Bacheha-Ye aseman

Rating: 8/10 (17 July 2016)

The film's poster has a bright, dream-like quality, as though it has been etched from a child's imagination itself. But the stories within are not daydreams, but real issues that a young brother and sister have to face at a much too early age. When Ali takes his sister's shoes to be mended, they are mistaken for trash (which tells you as much about their condition of living) and taken away. This would be a hard sell in a western setting; it seems inconceivable that such a mundane loss could propel a family into such desperation. We take the very material that protects our feet from the ground for granted. For Ali's family there is no such fortune.
When he returns home crestfallen, he can barely believe what he has allowed to happen and cannot face breaking the news to his sister. Zahra's anticipation is along the liens of the poster; her eyes are wide, bright, and innocent, and she has the type of face that is impossible to disappoint. He breaks it to her slowly, gently. They silently pass notes between each other because the father would beat them if he found out. But I think there is also another reason for this. We underestimate the feelings of children so often. They do so in secret because they have enough sensitivity and awareness that they do not want to heap yet another problem onto the pile for their parents. The film is full of moments which give them the opportunity to open up about their poverty and domestic issues. But they carry with them a fierce pride that prevents them from doing so. There is a very real and realised scene where their father explodes because of all their misfortune and the lack of control around it. Ali and Zahra see this and respond; they want to minimise, and they want to resolve this issue themselves. And later, there is the heartbreaking moment where they track down the user of Zahra's old shoes, but see the recipient's misfortune for themselves, and slowly shuffle away with this realisation. This is maturity beyond their years.
There are a few brief moments in which they are allowed the freedom to act their age. As the father toils hard in the garden, Ali is allowed to play with the similar aged son, and we are reminded of what a child should be doing. Their laughter is little more than gurgles, like a newborn baby. And when Zahra and he are afforded a moment to blow bubbles, the soundtrack, which has been strictly diegetic for almost the entirety of the film, chimes in with this soft, tinkling tune. It is an alien sequence, seemingly from another film with another subject matter. But it works because the audience and both Ali and Zahra are aware of the juxtaposition, and know how precious and fleeting the scene is.
Majidi crafts the film in the tradition of the great Italian neo-realist films, which prioritised authenticity and realism above all, and examined the plight of the working class. The camera observes like a fly on the wall, never quite staying still, with no audacious movements for aesthetics' sake. The soundtrack places us within the scene, and allows us to hear what the characters hear, the bustle of many families with their own struggles. Majidi makes what could be seen as contrived (bicycle brakes failing at a crucial moment) into something heart-stopping and fearful. We have invested so much into Ali's family that we understand that such a fall could ruin them beyond repair.
And yet Majidi does break this stylistic convention at the most pivotal of times. Besides neatly sidestepping the previous obstacle (the father is shown to be healthy and walking soon after), the narrative conveniently forgets about the substantial payment of the gardening job if only to heighten the tension of the cross country race. Majidi inserts garish and heavy-handed reminders of Ali's struggle as he huffs and puffs, as if he does not trust the audience enough to remember. The sound is muted and voice-over recalls what he is running for, and each step is magnified in the slow motion. These techniques belong in a lesser film. But there is a poetic sentiment about it; Ali wants to right his own wrongs, and Hashemian expresses every last spasm of regret in those eyes. The film gently assuages...that for today at least, he does not have to do it all himself.