Tag: Iranian

Killing the Eunuch Khan

Posted on by Paul Risker

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It seems that Iranian director Abed Abest’s sophomore feature, Killing the Eunuch Khan is without a story. Or there’s some semblance of plot that surrenders to abstraction and the dreamlike.

Set during the Iran-Iraq war, a father leaves his two daughters home alone. In his absence there’s a bombing raid, and when a bomb lands in the garden of their house near the border, reality is torn apart.

The easiest way to describe Abest’s film is to compare it to the space between the conscious and semi conscious state, when strange sequences of images are constructed in our mind. We are aware that they make no sense, and unsure of their origins. In this context, Killing the Eunuch Khan is trying to tap into an ethereal kind of energy, but at an 110 minutes, the director forgoes brevity and his film becomes a test of one’s patience.

Part horror, it recalls the scene of blood flooding the lobby of the hotel in Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining (1980). Whereas horror often uses the shadows to represent danger, Abest’s film is haunted by a stream of red blood. The colour however, connects it to other works in the genre, for example Dario Argento’s Suspiria (1977). The recurring stream of blood that stalks the characters and encroaches on their space is one of the memorable parts of the film.

The strength of Killing the Eunuch Khan is its aesthetic, the director showing his technical skill with lighting and cinematography. The execution also possesses a theatrical staging, where characters are heard talking offscreen, scenes are framed in a single wide shot. Similar to live performances of plays and opera, it asks the audience to be active collaborators and see the staging not for what it is, but what it wants to represent. It’s weakness however, is that it risks being received as indulgent filmmaking.

A question in this critique is where do we draw the line between indulgence and what cinema can be? It’s a relevant question because the current form of cinema represses this type of film. The mainstream propagates the desire for stories as neat and tidy three act constructs, that abstract, experimental and dreamlike cinema subvert.

The eventual question is whether Abest is pushing at the boundaries to expand the potential of the film form, or has he been seduced by the dream aesthetic to his detriment? The beauty of David Lynch’s surreal, dreamlike and puzzle box films, is that there were ideas and themes, but here there seems to be none. It’s a dream that could only seem real if we were the dreamer, but we’re not. A deeply subjective work, Killing the Eunuch Khan in moments showcases a seductive aesthetic, but its lack of substance leaves it a challenging film to engage with, beyond superficial admiration.

Killing the Eunuch Khan plays in the Official Competition section of the Tallinn Black Nights Film Festival.

When the Moon was Full

Posted on by victorfraga

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B/ased on the true story of the brother and sister-in-law of Malek Rigi, the former leader of the Jundallah terrorist organisation of Southeastern Iran, When the Moon was Full starts out as a psychological drama about female oppression gradually morphs into action thriller, with gun fights, car car chases and plenty of brutal murders. An unbelievable yet true story. A typical case of reality surpassing fiction.

The young and gorgeous Faezeh (Elnaz Shakerdoost) meets the kind and vaguely timid Hamid (Hootan Shakiba) in a local bazaar. They fall in love and get married. However, not all is rosy. Chauvinism prevails in this profoundly conservative society. The availability of the female is negotiated by the family, and she’s often reduced to her physical attributes, such as her eyes and feet. A woman who wears make-up and doesn’t cover her hair properly is regarded as a “slut”.

Faezeh and Hamid go on honeymoon near the Pakistani border, where she meets her in-laws for the first time. One day, the police arrive with one of Hamid’s brothers in handcuffs and uncover a pile of weapons and money. Faezeh begins to sense that there’s something wrong. Perhaps Hamid isn’t so pure and loving after all. She challenges him, but he refuses to shed light on his family’s shady activities. Hamid’s harsh an unpleasant mother is entirely complacent. She advises Faezeh: “women’s words are worthless, either wife’s or mother’s”.

The couple eventually move to Quetta in Pakistan. The city is profoundly impoverished and chaotic, in contrast to the far more civilised neighbouring Iran. The previously clean-shaven Hamid grows a beard. Hamid and and Faezeh dwell in a house the size of a palace. “It looks like a stadium”, she says of her room. The extravagant and luxurious lifestyle overwhelm Faezeh, eclipsing her concerns about his family’s trade and his strange facial hair. She has a son and is now pregnant with twins

Gradually, Hamid’s mask slips. He and his brother Malek are in reality fanatical Jihadis from the Jundallah organisation, who routinely cooperate with Al-Qaeda. Quetta is very near the Afghanistan border, and some of the film’s most electrifying scenes take place in a nearby Al-Qaeda camp. Their mission is to recruit more fighters and to eliminate infidels. They are blindly devoted to the very male concept of martyrdom. One day Faezeh wakes up alone locked up in her palace. Her son is nowhere to be seen. The lover of her dreams has morphed into a menacing oppressor. She’s trapped in a nightmare.

