No Bears (Khers nist)

 

Director Jafar Panahi

NO BEARS (Khers nist)        B                                                                                                     Iran  (106 mi)  2022  d: Jafar Panahi

I am not a part of society.  That obviously affects me and is something that I reflect on.  My personal experiences now play a much greater role in my work than society does.  In other words, my inspiration comes from my present circumstances and is then transferred into society, rather than being the other way around.  It is almost as if an entire society exists within me.

—Jafar Panahi interview with Ehsan Khoshbakht and Drew Todd, editors of the Jafar Panahi: Interviews, 2018, Jafar Panahi - Project MUSE

Surprise, surprise!  Another moral tale from Iran.  Jafar Panahi, Mohammad Rasoulof, and Mustafa Al-Ahmad have all been targeted film directors by this Iranian government regime, part of a broad crackdown on as many as 100 artists, repeatedly rounded up and arrested, while also serving jail time, as government censors still ban all foreign films as well as anything else deemed counter-revolutionary.  While some may believe that a persecuted artist in some way deserves a greater voice, elevating the importance of their work, as Panahi is not heard in his own country, where he has been effectively silenced by the Iranian government, his films banned, forbidden to make new films or travel out of the country, as he’s been on house arrest now for over a decade since 2010 for attending the funeral of Neda Agha-Soltan, the young Iranian woman killed during the 2009 Iran election protests, as he was accused of conspiring against the government by supporting the dissident unrest that followed the disputed 2009 re-election of President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad.  And while that may be true, this is a very cryptic film, told in code as it’s made illegally, where you have to read between the lines, as Panahi’s films negotiate the territory between an art striving for freedom and its imposed constraints, where the claustrophobic intensity feels like the walls are closing in, yet there’s a surprising amount of humor in what amounts to a very serious film, where it’s impossible to view this without constantly thinking about the current conditions in Iran and the possible fate of the director.  It also brings to mind the fate of Iranian freedom activist Narges Mohammadi, winner of the Nobel Prize in 2023 while imprisoned in her own country for defending women's rights, sentenced to 16 years for running “a human rights movement that campaigns for the abolition of the death penalty,” while also criticizing the regime’s use of torture and sexualized violence.  Not much actually happens in this film, as instead everything is implied, where there’s a dark cloud hanging over what we see, stuck in a no man’s land, suggesting ominous possibilities, yet there’s an unhurried, relaxed pace, told in a very evenhanded manner, blurring the lines between a documentary and a feature film.  The cultural aspects pit ancient traditions against modern sensibilities, where it’s not easy to navigate one’s way through this seemingly arcane experience filled with hidden minefields, where we’re continually looking backwards, unable or unwilling to face the future, or seek any kind of progress, as we’re caught in a web of unresolvable roadblocks that keep us stuck in the past, becoming an allegorical purgatory.  When Panahi began his career, he was considered among the more Westernized of the Iranian filmmakers, especially CRIMSON GOLD (2003), which has a more commercialized style to it, almost like a sophisticated thriller, the closest the director has come to making a genre film, with a prominent scene veering into the palatial opulence of Fellini’s NIGHTS OF CABIRIA (1957), even featuring a jazz soundtrack.  However, since his house arrest, with severe restrictions on his filmmaking, his style has become more minimalist, resembling the films of his compatriot Abbas Kiarostami, having worked as his assistant director in the 90’s, but his recent films are more straightforward, lacking the depth and poetic grace of Kiarostami, particularly the gorgeously visualized rural compositions, probably because they are made in secret on next to no budget, and have the feel of being made on the fly, eventually having to be smuggled out of the country, where this won a Special Jury Prize (3rd Place) at the 2022 Venice Film Festival.                   

