I know there’s a great respect and love for film in Iran, because there are so many Iranian-set films made entirely outside the country by diasporan Iranian actors, writers, directors and producers (this one, A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night, and Under the Shadow are just three that come to mind from recent years). I’m never sure how accurate these are to the experience of living there, but they generally function as allegories in any case — here we have love between two women trying to blossom under patriarchal surveillance. There’s a hint of Mustang to it (another film about the patriarchal limits of desire made by a largely expatriate crew to its country), but it’s somewhat less successful. The actors handle their material well, and putting attractive young women against saturated colours makes for a good-looking film, but there’s a sense in which it feels unfulfilling (though of course that’s also, I suppose, thematically apropos). Maybe I just wanted a happier ending for the central couple.
FILM REVIEW Director/Writer Maryam Keshavarz | Cinematographer Brian Rigney Hubbard | Starring Nikohl Boosheri, Sarah Kazemy, Reza Sixo Safai | Length 107 minutes || Seen at home (DVD), London, Tuesday 7 February 2017
A quiet, thoughtful film about a middle-aged woman reflecting on motherhood, and how to weigh the feelings of her (almost grown) son with her own desires. It uses documentary footage of women talking about being mothers — the protagonist is a filmmaker — to introduce these themes, as she talks about her feelings in voiceover. Her son really is quite an annoying chap, but it leaves it until the very last moment to resolve her indecision.
FILM REVIEW Director/Writer Rakhshan Bani-Etemad | Cinematographer Hossein Jafarian | Starring Golab Adineh | Length 88 minutes || Seen at home (DVD), London, Thursday 12 January 2017
Of all last year’s films I’ve belatedly caught up on, this is the most likely to have been top-10 rated. For all the difficulties of its creation — its director, after all, is still officially banned from making films, and so this one is released without any credits — it never feels anything less than fresh and insightful. The set-up, which undoubtedly has a documentary-like flavour to it for official censorious reasons, is that director Jafar Panahi is driving a cab around Tehran while surreptitiously filming his fares from a hidden dashboard camera, which he occasionally manipulates to turn around and face out to the street (though there appears to be a second camera somewhere in the roof). Needless to say, it’s not at all clear that all of this isn’t staged, but it’s a fascinating insight into a hidden society every bit as damning as, say, The Circle (2000), or one of Panahi’s earlier, licit, films, while being on the surface fairly sunny and easygoing — no little thanks to Panahi’s friendly, smiling presence in the driver’s seat. There’s also, as is de rigueur for a certain strand of Iranian filmmaking (his first two films were The White Balloon and The Mirror, the latter referenced here), an adorable young girl, Panahi’s niece, who seems pretty on-the-ball about filmmaking, and is the conduit for explicitly introducing the Islamic State’s official self-censoring rules about it. The film may never leave the confines of the car, but it never feels claustrophobic or limited as a result, but is instead a free-wheeling portrait of a society, and a ripose to Panahi’s official critics.
FILM REVIEW Director/Writer/Cinematographer Jafar Panahi | Starring Jafar Panahi | Length 82 minutes || Seen at Picturehouse Central, London, Tuesday 19 January 2016
It’s a simple premise: a man drives around the outskirts of Tehran looking for someone who will help fill in his grave after he commits suicide. In many ways it’s a simple film, too, or at least it’s very straightforward. Kiarostami points his camera at our protagonist Mr Badii (Homayoun Ershadi) as he sits in the driving seat, and occasionally gets out. Sometimes there’s a reverse shot to see the man he’s talking to in the passenger seat, but it doesn’t overtly challenge one’s sense of film grammar. Except that in its very simplicity it hides a delicately shaded tale, which is largely unconcerned with the reasons for Badii’s actions, but more about the dialogue that happens as he looks for an accomplice. His interlocutors are working folk, migrants who’ve come to Iran from elsewhere (a Kurdish soldier, an Afghan seminary, a Turkish taxidermist), of differing ages, and in each of them Badii (or the viewer perhaps) seems to find an implicit challenge to his decision. After talking about his conscript days with the Kurd (who, in one of the film’s occasional bursts of something approaching comedy, runs away), Badii stops to watch the soldiers jogging by as the sun sets, chanting the refrain Badii had just been nostalgically recalling. His later dialogue with the seminary touches on religious arguments against suicide and we see Badii standing by a quarry afterwards, his shadow commingling with the parched earth being churned up by the machines. And the taxidermist, who has agreed to help Badii, talks of the transformative power of nature (which is what the film’s title alludes to), and again there are these long, gorgeous shots of the dusty landscape, with Badii’s car moving across it, as he drives to the picturesque spot he’s picked out to dig his grave. I don’t feel there are any spoilers in recounting this, as the film’s power and grace comes from the way it unfolds and the dialogues Badii engages in, in the world-weary faces (surely Badii is some kind of stand in for the director), and in the unexpected self-reflexivity of the coda, which hardly seems to answer any questions, but also places them in a different context entirely. Its simplicity of form can be challenging (not every critic has warmed to it, though it won the Palme d’Or at Cannes in its year), but it lingers in the mind for a long time afterwards, and its enfolding mystery drew me back to watch it a second time in two days. Full understanding may never be possible, but despite its premise, it’s a film that seems to deal with the simple wonders of being alive.
Criterion Extras: Aside from a really pointless biography page listing a handful of films, and a trailer, the only significant extra is a filmed interview with (the sunglasses-wearing) Kiarostami where he talks about a number of issues related to his filmmaking, which is interesting.
FILM REVIEW: Criterion Collection Director/Writer Abbas Kiarostami | Cinematographer Homayoun Payvar | Starring Homayoun Ershadi | Length 95 minutes || Seen at Embassy, Wellington, Saturday 1 August 1998 (and most recently on DVD at a friend’s home, London, Sunday 26 July 2015, and at my home, Monday 27 July 2015)
FILM FESTIVAL FILM REVIEW: London Film Festival || Seen at Curzon Soho, London, Wednesday 15 October 2014 || My Rating excellent
There’s flashy auteurism of the sort that baits the juries of Cannes and Berlin, and then there’s the kind of solid humanist filmmaking that Iranian cinema is so good at delivering. This is not to say it’s without cinematic artistry — it’s evident here as in most Iranian films which gain distribution in the West (not least in the films of that critical darling, Abbas Kiarostami) — but Rakhshan Bani-Etemad’s latest film exemplifies an attentiveness to the human dimension of storytelling, of just following the stories of a handful of characters over the course of 90 minutes. Which is all merely a wordy way to say that this was one of the most enjoyable films I saw at the London Film Festival. It comes on from the outset like one of those films (so popular with acolytes of Robert Altman in the 1990s) featuring multiple intersecting narratives, and though its tales do intersect, there’s no grand resolution, just the ongoing flow of human drama. One figure who recurs throughout is the video filmmaker (Habib Rezaei) who seems to hover on the edges of all the tales, though his attempts to document the world around him are frequently thwarted, whether by officious bureaucrats or unwilling participants. There are times when the proceedings seem a bit televisual (for some reason, the sequence set at a women’s shelter reminds me of a British TV play of the 1970s), but that needn’t be a bad thing, given the focus on dialogue, of people sharing with one another. There’s a real attentiveness to people’s stories, particularly of those who are powerless in different ways, and if there is something that unites all the various strands, it’s in Bani-Etemad’s clear desire to expose inequities within society, and her fascination towards people who are ordinarily marginalised. I could quite happily have watched many more such tales.