Movies to Watch From Iran

You can probably predict from the title that an accident starts this thriller but what happens after is totally unexpected. Of course, a car accident requires a visit to the auto mechanic, but in this film, this car check-up ends up becoming an unintended encounter with unexpected consequences. That’s because the mechanic recognizes the customer’s peg leg, the very same leg that he’s heard while being tortured in prison. Everything that happens, then, is a result of that past. Part of it is actually funny, with the tragicomedy poking fun at how totally unprepared Vahid is to enact his revenge, to the point he’s not even 100% sure he got the correct man. Still, however messy it gets, It Was Just An Accident never forgets the wrong that’s been done, and highlights the reparations Vahid and his fellow inmates should’ve gotten.

Since we live in a society, interacting with authority is inescapable. Terrestrial Verses depict fairly mundane day-to-day interactions– getting a birth certificate, settling a traffic violation, or attending a job interview– but through nine vignettes framed with a static camera, aimed at a person trying to negotiate with someone more powerful just outside the frame, these mundane interactions become satirically absurd. For those unfamiliar with the ideology behind the regime, these interactions are just so annoying. But for those in the know, the doublespeak in the dialogue reflects how finicky and arbitrary the rules set by the authoritarian regime are, and celebrates the wit and ingenuity of the ordinary people that have to navigate them. Terrestrial Verses seems utterly mundane at first, but it proves to be smart, incisive, and deeply insightful.

A road trip movie with an unknown destination, Hit the Road plays with our expectations by avoiding any obvious questions we might have, and making us focus on the real important things. Informed by the censorship and persecution faced by critics of Iran’s government—including director Panah Panahi’s own filmmaker father, Jafar—the film places more focus on the very act of escape and what that can take from a family. And most importantly, through Panahi’s skillful direction of rural Iran’s varied, beautiful landscapes, he creates a conflicted relationship between character and setting, with entire emotional crescendos playing out just through a single shot of the environment. It’s one of the most underappreciated movies of the year.

Whether because of absent family or nefarious criminals, there are children around the world that have to work, sometimes in risky, dangerous jobs. Sun Children follows one such group of children. It’s a sadly familiar tale, taking notes from neorealism in depicting this important issue, but what makes Sun Children stand out is the way it shows how child labor can easily erode a kid’s soul, having to prioritize survival over being taken care of. It’s tragic to see how its ensemble has trouble simply accepting regular schooling, because they had to keep up defenses to live. Sun Children is one of many social issue dramas about child labor, but it’s unfortunately necessary in a world that has failed many kids this way.

Also known as Just 6.5 or Six and a Half per Meters, this police procedural follows the hunt for a drug kingpin named Naser Khakzad. Fast-paced action sets up the investigation off to a thrilling start, and it’s exhilarating to see Samad, the lead cop, get closer and closer to this elusive pusher. However, what grounds the action is the way it seamlessly integrates the societal reality of drugs in Iran, a country with capital punishment for dealers that hasn’t been helpful to stem the nation’s addiction. This understanding provides the springboard for Samad and Naser’s dynamic, making these two take a different path from the ever familiar drug narrative that we’ve seen in other crime thrillers.

Baran is a romantic drama, though unlike the grand gestures and declarations of love that are common in the West, the romance here is more subtle. It’s the kind of romance that blooms secretly, without any way it could be expressed. Lateef and Baran don’t even share a proper conversation. That isn’t to say that their connection is a shallow one because what they have together reveals what truly keeps them apart– their poverty, their employment despite being children, the way their society insists on the separation by genders, and their residency status. All they can share are a peek of each other’s face and the few glances of someone they can’t fully know. Baran beautifully illustrates how love can bloom in spite of all of it.

A child’s death is a hard thing to face. The idea of a life cut so short is already painful enough, but when there’s a chance that it’s caused by something that you did, the guilt can be so overwhelming. This is what No Date, No Signature is all about. As coroner Dr. Kaveh Nariman recognizes a corpse as the boy he thought left unscathed after a small vehicular accident, he’s convinced that it’s totally his fault. Filmmaker Vahid Jalilvand effectively captures that anguish in undersaturated greys, capturing a conscientiousness that pushes Nariman to try to do good, but at the same time, ruin his own efforts doing so.

What is there to know about Persian cats? Well, one, pet owners have to make sure they’re staying at home to be safe. And two, unlike their humans’ government, they apparently like rock music. Their similarities to an underground rock band forms the basis of this humorous docufiction dramedy. As the band tries to make music, and tries to get out of the country to do so, this film captures their complex relationship with the city that brought them up, but also would arrest them for their craft. No One Knows About Persian Cats breaks out of the social drama mold, which is rather fitting with the soundtrack’s genre distinctly being anti-establishment.

The Wind Will Carry Us depicts a city engineer whose visit in a Kurdish town draws curiosity from the locals. Understandably so, because they initially can’t make sense of what he’s doing. What is he doing in the cemetery? Why did he bring all these people? The documentary-like techniques director Abbas Kiarostami uses makes the discovery unfold naturally, as the inscrutable protagonist reveals parts of himself as he gets to know the townspeople. It’s interestingly self-reflexive, as the engineer’s goal lays closer to what Kiarostami set out to do with this film, and the film ends up becoming as contemplative, bemusing, and as beautiful as Kiarostami’s other Iran-set features.