From the maker of 3 Faces (Se rokh) (2018), this continues his neorealist exploration of the mountainous region of the West Azerbaijan Province and the remote rural communities where Panahi grew up, with the director playing a fictional film director who is banned from making films and leaving the country, moving to a remote village near the Turkish border where he rents a space where he can work with the help of his obliging host Ghanbar (Vahid Mobaseri) and his elderly mother.  Despite the rural isolation, seemingly in the middle of nowhere, Panahi’s presence unleashes a torrent of activity in this small community, as old grievances are suddenly catapulted to the forefront, where as a successful artist he’s expected to intervene and perhaps bring a calm rationality to these festering tensions.  Working remotely, communicating by phone, directing scenes taking place in neighboring Turkey through a livestream on his computer, he also faces unexpected difficulties by continually losing WiFi coverage, reminiscent of similar circumstances in Kiarostami’s THE WIND WILL CARRY US (1999), accentuating the consequences of human isolation, where this could just as easily have been entitled NO BORDERS, as the fate of different characters rests upon crossing that border, including the director, whose limits have been imposed by the state.  Added to that are the constant interruptions by unexpected visitors, each plagued by some unforeseen dilemma, which becomes a Marx Brothers comedy of errors, where it appears Panahi can never get any work done.  The fictionalized documentary style film he is making morphs into a realist film within a film, opening on a busy street in Turkey filled with street vendors and street musicians collecting money, with people seen sitting in a pub, as we follow an Iranian couple in forced exile, Zara (Mina Kavani), a waitress in a café, who sneaks out to meet her partner Bakhtiar (Bakhtiyar Panjeei).  Having acquired a stolen passport for Zara after ten years of waiting, both having been subject to arrests and abuse, including torture, Bakhtiar insists Zara go on ahead and flee to Europe, and he will join her later.  An emotional and confused Zara expresses her refusal to leave without Bakhtiar, just as the assistant director, Reza (Reza Heidari), yells “Cut!”  A film about the making of a film, where the storytelling is far from obvious, what initially stands out is how the illusion of filmmaking blends into a stark reality, as we discover Zara and Bakhtiar are in real life planning to escape to Paris using forged documents.  In a stunning turn of events, her tirade upon learning that her partner’s new life-saving passport is just a movie prop, is shocking, refusing to play a fake version of herself, angered at how this affects their real lives, as that deception ultimately drives her to despair.  The backdrop of the film is living in fear, as Iranian people are living in a police state, constantly subject to harassment and arrest by the Revolutionary guard, so the residents are afraid the government eyes on this big city director from Tehran will only draw attention to the black market smuggling operation taking place along the border, which is already under surveillance, as it’s entirely illegal, yet is how people in these rural, isolated areas have survived for years.  When villagers hear Panahi has driven to the top of the mountain for better reception, he inadvertently entered the heart of smuggler territory, drawing their ire, wondering what he’s up to while arousing their suspicions.  But on his return he’s met by a troubled young woman, Gozal (Darya Alei), who pleads with Panahi to help in covering up a photograph she believes he had taken of her and Solduz (Amir Davari), an expelled university student whose crime was participating in a demonstration.  Gozal is in love with Solduz, but was promised at birth to the reckless and hot-headed Jacob (Javad Siyahi), who is violently prepared to take matters into his own hands.  She implores him not to show the picture, as if he does, “there will be blood.”   

