished by his deceit towards the younger individuals.

As Matthew timidly enters his mother’s room, his body clinging to the wall and casting a wavering shadow, the camera remains still, capturing his repentant expression in a large mirror on the mantelpiece. In contrast, when Omid appears in the room, welcoming the woman he regards as his grandmother, the same shot is repeated, but now Matthew’s reflection appears in a smaller mirror than Omid’s, symbolizing his diminished role in her life. Photographs of Matthew from his childhood still adorn the mantelpiece, yet his mother no longer recognizes them as pictures of him; she believes they are images of Massoud, who she knows as Matthew.

Massoud had shared the swap story with Matthew during their first encounter – how Matthew’s mother recounted the tale of his birth, first steps, and first words to Massoud, and those memories became Massoud’s own. In this situation, Massoud lives a dual existence, while Matthew remains oblivious to being erased from his own life.

In a surprising turn of events, when Matthew departs his mother’s room to find Massoud, Negin, and Nazgol still arguing over the discovered money, he seems to undergo a metamorphosis, almost as if Winnipeg had transformed into Tehran: Matthew now embodies Massoud, with Rankin stepping into Matthew’s role. In the same manner that mirrors in Matthew’s mother’s room reflect Rankin’s character swap, this drama is framed to replace Matthew with Massoud. With Massoud and his sisters aligned centrally and confronting the camera, they shatter the boundary between observer and observed, akin to Kiarostami’s habit of appearing in his own films. In response, Matthew-as-Massoud also gazes directly into the camera, preparing us for the upcoming scene where Massoud takes on Matthew’s persona (with Rankin now portraying Massoud). Only Matthew-as-Massoud seems to notice anything amiss here. This scenario recalls the deception in Close-Up, where Sabzian impersonated Makhmalbaf for a while without anyone realizing it. Unlike Close-Up, Universal Language doesn’t condemn this body swap as something to be punished; instead, it invites us to ponder what truly defines our identity.

What are the key traits that define who we are as individuals – is it our family background, our identities, our appearances, our voices, our professions, our decisions? Is it how we behave with strangers or how faithful we are to those close to us, or how far we’re willing to go to rectify a wrong? In the story of Matthew, we have limited insights into his personality, particularly in relation to his mother. However, “Universal Language” implies that Massoud may not have taken Matthew’s identity away from him, but rather it was Matthew who allowed it to fade. Perhaps he prioritized his career over himself. Maybe he was entangled in red tape. Maybe avoiding home after his father’s passing was simpler. Regardless of the reasons, “Universal Language” retains its lively, effervescent quality, and refrains from criticizing or judging Matthew for becoming Massoud. It doesn’t assume that because he now resembles Massoud, he must repeat the same mistakes. Instead, it suggests that he still has the freedom to make choices for himself.

Instead of keeping the 500-riel note after it thaws due to ice melt, Matthew-as-Massoud retraces his steps to where he found it, replaces it, and re-freezes it with water. In this simple act, he seeks to rewind time and revisit the past; in a profound way, he offers another chance for someone else to discover this money and alter their destiny with it. Time is flexible, reality is shaped by our decisions, and we have the power to create our own second chances – themes that Universal Language borrow from Kiarostami’s empathetic cinematic archive and reinterprets in its unique way. When Universal Language starts, a yellow turkey image title declares the film is “A Presentation of the Winnipeg Institute for the Intellectual Development of Children and Young People”; this is a clever reference for those familiar with Kiarostami’s early films and documentaries associated with Tehran’s Institute for the Intellectual Development of Children and Young Adults, where the Kanoon organization was symbolized by a green goose logo. However, you don’t need prior knowledge to grasp the subsequent on-screen text’s message: “In the name of Friendship” sets out its purpose clearly. This phrase, borrowed from how Kanoon labeled its films in Farsi, is used here as both a homage and a declaration of vulnerability – a testament to the solitude that drives someone’s quest to forge a connection with another person. By reviving Kiarostami’s compassionate filmmaking approach, Universal Language defines its own identity.

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2025-02-15 16:55