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Wednesday, Nov 25, 2009
It is not at all unusual for prominent filmmakers from countries like Iran and Egypt to have their films banned at home. In Iran, for example, most films are funded by the state; and while the nation has had a thriving independent film movement since the 1970s, filmmakers still endure a strict censorship process at the hands of their government patrons. Men and women aren't supposed to even touch hands on celluloid, which effectively silences the romance genre; violence and profanity are forbidden; and women in film must wear a veil at all times. This means that some of the best Iranian films -- "The Circle," "Banoo" and "The Hidden Half" -- have been banned by the government on ideological or moral grounds.
Still, Iranian filmmakers have found ways to work around the censorship process, tailoring their plots or characters but still producing social commentary that is thoughtful and critical. Film has become, in fact, perhaps the strongest medium for independent political voices in the Middle East, who use the subtleties of their medium to convey critical messages.
"Film can be an indirect medium -- you have a message of protest in the film without being too direct," says Akrami. "It offers more opportunities, a wider expanse of creative freedom because of the nature of the medium. Iranian artists are taking advantage of that."
To evade the ban on depiction of adult relationships, many filmmakers have made films about children. "The White Balloon," which won the Camera D'Or at Cannes in 1995, is one such film. It follows the escapades of 7-year-old Razieh, who wants to buy a goldfish for New Years but loses the money her mother gave her to do so. "Children of Heaven," which was nominated for an Oscar in 1999, is a similar story: Young Ali loses his sister Zahra's shoes, and in order to hide the loss from their impoverished parents, the siblings decide to share Ali's ratty tennis shoes. Both "Children of Heaven" and "The White Balloon" are films with superficial charm and uplifting tone, but both manage to convey quiet but strong commentary on tolerance and poverty in their countries.
In fact, some critics argue that the restrictions on content have worked to enrich Iranian cinema, forcing filmmakers to be more attentive to the craft and narrative and find compelling and subversive ways to communicate large or complex themes without melodrama. "Before the revolution, when Iranian cinema was permissive, there were heavy doses of sex and violence. Those movies and some of the filmmakers were banned after the revolution," says Akrami. "The filmmakers decided to focus on humanitarian issues. But when filmmakers were deprived of commercial elements like sex and violence, they had to concentrate more of a decent story line and credible characters."
In treading lightly and using benign sources for storytelling, Middle Eastern filmmakers have made movies that are especially enlightening about the small nuances and overwhelming challenges of everyday life in their countries. The films yield details that lead to greater revelations about the culture and lifestyle in remote countries like Morocco, Lebanon or Afghanistan. The films, despite their avoidance of blatant political rhetoric, take American viewers beyond -- or behind -- the headlines and political analysis generated at home..
Director Elia Suleimans' 1996 film "Chronicle of a Disappearance," for example, is a blackly comical depiction of daily life in Jerusalem, from a Palestinian point of view. The movie is essentially a plot-free autobiographical film about Suleiman's return to Jerusalem after a self-imposed exile in the United States. Abstract and deeply ironic, it offers snapshots of a city where souvenir vendors sell "holy water" that they bottle themselves, while squadrons of military police race around the city in useless circles.
Similarly, Michel Khleifi's more traditional film "Wedding In Galilee" (1988) looks at the strained relationship between Palestinians and Israelis from the viewpoint of those living the conflict every day. In "Wedding In Galilee," the elder of an occupied Palestinian village in the West Bank convinces the Israeli governor to lift a curfew so that he can throw a wedding for his son; the condition is that the governor and his staff are guests of honor at the ceremony. Between this film and "Chronicle of a Disappearance," it's possible to understand the mundane details and enormous personal conflicts of life in a country battered by decades of violence and religious warfare.
Iran's strong film industry also has produced a number of films that illuminate the humanity of people that many Americans once regarded as enemies. Iran's most famous director, Abbas Kiarostami, produces films that are slowly paced and simple meditations on Iranian adult life, such as "Through the Olive Trees" and the award-winning "A Taste of Cherry." The latter is about a man who wants to commit suicide and is looking for someone to bury him after he's dead. As he drives around the hills of Tehran, he picks up a Kurdish soldier, an Afghan semininarian and a taxidermist. The conversations they have give life and complexity to the vast ethnic mix of a country packed with refugees from various Middle Eastern conflicts, while offering universal commentary on the value of human life.