Without fully understanding the implications, Panahi is besieged by residents afterwards demanding the photograph as proof of an existing relationship between the lovers, accused by villagers of promoting the forbidden union, suddenly finding himself in the middle of a longstanding family feud, where antiquated customs seem to be fueling the desire to rid the town of unholy or unhealthy elements, with the villagers suggesting he’s holding incriminating evidence.  Even after giving them his camera’s memory card as proof he has no alleged photograph of the couple, they remain unconvinced, urging Panahi to go to their swearing room and swear to God that he did not take the picture of Gozal and Solduz together.  While expressing reservations about antiquated customs, Panahi requests to film his testimony, which unleashes of flood of resistance, with suggestions that those who control the images control the narrative.  While it’s hard to imagine a world where love is a crime, it soon becomes clear that while Panahi has problems with the authorities, the villagers remain in the thralls of tradition, believing in age-old rituals shrouded by superstitions, where it’s impossible to reason with their perceived slights, as they are offended by what he represents, an outsider (or “foreigner”) from the city disregarding their own customs.  One villager warns him about the danger of bears along the road, later acknowledging that these stories are concocted to fan the flames of fear, suggesting “our fears empower others.”  Just as fictitious stories are designed to frighten people about things that don’t actually exist, the tyrannical government also implements laws to terrorize its own citizens, where suffocating traditions only empower the reign of terror, as Iran is not a democracy, but a violently repressive autocratic Islamic power that has only become more fanatical, continuing to rely upon irrational religious customs, such as the naming of a husband at the time of birth in an arranged marriage, never allowing that grown-up woman the right to make her own choice.  Even in the remote villages, the struggles with patriarchal authority are as oppressive as in the city, revealing the sexist and misogynistic prejudices that date back centuries, which fly in the face of modernity, leaving women in a Kafkaesque predicament where only desperate acts, like leaving the country, offer any hint of a better life.  While the film is a subversive stab at the absurdity of religious dogma, these metaphorical tales can only go so far, as they themselves are figments of the imagination.  The film’s merging into social realism can feel disjointed trying to assemble its various parts, making it a difficult watch, delving into a world of untold tragedies in a very dark finale raising unanswerable questions.  However, there’s little emotional engagement, and the simplicity of the artistry can feel underwhelming, with little visual flair, especially when compared to other artists in similar positions, where the early works of Krzysztof Kieślowski come to mind, making powerful moral parables like Blind Chance (Przypadek) (1981) or NO END (1985), which were also banned.  In the large scheme of things, it’s questionable what influence this film has, feeling more like he’s preaching to the converted.  How do you create art that is interested in changing society when people are not interested in change?  Those who are living in freedom appreciate the effort, while those who are not will probably never see the film, so much like Kieślowski, history will be the ultimate judge.

3 Faces (Se rokh)

Director Jafar Panahi

vacant seat for the director at the Cannes press conference

Actress Behnaz Jafar

Actress Behnaz Jafar with Marzieh Rezaei

Actress Marzieh Rezaei

3 FACES (Se rokh)                                 B-                   

Iran  (100 mi)  2018 d:  Jafar Panahi

I would like to thank the New York Film Festival for selecting my film, 3 Faces, for screening in the festival. I’d also like to thank Kino Lorber for distributing the film. I hope they won’t regret their decision! I am especially thankful to my dear friend Dr Jamsheed Akrami who has always supported my films in the United States.

I was invited to the New York Film Festival in 1995 with my first film, The White Balloon. At the time I could never foresee that there would come a day when I would be barred from attending a festival by my government. I would have loved to be present and see how an American audience would react to my film.

I am still so grateful that my films continue to be shown in many countries. Sadly I cannot say the same thing about my own country. Only my first film was publicly screened in Iran. Unfortunately, none of my following 8 films received screening permits.

Despite the obstacles that I was facing after the ban, I kept telling myself that I couldn’t give up and had to find a way to keep working. I am not alone. Many other Iranian filmmakers work under difficult circumstances. But instead of quitting or complaining, they persist and still make their films despite all the hurdles. Their determination to keep working against the odds makes me so hopeful about the future of Iranian cinema.

