If you have missed the Academy Awards Ceremony in which Asghar Farhadi, Iranian writer and director of “A Separation” was awarded the best foreign film Oscar, then don’t worry. You can watch it here.

: Iran’s “A Separation,” a taut family drama, on Sunday took home the Oscar for best foreign language film, after winning a series of other awards season prizes.

Director Asghar Farhadi dedicated the award to Iranians “who despise hostility and resentment,” and referred to current tension between Tehran and the West, as the film bested movies from Belgium, Poland, Israel and Canada.

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Antony Lane writes: “The writer and director, Asghar Farhadi, has thus created the perfect antithesis of a crunching disaster flick, such as “2012,” which was all boom and no ripple.

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A Shot of Separation

Rollo Romig writes: “The Iranian film “A Separation,” written and directed by Asghar Farhadi, has been nominated for two Oscars: Best Foreign Language Film and Best Original Screenplay, which for a non-English film is impressive even as a nomination.”

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Kianoosh Ayyari: Classical Experimentalist
Shadmehr Rastin

Ayyari’s film career includes 8 mm, 16 mm, 35 mm short and feature films, video and TV works that are documentary, doc-fiction, and pure fiction. Be neath this career lies an author film maker whose pictures arise out of experimentalism and classicism. Ayyari’s experimentalism, as observed in his super 8 films, is still present in his latest feature film. He is an experimentalist not just in form but also in plot, subject, characterization, and even in photography, music, editing, and more importantly production of movies. He has tested different production methods, some of which have been successful, being regarded as Ayyari’s innovation in the Iranian cinema. There were, however, some bitter experiences as well. These experiences are, of course, limited in scope, as Ayyari’s abides by the classical cinema with all its rules and regulations.

NetIran 1/1/1999
Film Internatinal

‘It’s tempting but dangerous to approach artists from exotic cultures in terms of more familiar reference points  such as comparing Zhang Yimous Ju Dou to The Postman Always Rings Twice or reading Souleymane Cisse’s Brightness as if it were an African Star Wars, as some American and English critics have done. Yet to describe the styles and visions of the two major Iranian filmmakers of the Eighties and Nineties, Abbas Kiarostami and Mohsen Makhmalbaf, I’ve been exploring comparisons to Leo Tolstoy and Fyodor Dostoevsky  a project obviously fraught with booby traps, but one that none the less clarifies some of the important differences between these two major figures.

A key difference which has only an oblique relevance to my comparison is that Makhmalbaf has been the most popular and respected filmmaker in Iran in recent years, despite his many run-ins with state censors, while Kiarostami is a hero principally elsewhere. Within Iranian society Kiarostami is widely regarded  and in some cases resented  as a self-serving pet of Western critics.

Though he came from a middle-class (albeit financially insecure) family, Dostoevsky, whose first novel was entitled Poor Folk, called himself an intellectual proletarian, and an identification with society’s lower strata is clearly central to his work, as it is to Makhmalbaf’s. A key traumatic event that shaped Dostoevsky’s future work was his arrest at age 27 for radical anti-government activities (during the repressive reign of Czar Nicholas II) and his subsequent sentencing to death by a firing squad. This sentence was commuted at the last moment, and Dostoevsky wound up with four years of hard labor in Siberia followed by four years of military service as an alternative sentence. But his belief that he was about to die left a permanent mark on his style and vision.

Something comparable happened to Makhmalbaf,a working-class fundamentalist and terrorist fighting the shahs regime when he was arrested and tortured at the age of 17. Apparently it was only his youth that saved him from the firing squad; he wound up serving a five-year prison term that ended only with the 1979 revolution. Judging from a text by Makhmalbaf recently published in English that appears to be semi-autobiographical, he fully expected to he killed during the early stages of his incarceration.

The incident that led to his arrest  Makhmalbaf stabbed a policeman with a knife is the focus of A Moment of Innocence (1995), one of his finest features. Its one sign of his change over 22 years that the policeman he stabbed is invited to help recreate the event (as an unofficial, on-screen co-director who coaches the actor playing him) and show what he was going through at the time. A fictionalized version of Makhmalbaf’s arrest, torture, and stint in prison is the focus of Boycott (1985), and its no less telling that this film ends with its hero’s execution.

