In Certified Copy, written and directed by Iranian filmmaker Abbas Kiarostami, an English writer is in Italy on a book tour, promoting his latest work which examines the philosophical underpinnings of art itself, challenging the very notion of authenticity considering that expert copies of great works are demonstrably as aesthetically pleasing as the originals. Perception itself is a construct, one that can presumably be abandoned as surely as it’s bought into. The writer is invited to the antiques shop of a local Frenchwoman and from there they go out into the countryside, moving towards and away from one another as dependably as the restless tide changes its position on the beach. Then the film’s reality subtly shifts when a bit of presumed playacting as the woman pretends to be married to the man in talking with the owner of a cafe slips effortlessly into an actual tale of a troubled, perhaps dissolving marriage. The characters haven’t changed, but their shared situation has completely transformed. Fakery has become truth and Kiarostami follows with vivid intensity as the two people pick at each in the ways that only the deeply entangled know how to do. The novel approach doesn’t only provide a thematic shadow to the concepts that Kiarostami introduces through his fictional author, it also lets him carry through the entirety of a relationship in a single afternoon, bending the lives he’s conjured into a dramaturgical tour de force. Kiarostami is a quiet, incisive observer, holding shots at admirable length and letting the actors shape the rhythm of the piece. Sharing that control requires great trust in the performers, and it’s well placed in Certified Copy, especially given the range they’re called upon to play. William Shimell is very strong as the writer, but it’s Juliette Binoche who finds her way to a fount of little miraculous moments that combine actorly prowess with bracingly natural reactions.