―Jafar Panahi, September 2018

The international community has heaped loads of praise upon this director, garnering plenty of sympathy in the West following his arrest after the disputed 2009 re-election of President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, with allegations that Panahi was planning to make a documentary of a growing protest movement, sentenced to 6-years in prison and a 20-year ban on directing any movies, writing screenplays, and giving any form of interview with Iranian or foreign media.  The appeals court upheld his sentence and ban, initially placing him under house arrest, but he has since been allowed to move more freely, but cannot travel outside Iran, this despite the fact he has repeatedly violated the terms of his sentence, smuggling four films out of the country since 2011 that have been highly regarded, though he has no access to studio facilities, where this most recent film won the Best Screenplay at Cannes in 2018 (co-written by Panahi and Nader Saeivar), holding a press conference with an empty chair for Panahi, with his daughter Solmaz Panahi accepting the award while reading a statement in his behalf.  This is the second director, along with Russian Kirill Serebrennikov, with films competing for the Palme d’Or at Cannes in 2018, but have been prevented from leaving their respective countries, so it comes as no surprise that this film deals with prejudice against women and artistic suppression under the old-world regime of male patriarchy.  This follows a recent pattern of films made on similar themes, a portrayal of arranged weddings in small-town life in Turkey from Deniz Gamze Ergüven’s Mustang (2015), a look at the brutally repressive system of cash-only medical care in the post-colonial third world Democratic Republic of the Congo from Alain Gomis in Félicité (2017), Kantemir Balagov’s riveting Closeness (Tesnota) (2017) which provides a near documentary look into the tribal culture in the northern Caucasus region in Russia north of Georgia, Meryem Benm‘Barek-Aloïsi’s exposé on babies born to unwed mothers resulting in criminal charges in the Moroccan film Sofia (2018), Ash Mayfair’s historical overview of Vietnamese arranged marriages in The Third Wife (2018), and Çağla Zencirci and Guillaume Giovnetti’s mythical portrait of female suppression in the Turkish film Sibel (2018).  While these are films playing the festival circuit, they reveal similar practices taking place around the world where elderly men continue to have power over the lives and destinies of young women, with age-old religious customs often deciding what’s in their best interests instead of the women themselves, usually with crushing results.  These films are all examples that follow a recent trend of political correctness, rigidly adhering to a set agenda that is established before the film is even made, which pales in comparison to truly liberating cinema, an example of which would be Robert Altman’s 3 Women (1977), a much more mysterious and in-depth examination of a complex woman’s psyche, more interested in expressing a personal transformation that resembles a rebirth, where cinema becomes a uniquely innovative style, with a goal of killing off all the extraneous stimuli from advertisements and mass cultural imagery meant to shape female habits and desires, as only then can you set your own agenda for the ultimate goal of being truly liberated and free.  Unfortunately, directors aren’t given that amount of artistic freedom anymore to take chances and say what they really want to say, so instead we get diatribes and platitudes.      

Reminiscent of early Kiarostami films like LIFE, AND NOTHING MORE… (1992) from his Koker trilogy, where Kiarostami as himself searched the catastrophic ruins of a rural countryside following a devastating earthquake to check on a child from an earlier film, with characteristics from THE WIND WILL CARRY US (1999) as well, including the reading of a poem, where there is a distinct feeling throughout that we’ve seen all this before, where the film is literally a whimsical tribute to Kiarostami, viewed as the father of modern Iranian cinema (and Panahi’s mentor, working as his assistant director), as it’s an exploration of the mountainous region of the East Azerbaijan Provice and the remote rural communities where Panahi grew up, becoming an offbeat road movie with director Panahi and actress Behnaz Jafar playing themselves as they visit the region by car in search of unraveling a curiously developing mystery.  Jafar is a popular Iranian actress, seen earlier in Samira Makhmalbaf’s BLACKBOARDS (2000) and Kiarostami’s SHIRIN (2008), but also known from television, where they are both viewed as celebrities, but also outsiders unfamiliar with the rural customs, where life is pretty much unchanged in the last century, stuck in a backwards mode of thinking where mythical realities still exist, clinging to rumors, superstitions and old-fashioned ways, with older men systematically holding the power of an entrenched patriarchal structure that dominates the region, repressive views that allow the fanatically conservative religious clerics to maintain their authoritative hold on power throughout the country.  Using a blend of documentary and fiction, the film opens with jarring cellphone footage of a visibly distraught girl (Marzieh Rezaei) presumably taking her own life as her parents have forbidden her from attending the prestigious Tehran School of Performing Arts, despite excellent grades and earning acceptance, with her parents countering with an arranged marriage to keep her in line.  Unsure if she’s still alive, Jafar abandons her own film shoot and enlists the aid of Panahi in searching out the girl’s village of Saran to inquire what happened.  What they immediately discover is just how difficult it is to distinguish one tiny village from another, as plenty are set in the mountain valleys, though with different languages, with much of the film spoken in Turkish (a language only Panahi and Rezaei understand), where it’s difficult to cross the circuitous mountain paths to get there, as the winding roads narrow to one lane, relying upon the sound of an automobile horn to announce your presence around the turns, like a warning shot, initiating a call and answer system that only the locals understand.  As they move deeper into the region, they approach people on the road or bystanders in town, searching for the house where she lives.  Initially they check the cemetery for a newly dug grave, but instead encounter an elderly woman lying in her own grave but still very much alive, yet she is preparing for her death, claiming she keeps a light on at night to keep the snakes (or evil spirits) away.     