Comparing Kiarostami to Tolstoy involves a much looser set of analogies. For starters, Kiarostami hails from the upper-middle-class, not the cultured gentry, and his cautious distance from Islamic fundamentalism throughout his career has nothing in common with Tolstoy’s belated, fervent Christianity Indeed, the physicality, serenity and cosmic overviews of both artists  in contrast to what might be termed the tormented psychological and spiritual under views of Dostoevsky and Makhmalbaf  may constitute the sum of their shared traits. They’re both masters of framing landscapes and vistas in contemplative long shots, while Makhmalbaf and Dostoevsky are expressionist sketch artists exposing the cramped and conflicted interiors of their own brains in staccato flashes of lightning. Otherwise Tolstoy and Kiarostami seem to share common ground mainly in contrast with the nervous, twitch, and hysterical styles of Dostoevsky and Makhmalbaf and the comparable behavior of many of their characters  although this is somewhat less true in the most recent work of both filmmakers.

When I took a course devoted to the two Russian authors in college the class was split between partisans of each; I cant recall anyone apart from the teacher who expressed equal fidelity to both. I belonged to the Tolstoy camp, and if I reread both writers today Id probably feel the same. I also feel closer to Kiarostami than to Makhmalbaf, maybe because my background is closer to his. But much as I suspect that Dostoevsky has more to say about Russian culture than a universalist like Tolstoy I’m fairly certain that its Makhmalbaf, not Kiarostami, who has the most to teach me about Iranian culture, particularly over the past quarter of a century .

Apart from growing up poor, Makhmalbaf was an unwanted child, as we learn from Houshang Golmakani documentary Stardust-Stricken Mohsen Makhmalbaf A Portrait (1996); he was essentially raised by his grandmother, whom he later had to support and care for. (This experience inspired the middle episode of his three-part feature The Peddler about a scatterbrained, spastic, and persecuted Jerry Lewis-type whose life is devoted to caring for his aged and senile mother.) After he emerged from prison he returned to political activism for a short spell, then helped to establish a group of artists known as The Islamic Propaganda Organization and became a prolific writer of plays, essays, short stories, and eventually screenplays. One early monograph  a good indication of how far he has traveled ideologically  propounded a fundamentalist argument against women appearing onstage. His first screenplay to be realized (by someone else) was The Explanation (1981), and he directed his first feature the following year. Reportedly neither of his first two features  both marked by didactic Islamic propaganda  had much of a public impact.

I am told that Makhmalbaf now dislikes Fleeing From Evil To God (1984) and Boycott, his third and fourth features, and agreed to include them in a touring retrospective only after recutting them. The first is by all counts the worst of his films I’ve seen, bad on just about every level–acting, mise en scene, script, and overall conception. But its evident sincerity combined with its naivete is undeniably fascinating, because I’ve never seen anything else like it; its rough American equivalent might be a painting of Jesus in the wilderness executed by an illiterate farmer. The only Makhmalbaf movie I’ve seen in a Scope format, it follows five nameless religious men, all dressed like monks, on a desert island as they flee from the devils temptations. The opening music calls to mind a spaghetti western, but very little happens in the film; the action consists mainly of metaphysical speculation spelled out in allegorical terms, not any struggle with evil or Satan in the real world.

No two Makhmalbaf films are alike. Moving from film to film, one sees a mercurial, troubled intelligence constantly seizing upon new stylistic influences, often seeming at odds with itself within individual features–although there’s more self-acceptance in such recent work as A Moment of Innocence, Gabbeh, (1996), and The Silence (1997), not to mention his daughter Samira’s wonderful feature The Apple (1998), which he scripted and edited. But its still a shock to pass from a strained, amateur exercise like Fleeing From Evil To God to the skillful and frenetic Boycott, which abounds in Hollywood-style action sequences (including a shoot-out, a prison escape, and an adroit car chase), goofy and upsetting subjective moments (such as the hero’s nightmare of ants devouring his face and animated ants in a later sequence), and apparently unmotivated freeze-frames tossed in the middle of a prison riot. The film clearly charts Makhmalbaf’s disillusionment with politics: I used to fight because I existed, the protagonist says in an early scene, after his arrest. ‘Now I no longer exist’. (Much later, he dryly notes that ‘imperialism and socialism are the same to a corpse’ to a communist fellow prisoner bent on turning him into a Marxist martyr.) It also shows a growing commitment to popular film making; as a fundamentalist youth, he was so opposed to cinema that he once refused to speak to his grandmother for several days after she went to the movies. (Apparently he now dislikes Boycott for its commercialism and has similar objections to The Actor, made eight years later, a box-office hit in Iran.)