What does a filmmaker do when you’re banned from making movies? For their safety, they might move abroad or switch professions altogether. For director Jafar Panahi, it means doing things differently. Taxi was made in the titular vehicle, with a camera simply placed on the dashboard as Panahi poses as a driver. It’s a simple approach, but quite fitting for what he’s going for. Like the way taxi drivers face so many different kinds of passengers, Taxi introduces various characters and scenes in Iran, mixing the normal and humorous with the violence some people face. It paints a balanced picture, though the government in question disagrees. Taxi warmly depicts Panahi’s fellow countrymen, but dares to acknowledge the country’s flaws.

Horror movies have always been creepier to me when they play on our fear of the “unknown” rather than gore. Under The Shadow does exactly that. The story is based around the relationship of a woman, Shideh, and her daughter, Dorsa, under the backdrop of the Iran-Iraq war. As widespread bombings shake the ground beneath their feet, the two grapple with a more insidious evil that is faceless and traceless, coming and going only with the wind. The movie’s dread-effect plays strongly on feelings of isolation and helplessness. The scares are slow and it’s obvious the director takes great care in making every single second count and in raising the unpredictableness of the action. Like the bombs, the audience never knows when or how the next apparition will materialize. The former is always on the edge of fear, wondering what is no doubt there, but is yet to be shown on the frame. In terms of significance, Under The Shadow features too many symbolisms to count and will most likely resonate with each person differently. But one thing remains relatively unarguable: this is a wonderful movie.

Certified Copy starts straightforward enough as it follows an unnamed shopkeeper (Juliette Binoche) and a writer (William Shimell) taking a stroll around picturesque Tuscany, debating the merits of authenticity and simplicity. They’re strangers flirting under the guise of an intellectual debate, and for a while, you think you’re watching a film like Before Sunrise, that is until a mysterious, almost magical, shift occurs, and suddenly, you’re witnessing something entirely different. For better or worse, director Abbas Kiarostami never makes it clear what happens, and that very mystery gives you a lot to think about. Are they pretending to be copies or is it the other way around? Neverending questions run through your head as you watch them banter, but whatever actually happens might be beside the point. At the moment, you get deeply felt, wonderfully rendered, as-real-as-can-be performances from Binoche and Shimell, and you can’t help but surrender.

We’ve heard of films within a film, but it’s crazy how many layers Through the Olive Trees operates in. Writer-director Abbas Kiarostami completes his metanarrative journey in the Koker trilogy through a slice-of-life comedy about a couple in the periphery of the previous installment And Life Goes On. As the young man Hossein repeats his plea for marriage to Tahereh, casted as his wife, the insistence can be slightly grating, but in doing so, the everyday dealings of the Iranian village hint at what’s underneath– the earthquake from four years ago that still shapes their lives, the socioeconomic and culture barriers, and the mirrored struggle of creating the artistic vision of the film within the film.

Life can easily get hectic in a moment. A hearing aid can get broken, debts can add up, a snafu can happen at work, and in the pursuit to fix all of it, life’s troubles make you forget who you hoped to become. This is what happens in The Song of Sparrows. It’s clear that there’s some inspiration from Italian neo-realist dramas– Karim’s stint as a motorcycle delivery man calls to mind Bicycle Thieves– but filmmaker Majid Majidi finds something spiritual in Karim’s mundane madness, a sense of hope despite all of Karim’s problems. The Song of Sparrows moves the spirit with its simplicity.

This incredible documentary is about the elusive Iranian artist Bahman Mohassess, whose work has the uniqueness of a Picasso or a Salvador Dalí.

But unlike his European counterparts, most of Mohassess’ work has been destroyed. Some in the aftermath of the Islamic Revolution in Iran but most, interestingly, by the artist himself.

After the revolution, he went into exile. For 40 years his whereabouts remained unknown — until an Iranian filmmaker based in Paris tracked him in a hotel in Rome.

Very early in the film, director Mitra Farahani points out that Mohassess died half an hour after one of their filming sessions.

The urgency of their conversations, the genius of Mohassess and his relationship to his art, and the uniqueness of the untold story of his life, all make this more than just another documentary. It’s a work of immeasurable historic value.

Everything about This Is Not a Film revolves around state censorship. Documentarian Mojtaba Mirtahmasb records Iranian cinema giant Jafar Panahi’s life under house arrest, maneuvering through the legal loopholes on Panahi’s 20-year ban on filmmaking and screenwriting. Here Panahi describes one of his unmade films that was rejected by the Iranian ministry, creating makeshift sets out of tape and his apartment’s living room, further emphasizing the ridiculousness of the state-imposed limitations on his artistic freedom. The result is a quasi-documentary that functions paradoxically, its un-cinematic quality essential for aesthetics as well as narrative. That this film had to be smuggled from Iran to Cannes on a flash drive hidden inside a birthday cake is a testament to political cinema’s power to be a vessel of pro-democracy sentiments, a fist raised proudly against state censors.

Regardless of where, when, and why war came to be, war inevitably makes children grow up faster than they ought to. Turtles Can Fly depicts one such boy, a thirteen year old refugee nicknamed Kak Satellite whose limited English and resourcefulness transformed him into a leader for the rest of the children as they scrounged for scraps, sweep for landmines, and set up satellites for news. It’s a harrowing experience. Writer-director Bahman Ghobadi depicts it in a grounded, real way, with the Kurdish cast directly re-enacting the same horrors that they’ve gone through the year before, and the same practical nonchalance that they cling to for survival. Regardless of how viewers feel about the Iraq invasion, or other wars with refugee crises, Turtles Can Fly simply asks viewers to see their faces.