In the movie’s most disturbing event, Faezeh’s brother comes to her rescue, but he’s captured by the Jundallah terrorists. He’s beheaded live on Arab television, and his executioners phone his mother in order to ensure that she watches the unspeakable act. This may sound like fiction gone far, but in reality this is exactly what happened. Faezeh’s life too is in danger. Hamid’s associates demand that he kills his wife immediately after she gives birth to the twins. The babies should be spared, presumably to be trained as Jihadis. Hamid’s allegiances are divided. Does he have a scintilla of humanity inside him or is he entirely consumed by religious fanaticism? Will he spare the life of the mother of his children or will he abide by the rules of his fundamentalist associates?

At 137 minutes, When the Moon was Full makes for sobering yet very uncomfortable viewing. It’s also a little tiresome. The successive narrative developments aren’t easy to follow unless you have a reasonable understanding of Iranian/Pakistani geography and politics. And the multiple points-of-view make the story unintelligible at times. Just because reality is difficult to comprehend, it doesn’t mean so should the movie.

When the Moon was Full is showing in Competition at the 23rd Tallinn Black Nights Film Festival. Three years ago the director Narges Abyar won the Best Director prize at the event for his previous feature Breath.

3 Faces

Posted on by victorfraga

It all starts with the mobile footage of a young woman called Marziyeh (Marziyeh Rezaie) in what looks like a cave. She’s gasping and panting. She dreams of becoming a film artist, but her traditional family and community in Northwestern Iran (near the Turkish border) have prevented her from taking up her studies at the Tehran drama conservatory, she alleges. She’s hopeless, and she’s prepared to take her own life. She reveals a noose and points the camera up to the wooden branch from which the rope is hanging. Next the phone drops and clatters on the floor.

Cut to a moving car. The filmmaker Jafar Panahi and the beautiful and red-haired Iranian actress Behnaz Jafari (both playing themselves) discuss whether the Marzieh’s video is real. It’s never entirely clear how the footage got to them. Instead, the focus of the conversation is on whether Marziyeh indeed killed herself or this is a clever ruse. Panahi argues that “only a pro” could edit such video, suggesting that Marzieh might indeed be dead. They drive towards her community in order to find out the truth.

The “three faces” in the film title refers to the face of the filmmaker (Panahi), the famous actress (Jafari) and the dreamer (Rezaie).

Many questions are raised. Was Marziyeh’s profoundly disturbed? Or was she indeed imprisoned by old traditions that prevented her from embracing the toxic and subversive Seventh Art? Or is this a very clever act? And if so, does love for film justify such extreme tactics? Did she have an accomplice? Gradually, Panahi and Jafari uncover the truth. Not everyone in Marzieh’s community was unsupportive of her, but the obstacles were indeed very high. One thing is clear: a career in cinema is hardly a palpable achievement for someone from such a rural, remote and impoverished background.

3 Faces is not a politically incendiary movie, unlike Panahi’s previous Offside (2006), This is Not a Film (2011) and Taxi (2015). It does, however, quickly acknowledge Panahi’s house arrest and prohibition to leave the country (a “light” punishment compared to Mohsen Makhmalbaf, who lives in exile and is often hunted down by the country’s secret service), but does not go any further. Instead, 3 Faces returns to the old tradition of Iranian cinema of the 1990s, in its narrative/formal wizardry. It’s meditative, lyrical and cryptic, a lot like The Taste of Cherry (Abbas Kiarostami, 1995).

Cinema is a powerful venting outlet for people everywhere. It is a window of dreams. It’s unsurprising that many rural people dream of becoming a movie star, and that they are willing to resort to draconian measures in order to achieve what their objective, or to chastise themselves in case they do not achieve it. 3 Faces will ring bells with those who have seen Close Up (Abbas Kiarostami, 1990), about a cinephile who wants to meet his favourite filmmaker, and Hello Cinema (Mohsen Makhmalbaf, 1995), about villagers auditioning to become a film star. For those of you who have seen the latter, Marziyeh’s predicament is extremely similar to the blind man’s (in Makhmalbaf’s film). Moreover, all three Iranian films illustrate the passion for cinema by playing with narrative devices and foregrounding the cinematic apparatus (ie. the film director is the film protagonist).

