Bottom line: C
The opening shot of Abbas Kiarostami’s new film Certified Copy pauses certainly upon a wooden table resting surely in front of an ornate Medici mantelpiece. We are in Italy, it is quickly established, and when the credits finish, we see our first face, that of an uncertain Italian PR rep. From that point on, the faces rarely leave the screen as an entirely personal dramedy unfolds, one with a lot of ideas and a lot of talent, but ultimately plagued by a lack of truly original execution.
The film centers around James Miller (British opera singer William Shimell), a middling author in Tuscany to promote his newest book, which shares its name with the title of the film. The book is about reproductions of famous works of art, which leads James to a mysterious, nameless art dealer, played by veteran actress Juliette Binoche.
The story begins to flex its muscles as the two take a trip to Lucignano, a quaint hill commune. The two begin to play a wordy game, pretending to be husband and wife; the script guides them through improvised matrimonial ups and downs as they dart from one stereotypical Tuscan setting to the next: There is the quaint coffee shop, the museum showcasing Renaissance treasures, the elegant trattoria and many others. At each locale, we meet the usual suspects: a traditional Italian mother, a tourist couple, a fussy waiter, etc. These side characters are each vibrant and unique and are the closest the film comes to capturing the local flavor.
As the game slowly turns into something much more important, Binoche takes control, showing the audience why she won Best Actress for this role at last year’s Cannes Film Festival. Her heroine is bold and forward while still showing us enough hints of emotion to drive the plot. She comes at us in French, Italian and English, each one spoken flawlessly and gracefully. Although James’ words are not meant to be overtly poisonous, it is still so easy to see him as the villain, simply because of how heartfelt and multifaceted Binoche’s acting is compared to Shimell’s.
That doesn’t mean, of course, that the baritone should be discredited for his own fine performance. There’s no doubt here; this is an actor’s movie, full of inquiring close-ups and long sequences of dialogue. For an acting debut, Shimell’s reserved and sunken portrayal of James is quite good, especially when juxtaposed with his bombastic and outspoken characters at the opera.
The actors do their best, but the film has a glaring problem. It feels just like the original works of art that James discusses in his fictional book: easily replicable and most likely overvalued. As the movie goes on, as the script delves deeper into the lives of its mysterious personae, we learn a lot about our leads; we learn how they really think, how the really feel and by the end their actions are genuine and understandable. At the same time, however, there’s nothing in this duo that couldn’t be transplanted out of this particular scenario. Of all the mysterious couples in the world, why did we have to center on this one?
The direction doesn’t help this problem. The question that writer Marie Darrieussecq claims is at the center of this piece is, “How can one tell yet another story about love in Tuscany?” Not like this. There is almost nothing Tuscan about this film. The camera, so focused on the intriguing faces of its characters, completely forgets that the world exists outside of the plot, and the resulting visuals feel cramped, unsatisfying and, as with the characters, all too applicable to any rural setting anywhere in the world.
Kiarostami has become a big name in his home of Iran for making films with poetic personalities and philosophical undertones, but this effort seems too focused, too analytical and too wrapped up in its own plot to give us enough ubiquity of character and setting. With similar acting talent and similarly intricate dialogue, it would be easy to put together the gist of this film, and it is unfortunate that Kiarostami’s vision seems more like a copy — not a truly original work of high art.