In the April, 1997 issue of Sight and Sound, Houdini Ditmars reports Makhmalbaf saying that the best Iranian films came from the 1985-90 period, when censorship was at a low ebb. Considering the output of both Makhmalbaf and Kiarostami during those six years, its a thesis well worth considering. During this stretch Kiarostami made The First-Graders, Where Is The Friends House?, Homework, and Close-Up; Makhmalbaf made Boycott, The Peddler The Cyclist, Marriage of the Blessed, Time of Love, The Nights of Zayandeh Road. The last two pictures were promptly banned, and Time of Love  a three-part theme-and-variations about adultery shot in Turkey with Turkish actors  seems a relatively minor work (albeit a thoughtful and provocative one). But the preceding three pictures may well represent Makhmalbaf’s most important achievements to date apart from ‘A Matter of Innocence’.
All three are troubled, lyrical arias about human suffering in contemporary Iran that attack social problems  urban squalor, social cruelty and crime in The Peddler; capitalist exploitation in The Cyclist; the nervous condition of a traumatized veteran of the Iran-Iraq war in Marriage of the Blessed  with an unrelenting hallucinatory fury All three pictures, like Boycott, are somewhat out of control, but as with Dostoevsky in novels like The Idiot, its when Makhmalbaf is most out of control that he seems to cover the widest emotional and poetic range of material in the everyday world. Rather like Martin Scorsese wrestling with the demons and contradictions of his childhood Catholicism, Makhmalbaf seems to be fighting new versions of the skeptical, evolving intelligence in every project. Makhmalbaf has noted that a major difference  between Iranian and Western cinema is that in the West, the evolution of cinema began with paintings, then photography… it was a progression through image.. But in the East, our tradition of the Persian miniature did not really affect our cinema. At the beginning of the Islamic era, paintings and drawings were discouraged. So our tradition of image is not as old as our tradition of poetry… [and] we went straight from narrative to cinema… Our story-telling tradition is very poetic’.
How does Makhmalbaf’s visual style reflect this alternative tradition? Largely it seems, through its eclectic editing and framing, including frequent recourse to what Western viewers regard as eccentric camera angles. These angles are especially apparent in Boycott, The Peddler The Cyclist, Marriage of the Blessed, and The Actor and what seems most disorienting about them is their seeming lack of motivation. This gives his scatter shot technique a freshness combined with an overall sense of chaos:  like a restlessly shifting insomniac, a typical montage leaps around a given subject with desperate abandon, as if looking for and never finding a proper resting place
.  The literal meeting-point between Makhmalbaf and Kiarostami’s cinema is the latter’s masterpiece Close-Up (1990), which reenacts the trial of Ali Sabzian, the real-life impersonator of Makhmalbaf who charmed his way into a bourgeois family’s household on the pretext that he was planning a film about them. Merging documentary and fiction even when it stages a first meeting between Sabzian and Makhmalbaf in its closing sequence  this singular feature finds many echoes in Makhmalbaf’s subsequent work, first when he takes on the subject of cinema himself in Once Upon a Time, Cinema (1992) and Salaam Cinema (1994), and then when he appropriates some of Kiarostami’s methodology in A Matter of Innocence. The capsule history of Iranian cinema that ends Once Upon a Time, Cinema concludes appropriately with a shot of the zigzagging footpath on a hillside from Where Is The Friends House?  a shot that epitomizes Kiarostami’s own blend of documentary and fiction because he designed the footpath in this rural location himself.
If this implies that Makhmalbaf’s Dostoevskian interior journey has gradually taken on some of the breadth of Tolstoy’s exteriors, a complementary development can be traced in the recent work of Kiarostami, whose Taste of Cherry confronts the theme of suicide–a quintessentially Dostoevskian subject, filmed exclusively in exteriors but concerned throughout with what might be called spiritual interiors. Indeed, the exciting recent developments of both filmmakers show the limits of any comparisons with the great Russian novelists or any other restrictive definitions. At most they offer suggestive starting points for western spectators, but the remainder of the journey deserves to be taken without them.  ‘, ‘Makhmalbaf and Dostoevsky:A Limited Comparison’, ‘Jonathan Rosenbaum’, ‘It’s tempting but dangerous to approach artists from exotic cultures in terms of more familiar reference points  such as comparing Zhang Yimous Ju Dou to The Postman Always Rings Twice or reading Souleymane Cisse’s Brightness as if it were an African Star Wars, as some American and English critics have done. Yet to describe the styles and visions of the two major Iranian filmmakers of the Eighties and Nineties, Abbas Kiarostami and Mohsen Makhmalbaf, I’ve been exploring comparisons to Leo Tolstoy and Fyodor Dostoevsky  a project obviously fraught with booby traps, but one that none the less clarifies some of the important differences between these two major figures.’, ”,

