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.

Playground (Un Monde)

 

 

Writer/director Laura Wandel

PLAYGROUND (Un Monde)         B                                                                                           Belgium (72 mi)  2021  d: Laura Wandel

Not your typical film about kids, as this exposes the everyday cruelties that kids inflict on each other in school playgrounds around the world, where the cruel fact is adults are not there coming to the rescue of those being bullied, so the abuse continues.  This is an immersive viewing experience, where the French title of “(Un Monde) The World” more perfectly encapsulates the playground as “the entire world” for these kids, as all the societal behavior patterns develop within that chaotic environment and defines who they will become as adults, as teachers only appear peripherally, often seen cut-off from the edge of the screen, as if they don’t fit, becoming something of a horror story seen through the inquisitive eyes of a young 7-year old.  The director is a graduate of Belgium’s Institut des Arts de Diffusion, where the Dardennes brothers are the cultural model for Belgian filmmakers, using a minimalist style with handheld cameras following the protagonists around wherever they go, expressing a naturalism that is as humanistic as it is devastating, providing a physical reconstruction of a near documentary, cinéma vérité style, though Chantal Akerman’s Jeanne Dielman, 23, quai du Commerce,1080 Bruxelles (1976) also provides the rhythmic template for immersive filmmaking.  In the closing credits, thanks are given to Luc Dardenne, Alain Berliner, and Rebecca Zlotowski, among a host of others, though François Truffaut’s The 400 Blows (Les quatre cents coups) (1959) may be the most influential film about young children ever made.  Perhaps following in the footsteps of Claire Simon’s RÉCRÉATIONS (1998), a documentary exposing the trauma linked with children’s schoolyard games, or Play (2011), Ruben Östlund’s tale of sophisticated psychological bullying among Swedish adolescents, this film is quite unlike any other, working with the kids for three months before shooting began without ever providing them a script, using a gritty neo-realistic style set completely within the confines of a primary school, reminding us of the constant noise, the social hierarchies, and the fear of being different, where the focus of attention is young seven-year-old Nora (Maya Vanderbeque), who arrives at the same school attended by her ten-year old brother Abel (Günter Duret).  Brought to the school gates by her father (Karim Leklou), the overly shy Nora literally clings to him as an unwilling participant, saying tearful goodbyes, not wanting to let go, yet she must learn to navigate her way through unchartered territory, just as anyone does when they start a new school, with the camera seeing only what she sees, providing her unique perspective throughout the entire film.  In something of a strange twist, we quickly learn it’s not Nora who is bullied, but her older brother, who is viciously brutalized by older, more physically imposing students picking on him, finding himself trapped in a spiral of violence that he cannot escape, forced to endure endless humiliation and torment.  Initially Nora runs to a teacher to intervene, but they’re usually distracted by something else at the moment, so by the time they arrive, the damage has already been done, or Abel refuses to incriminate his abusers, thinking it would only escalate and get worse.  

