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No Sex, no Violence, just Film
Despite its severe Islamic censorship and taboos, Iranian cinema attracts a world cult following, says Geoff Brown.
Imagine yourself as a filmmaker in post-revolutionary Iran. Instead of shooting at Universal Studios, the venue for your creative labours is called The Studio of the Voice and Portrait of the Islamic Revolution of Iran.
Perhaps your cameras are out on location in the streets. Your film project has already jumped three censorship hurdles imposed by government agencies: synopsis approval, and cast and crew approval.
Now all that is left is to make the film, get the Government’s final thumbs up, and be given an exhibition license. But you cannot relax for one moment.
Your leading lady, should you have one, must not be a seductive beauty. Nor must there be any physical contact between male and female, even if the characters are man and wife or brother and sister. No violence, naturally. Nor can any character burst into song.
To the West, it may seem almost inconceivable that great and entertaining films could emerge from such restrictions, all put in place at different times since Iran’s Islamic revolution. Yet each year a miracle happens. Iran’s films are regularly invited to festivals, win prizes, including the Palme d’Or at Cannes, and have become a cult among cinema aficionados.
To understand this remarkable phenomenon we must backtrack to the heights of the Islamic revolution in 1978-1979. 180 cinemas around the country were burnt down during the revolution — testament to the way films had come to be seen as part of the deposed Shah’s Western leanings. Filmmakers set out into the new era timidly, afraid of treading on toes and risking punishment. Sticky areas such as religion were best avoided altogether. Women, too, were for a time thought too hot to handle. But children seemed safe, and cheap,too.
Yet there was much more than expediency involved. Making films about youngsters’ growing pains was an ideal way to do your bit for a society rebuilding itself around Muslim values.
Visually, such films tend to be as decorous and simple as their characters, far removed from Hollywood’s bedlam. And the West loves them for it. When Iranian films first broke through internationally in the late Sixties, they seemed just one brand of exotica among many. Now they appear unique -films on a human scale, they refresh our jaded eyes.
Not that all Iranian cinema is classy enough to reach the West’s cinema festivals and art houses. They make their dross, like everyone else. And a chasm sometimes exists between films aimed at local audiences and those obviously prepared to charm outsiders.
Despite its severe Islamic censorship and taboos, Iranian cinema attracts a world cult following, says Geoff Brown
Imagine yourself as a filmmaker in post-revolutionary Iran. Instead of shooting at Universal Studios, the venue for your creative labours is called The Studio of the Voice and Portrait of the Islamic Revolution of Iran.
Perhaps your cameras are out on location in the streets. Your film project has already jumped three censorship hurdles imposed by government agencies: synopsis approval, and cast and crew approval.
Now all that is left is to make the film, get the Government’s final thumbs up, and be given an exhibition license. But you cannot relax for one moment.
Your leading lady, should you have one, must not be a seductive beauty. Nor must there be any physical contact between male and female, even if the characters are man and wife or brother and sister. No violence, naturally. Nor can any character burst into song.
To the West, it may seem almost inconceivable that great and entertaining films could emerge from such restrictions, all put in place at different times since Iran’s Islamic revolution. Yet each year a miracle happens. Iran’s films are regularly invited to festivals, win prizes, including the Palme d’Or at Cannes, and have become a cult among cinema aficionados.
To understand this remarkable phenomenon we must backtrack to the heights of the Islamic revolution in 1978-1979. 180 cinemas around the country were burnt down during the revolution — testament to the way films had come to be seen as part of the deposed Shah’s Western leanings. Filmmakers set out into the new era timidly, afraid of treading on toes and risking punishment. Sticky areas such as religion were best avoided altogether. Women, too, were for a time thought too hot to handle. But children seemed safe, and cheap,too.
Yet there was much more than expediency involved. Making films about youngsters’ growing pains was an ideal way to do your bit for a society rebuilding itself around Muslim values.
Visually, such films tend to be as decorous and simple as their characters, far removed from Hollywood’s bedlam. And the West loves them for it. When Iranian films first broke through internationally in the late Sixties, they seemed just one brand of exotica among many. Now they appear unique -films on a human scale, they refresh our jaded eyes.
Not that all Iranian cinema is classy enough to reach the West’s cinema festivals and art houses. They make their dross, like everyone else. And a chasm sometimes exists between films aimed at local audiences and those obviously prepared to charm outsiders.