10/24/99
Bulletin of’ The 10th Festival of Film from Iran
by Film Center of Chicago

There is a major difference between the social function of the cinema in Iran and its function in western countries, especially in the United States of America. While the social function of the cinema in western countries is most often purely entertainment, in Iran its function in many cases is to provide social and political commentary, due to the lack of traditional political parties. This commentary is prevalent in all other arts in Iran, as was indicated most recently by the government sensitivity towards the Writers’ Center. 

Generally, it can he said that social commentary is a historical role performed by all the prominent artists of Iran throughout the countrys 2500-year history The most famous Iranian poets were those who used their writing as a means to speak out against the prevailing political situation of their time.
poetry being the oldest Iranian art. During the development of relations with the west 150 years ago, other arts were also of importance in Iran, but it was only in poetry that the transition from traditionalism to modernism took place.

The first signs of this transition were seen in the works of Nima Yushij. Writing and narrating stories came next. Even though cinema and theater had come to Iran by that time, it took two decades for the theater to flourish in Iran and four decades for the Iranian cinema to become what it is today Before the New Wave movies were established in Iran in the Sixties, poets and writers were the only people who played both an artistic and a political role simultaneously Moreover, it must be mentioned that Nima Yushij and Sadeq Hedayat, who were founders of modern poetry and writing in Iran, were both members of the oldest political party in Iran.

During the Sixties, while poetry was still the means of most artistic political commentary, Iran ‘s New Wave movies were created. During this same period Iran ‘s commercial cinema went through a second period of revival. Twenty-five films were produced every year, most of which were superficial, and only one or two were exceptional. The Iranian art cinema, which took its first unsuccessful steps with films produced by Ebrahim Golestan and Farokh Ghafari in the Fifties, was reborn in the Sixties with the films Ghaisar, directed by Masud Kimiai and The Cow, directed by Dariush Mehrjui. Although these films were different in structure and were of different genres, they were both critical of the Iranian political and social system. It should be noted that the Sixties were fateful years in Iran and that the political movements of that period ultimately led to the Islamic Revolution of 1979.