Five years in the making, having visited schools across the country while speaking to parents and teachers, the film premiered in the Un Certain Regard section at the Cannes Film Festival in 2021, winning a FIPRESCI Award, and was selected as the Belgian entry for the Best International Feature at the Academy Awards, but did not make the cut down to the final five, and was released only in arthouse theaters playing to minimal audiences.  Among the more unique features is the sound design, filled with children background noise or classroom quiet, with no use of music anywhere, where according to the director, “The brutality of the playground is conveyed through the noise.”  The graphic depiction of some of these atrocities is horrific, so viewers beware, as this is not for the faint of heart, reminiscent of torture treatment, which is simply heartbreaking, as Abel has no defense except to suffer the consequences.  The film also exposes the effect this has on Nora, who wants to help her brother, even at the risk of receiving blows from his abusers, whose faces are rarely seen, but he wants her to stay away, as it only gets worse when she’s around, so he makes her swear not to say a word to their father.  Slowly she acclimates herself to her own classroom situation, an outsider with no allies or friends, where she’s forced to hear the ridicule her brother is subjected to, stifling her emotions, with students laughing at his expense, and soon enough she’s the one being bullied for being the sister of the kid being bullied.  Shot at a low angle by Frédéric Noirhomme, with the constantly moving camera strapped to his waist, a technique that was similarly used by Céline Sciamma in Petite Maman (2021), it holds tight on Nora’s face with demanding close-ups, allowing her no room to breathe, existing in such constricted space that viewers will feel overwhelmed as well while we follow her in her class, the lunch room, and the playground.  Nora continually has her eyes out for these repeated occurrences, as they happen out in the open with such regularity that it would seem impossible for teachers to miss, where the most disheartening aspect is that her brother never fights back, adding a fatalistic tone of defeatist resignation, as this behavior becomes imprinted into his personality.  It’s also shocking that his parents wouldn’t notice his sullen outlook and total social exclusion, but their home life is never seen or mentioned, where any signs of a mother remains a mystery, as it’s her stay-at-home father who delivers her to school each day, becoming a subject of taunting as well, with suggestions that he must be a lazy “freeloader” because he doesn’t have a job.  Nora has to fend off all these accusations without really understanding the circumstances herself, yet when she asks her father why he doesn’t work like the other dads, he remains utterly clueless about the implications, ignoring the bruises Abel brings home as well, all too easily accepting his fabrication that they resulted from soccer practice.  This pattern continues, as she’s so wrapped up in her own world that adults barely exist, offering little more than standard platitudes, expressing scant interest in her welfare. 

At some point, however, the atrocities are so demeaning that she defies her brother and tells her father, identifying the guilty tormentors, who are hauled into the principal’s office with their parents and forced to apologize, something viewers hear but never see, as it happens off camera.  It’s an interesting way to frame such an impactful moment, where it’s viewed as purely tangential, not the real focus.  There is no reason to believe the bullying stops, as that’s not the nature of forced apologies, as they tend to have little effect unless they are accompanied by more serious consequences.  The film triggers painful childhood memories, as viewers may recall their own painful misadventures, yet the observational tone of the film is exceedingly instructive, providing a window into the lives of young children not often seen, exposing events that can be traumatizing, including Nora’s own trepidation about jumping into a pool or learning to swim, or walking on a balance beam before she’s even learned to tie her shoes, while there are also amusing moments just watching kids being kids, playing silly games, or finding hilarity in biting their sandwiches into animal shapes and then guessing what it is.  Kids also just make up things, but at that age, it’s difficult to counter some of these outrageous statements, where instilling fear may be the real intent.  Navigating her way through this labyrinth of unexpected pitfalls is no easy task, especially when there’s no one along the way to offer help.  Apparently nothing has more importance at this age than being invited to a friend’s birthday party, or the shame of being excluded, where this is a monumental event in Nora’s world, where it’s difficult to handle the pressure of missed opportunities, where her brother is usually to blame, as no one wants to be associated with an object of ridicule.  She even disavows that he’s her brother at one point, hoping to be ingratiated into the social clique, but his scorn is hers to live with as well, as she begins to be rejected by her friends, which puts her at risk of being ostracized, like her brother.  There is an empathetic teacher (Laura Verlinden), but she is inexplicably transferred out mid-term, leaving an exasperated Nora to offer a tearful goodbye, a scene of rare tenderness and genuine emotion.  Abel finally makes an adjustment, but it’s a cruel turn, as he learns the only way to avoid being bullied is to become a bully, so he starts targeting a dark-skinned kid named Ismaël (Naël Ammama), singling him out for abuse, joined by those that used to pick on him, but as Ismaël is one of the few boys that Nora has befriended, this is utterly devastating.  It’s a strange twist of fate, revealing a cruel underside to the playground social dynamic, ending on an ambiguous note that suggests there’s really no beginning and no end to this aberrant behavior, it just is, unless society has the capacity to demand something better for their children.  While it never rises to the childhood poetry of Truffaut or Maurice Pialat’s L’ENFANCE NUE (1968), this first-time feature was one of the discoveries of the year, where the performance by Vanderbeque, who literally carries the film, reveals an astonishing range for any age, and is arguably the film’s biggest takeaway.  Already she’s been enlisted for a Gaumont German television series.