I hope my son's upcoming college class on Iranian film will be enlightening and enjoyable. In preparation for that, his instructor asked him to watch this short from Forugh Farrokhzad.
I had heard her name before but thought she was exclusively a writer (and one I have not yet read, alas).
Seeing this film....and reading a little more about her, was illuminating. And added to the spell that Iranian art has cast upon me.
It starts with an image, a reflection in a mirror. A scarred face, covered both by hijab and leprosy - with one eye searching. Who is watching who?
Actually, that is a lie. It starts with words. As befits a poet.
The film is available online, and I would almost recommend just reading the subtitles once through (or if they are excerpted somewhere, read them there before watching). Granted, I can only take in English, my tongue far from mastering Farsi. So hearing the words, Farrokhzad's long-gone but still-not-silent voice are part of the experience. Soft repetitions, almost mantras or prayers. Much questioning.
Is this the film that launched Kiarostami, Farhadi and others? There is an unflinching look at society. There is a tendency towards a more poetic than precise description. Thought above plot. Images too that may contrast the official story, of the film....or of the censors.
Images linger too - aspects of beauty, the combing of hair, and a camera pan to reveal. The applying of kohl with ravaged hands to a ravaged face. Still there is pride, there is beauty. The camera jumps into the middle of a volleyball game. We are there with them. We are them.
I do think that is the simple story here, Davids Bowie and Lynch gave us "Elephant Man." Farrokhzad moves through similar stark shadows. Honestly there is more light here. In a documentary. That dancing/singing/humming man. The laughter in the class room. Food, music, learning, work, love - these define us all as humans.
Anyways, I look forward to watching the movies in parallel with my son and his classmates. I've previously seen about half of them, which I will enjoy revisiting, like meeting up with a dear forgotten friend. But new introductions like these, I too will cherish.
Reading up on Farrokhzad, it is hard not to think of the film at least partially as a pariah dismissing those who dismiss her. There is a cure for leprosy, the film plainly repeats, though it is not a soft prayer, it is a hard fact. That said there is a biological cure, but perhaps not a societal one.
Like the great Iranian films that followed this one, there may be something that is not said and said at the same time.
There is so much beneath the surface. Of cinema, of society, of skin.
I had heard her name before but thought she was exclusively a writer (and one I have not yet read, alas).
Seeing this film....and reading a little more about her, was illuminating. And added to the spell that Iranian art has cast upon me.
It starts with an image, a reflection in a mirror. A scarred face, covered both by hijab and leprosy - with one eye searching. Who is watching who?
Actually, that is a lie. It starts with words. As befits a poet.
The film is available online, and I would almost recommend just reading the subtitles once through (or if they are excerpted somewhere, read them there before watching). Granted, I can only take in English, my tongue far from mastering Farsi. So hearing the words, Farrokhzad's long-gone but still-not-silent voice are part of the experience. Soft repetitions, almost mantras or prayers. Much questioning.
Is this the film that launched Kiarostami, Farhadi and others? There is an unflinching look at society. There is a tendency towards a more poetic than precise description. Thought above plot. Images too that may contrast the official story, of the film....or of the censors.
Images linger too - aspects of beauty, the combing of hair, and a camera pan to reveal. The applying of kohl with ravaged hands to a ravaged face. Still there is pride, there is beauty. The camera jumps into the middle of a volleyball game. We are there with them. We are them.
I do think that is the simple story here, Davids Bowie and Lynch gave us "Elephant Man." Farrokhzad moves through similar stark shadows. Honestly there is more light here. In a documentary. That dancing/singing/humming man. The laughter in the class room. Food, music, learning, work, love - these define us all as humans.
Anyways, I look forward to watching the movies in parallel with my son and his classmates. I've previously seen about half of them, which I will enjoy revisiting, like meeting up with a dear forgotten friend. But new introductions like these, I too will cherish.
Reading up on Farrokhzad, it is hard not to think of the film at least partially as a pariah dismissing those who dismiss her. There is a cure for leprosy, the film plainly repeats, though it is not a soft prayer, it is a hard fact. That said there is a biological cure, but perhaps not a societal one.
Like the great Iranian films that followed this one, there may be something that is not said and said at the same time.
There is so much beneath the surface. Of cinema, of society, of skin.