From 1969 to 1974, the Iranian film industry produced a total of 50 films a year, and then there was a decline in production. By 1977, only seven films were produced. The most important films of this period were produced by directors such as Sohrab Shahid Saless, Bahram Beyzaie, Masud Kimiai, Abbas Kiarostami, Amir Naderi, Bahman Farmanara, and Nasser Taghvai. Their films showed the current political situation, and they all held views opposing the ruling regime. Kiarostami ‘s The Report was the last important film of this period and it revealed the social-political cul-de-sac of the moment.
After the revolution, the religious leftists took over the Iranian film industry The bureaucrats charged with creating cinema guidelines were mostly students of Dr. Ali Shariati, an important Islamic theorist. They were in search of a society in which everything, including the cinema, was Islamic. Therefore, a movement was made to strengthen Islamic culture. This policy, introduced by Mohammad Beheshti, Managing Director of the Farabi Cinema Foundation, changed the background of the Iranian cinema. The policy recognized the social-political aspects of cinema, but its objective was to use them to advertise and publicize Islam. In short, an effort was made to create an ideological cinema. But because of the critical political situation and the Iraqi imposed war against Iran, people were drawn to war films and mystical films, influenced by the works of Andrei Tarkovsky An attempt was made to train the younger generation to create this type of cinema, but the work of the New Wave filmmakers, most of whom were in Iran at the time, was put to a stop.

The efforts of Dr. Ali Shariati ‘s students were rewarded a decade later. With the war coming to an end, the government divided into two political wings (both religious), and the media limited in its activities, the social-political needs of Iranian society were once again addressed by the cinema. Young Islamic filmmakers such as Mohsen Makhmalbaf and Behrouz  Afkhami appeared as critics of the society they lived in. Their criticism helped support the political wing which eventually won the election of May 23rd. These filmmakers, who have largely influenced the Iranian cinema, then started creating films which criticized the social system in general. At the same time, Abbas Kiarostami was creating multilayered Iranian stories and by propounding the lives of ordinary Iranian people, reached the peak of the world cinema.

During the last presidential elections, for the first time in the history of Iran, filmmakers openly entered the political stage. Most of those who worked in the field of artistic cinema voted for the modern candidate (Mohammad Khatami) and those who made commercial films voted for the traditional candidate (Nateq Nouri). After the election, the limited activities of the political wings and the expanded activities of the media have lessened the political functions of the cinema, but its social-political functions are still tangible.

During the past two years, Iranian filmmakers have been drawn to making films about the social needs of the modern class in Iranian society Although these films may seem mostly superficial, an attempt has been made to bridge the gap between attracting viewers and propounding the needs of society This is another turning point and the beginning of a new era.

The expansion of social activities will lead filmmakers away from the political scene and any kind of prohibition will make them return to the historical part they have always played.’, ‘The Social Function of the Iranian Cinema’, ‘Noushabeh Amiri’, ‘There is a major difference between the social function of the cinema in Iran and its function in western countries, especially in the United States of America. While the social function of the cinema in western countries is most often purely entertainment, in Iran its function in many cases is to provide social and political commentary, due to the lack of traditional political parties. This commentary is prevalent in all other arts in Iran, as was indicated most recently by the government sensitivity towards the Writers’ Center.

10/24/99
Bulletin of The 10th Festival of Films from Iran

Iranian Cinema
Leslie Camhi

Censorship may have spurred Iranian filmmakers on to new and subtler forms of expression, but their
works also draw upon a long artistic legacy. This series focuses on Iran’s little-known film culture from just before the revolution (though it includes two contemporary New York premieres) and it proves that great
Iranian films  visually inventive, socially engaged, philosophically fertile  have been around for years.

11/17/99
The Village voice

Man Of Iran (Dariush Mehrjui)
Leslie Camhi

In the West, he’s the lesser-known member of the great triumvirate that includes Abbas Kiarostami and
Mohsen Makhmalbaf, but he’s also Iran’s longest-running cinematic master. Dariush Mehrjui’s films
combine elements of mysticism and neorealism in striking portraits of disenfranchised people, whether
haute bourgeois housewives or derelicts inhabiting the lower depths of Tehran. This 10-film
retrospective reveals a director who over the course of three decades has managed to trouble the
censors of both pre- and postrevolutionary Iranian society.

11/10/99
The Village Voice

Roger Ebert
Chicago Sun-Times
1999-02-02

`Children of Heaven’ is about a home without unhappiness. About a brother and sister who love one another instead of fighting. About situations any child can identify with. In this film from Iran I found a sweetness and innocence that shames the land of Mutant Turtles Power Rangers and violent video games. Why do we teach our kids to see through things before they even learn to see them?

Majid Majidi

Majid Majidi