The presence of Panahi is neither exhibitionist nor narcissistic. The Iranian director is not Woody Allen, always cocky and super confident of his artistic and sexual allure. Instead, Panahi is a quiet, casual, demure and pensive character. He’s the avuncular filmmaker or uncle that everyone would love to have.

Most of the questions raised above are answered roughly halfway through the film, and the second half of the feature becomes a little jumbled and redundant. Panahi comes across some peculiar traditions: the refusal to kill a suffering bull, saving the foreskin of the circumcised, honking the car in order to negotiate with local drivers, and so on. But the significance of these themes does not come full circle. The final sequence, however, is quite meaningful. It revisits the beginning of the movie. Except that this time the tables have turned.

3 Faces is out in cinemas across the UK on Friday, March 29th.

The Salesman

Posted on by victorfraga

Asghar Farhadi did it again. For the second time, he was awarded Best Foreign Language Picture by the Academy. The Salesman has many similarities with his previous film A Separation (2011), but he didn’t play safe. It was indeed a political award in North-American territory, as the favourite film to win the prize was Toni Erdmann (Maren Ade, 2016 – click here in order to read our review). Filmmaker Farhadi opted out of Oscar ceremony after President Donald Trump imposed a travel ban to some countries, including Iran. The Iranian artist said: “To humiliate one nation with the pretext of guarding the security of another is not a new phenomenon in history and has always laid the groundwork for the creation of future divide and enmity.”

The most curious aspect of The Salesman is that the director uses a classic play by the American playwright Arthur Miller, ‘Death of a Salesman’ (1949), to reveal the frailties of his own society. The amateur actors Emad (Shahab Hosseini, Best Actor Winner at Cannes 2016) and Rana (Taraneh Alidoosti) are preparing for the opening night of their production of the aforementioned play. Some dangerous work on a neighbouring building forces the couple to leave their home and move into a new flat. In the new house, a violent assault involving a mistaken identity befalls the couple. They then begin to experience a string of turbulent events.

The hint that something is about to collapse is clear and it is repeated extensively. The structure of the building is falling. Plus the play within the film is, in essence, the collapse of the American Dream. The camerawork is from the perspective of various characters, and it’s difficult to determine who to follow and to relate to. It also moves in and out the flat, up and down, and the stairs are where most crucial moment takes place. Stairs represent transition, change and personal growth. When we use them, we make direct contact with our feet. And in this case, it exposes that it is hard to keep your feet on the ground when there is a price to pay for not being vigilant enough.

Best Foreign Language Film The Salesman Asghar Farhadi (Iran) is accepted by a designated woman reading Farhadi's statement. REUTERS/Lucy Nicholson
The Salesman wins the Foreign Picture Oscar but the director nowhere to be seen in order to pick up his prize

A feeling of disorientation brews, as the characters transfer their personal experience to the theatre stage. Lines can be changed; actors can be replaced; and relatives and children are always in the backstage. The most crucial aggression is not exposed. Violence is not depicted and banalised. The details of the assault remain a mystery.

The Salesman is a devastating evidence that women in Iran cannot deal with some issues in public. Sometimes they cannot even tell their husbands, as judgement and misunderstanding will follow the confession. Likewise A Separation, honour and forgiveness are intrinsically related and connected to theological praxis. Somehow, though it should be kept hidden, tragic events are spread to friends and relatives. What other people think determines the fate of those characters. And sacrifice in the name of the family is almost always a sacred law.

Arthur Miller declared in an interview in 1998: “the Salesman’s ability to somehow transcend the moment that it was written in has contributed to its long-lasting success, but that’s really an enigma to start with. You see, that play was written in 1948, when we were starting the biggest boom in the history of the United States. However, a good part of the population, including me and President Truman, were prepared for another depression.” The award of The Salesman had the effect of an earthquake triggered by San Andreas Fault on Los Angeles. Once nature begins to unleash strange forces, it could continue to do so for a long time. The same applies to cinema.

You can watch The Salesman in the UK from March 17th, and it will be available on Curzon Home. Check out the film trailer below: