Is it actually so hard to understand why someone would seek out the soothing sympathy of one who understands them, and why they would not want to let the semblance of that understanding presence disappear?
This is the confusion of Kiarostami’s set-up: everything is ambiguous. For each thing he seems to be “telling” us, we question whether he actually means it, if it means anything at all. He never gives us the whole picture.
Abbey’s works depict environmentalism not as a practical solution to human problems, but as an offshoot of passion, fueled by the need to protect what you love.