Finding no evidence of the girl, Jafar suspects foul play, fearing they may have been set up, yet they’re surprised by the local reaction, where after running into a wedding party, another crowd gathered on the street initially greets them with welcome arms, thinking they are a utility repair crew, angrily disbanding afterwards when they learn they’re just a couple of “entertainers,” describing Marzieh as an “empty-headed” girl who won’t listen to reason, calling her a disgrace, an embarrassment to her family, bringing shame to the community, wasting her time in a frivolous endeavor instead of settling down in marriage and making herself useful.  This blatant antagonism shows what Marzieh was up against, with one of her brothers turning violent at the mere mention of her name, threatening to kill anyone that assists her.  While this reaction is a bit over the top, people come out of the woodworks to lend a helping hand, offering food and shelter, and the inevitable rounds of tea, all graciously offered, where the village of Saran (current population listed is 333, or 50 families) becomes the featured attraction, accentuated by a series of unexpected encounters with strangers that reveal a myriad of information, including the discovery of Shahrazade (a pseudonym used by real actress Kobra Amin Sa’idi, appearing in more than 50 films, also the first female director in Iran, now banned, the subject of a recent documentary, Poetry, or the Power of Existence: Shahin Parhami's "Shahrzaad's Tale"), an actress, poet, and dancer from the era before the 1979 revolution who was denounced, now retired and living as an outcast in a place of refuge where men are not allowed (including the filmmaker), seen only from a distance, illuminated in silhouette at night in the window of her home, where she can be seen dancing, viewed again in a long shot painting in the natural environment of an open field.  The 3 Faces refers to the three generations of actresses who are demonized by the locals and openly ridiculed, minimized into obscurity, while men are obsessed with the breeding habits of livestock, suggesting virility beyond what anyone could imagine, bringing untold sums of money into the community, the answer, apparently, to every man’s dream.  While they openly denigrate entertainers, they gush over Jafari, who is mobbed for autographs, recognizing her from television, treating her like a visit from royalty, completely clueless to the hypocrisy of their actions.  Similarly, an old villager is convinced of the magic powers of carefully preserved foreskins (from their circumcised sons), believing it holds the key to their future, so long as it is buried in the right place, near a medical facility where he will become a doctor, or near a school where he will become a teacher, etc.  These age-old superstitions seem to coexist with the patriarchal repressions of Islamic rule, making little sense, yet these customs are not easily discarded, particularly in uneducated communities that rely upon familiar customs and habits to pass down to each new generation.  Despite the intended tribute, the screenplay award is a stretch, as the film feels overlong, loses focus occasionally, and is never that involving, completely lacking Kiarostami’s subtlety, resorting to manipulation where men are essentially caricatures used for humor, feeling more like it’s intended to be politically correct than a work of art.  The final held shot however is an homage to a Kiarostami final shot from the Koker trilogy, beautifully extended, elegantly composed, and poetically revealing, becoming a painterly expression of cinema itself.