Gilaneh
I happened upon Rakhshan Bani-Etemad and Mohsen Abdolvahab’s film Gilaneh when it was part of the Walker Art Center’s annual Women With Vision film festival last year. What I had hoped for was a film that would teach me something about contemporary Iran; what I found was a film that refused to fit into any of the neat, reductionist buckets of “Middle Eastern-ness” as is so often represented in today’s post-9/11 mainstream American discourse. I may have subconsciously expected to see the story of an archetypal Middle Eastern woman struggling against an oppressive, male-dominated Muslim regime. But instead I was forcefully pulled deep into the emotional core of a woman bearing the burden of love and care for a family torn apart by nationalist ideology, war, and poverty. We watch Gilaneh (played poignantly by Fatemeh Motamed Arya, who was also in a 2005 film by Bahman Farmanara, Yek Boos-e Koochooloo, or “A Little Kiss”) stoically negotiate those she loves through the effects of chemical weapons, trauma, and pregnancy, all the while navigating the obstacles of unstable phone connections, a distant hospital, and the impatient customers of her roadside stand.
The first half of the film takes place during the peak of Iran’s war with Iraq and follows Gilaneh as she watches her son, Ismaeel, leave for war, and helps her panic-stricken pregnant daughter, Maygol, search for her deserting military husband. Even more arresting, though, is the second half, set 15 years later after her son has returned from the war suffering from the ghastly, debilitating effects of chemical weapons. Gilaneh, now older and curled over with arthritis, carries Ismaeel on her back to bring him into the afternoon sunlight – a gesture more blatantly heroic that any scene from a contemporary war film – before she stands in her kitchen and humbly, expertly, prepares a meal from her meager supplies.
Rakhshan Bani-Etemad creates such a personal relationship between Gilaneh and the audience that we forget about the walls of nationality, wealth, and religion that so often distance us. I shuddered when I realized that in the background news reports flickering on the television in the living room in which Ismaeel now lies recumbent, American troops had seamlessly replaced Iranian troops in the fight against the Iraqis. All at once it became clear that Gilaneh’s lonely fight to persevere had not as much to do with Iranian identity or religion, but rather represented the perpetual, overarching transnational power struggles that continue unrelentingly to tear mother from son and mother from daughter everywhere in the world.
“Gilaneh” should not be missed, and unfortunately Bani-Etemad’s films are generally difficult to hunt down in the US – a DVD version of Gilaneh has not yet been released in the States and film screenings are still rare. Her other, better-known films include Zir-e Poost-e Shahr (“Under the Skin of the City,” 2001) and Rusari Abi (“The Blue-Veiled,” 1995). Just last year, she and Mohsen Abdolvahab collaborated again on Mainline (“Khoon Bazi”), a film about drug addiction.
Our readers in England should know that an upcoming conference and festival entitled War in Iranian Cinema (organized jointly by the Iran Heritage Foundation and London’s Barbican Centre) will be featuring “Gilaneh” as part of what looks to be a provocative program. Book now for the screening on February 22, and stay tuned to Pars Arts for future opportunities to catch Bani-Etemad’s films on the big screen.
Happy Belated (or Early) Birthday, You Grand Dame
Before there was the big GOOG, another “Goog” sang and danced her way into the Iranian consciousness. Googoosh, sort of an Iranian Joni Mitchell (meets Judy Garland, meets Tina Turner, meets Olivia Newton-John, etc.), either turned 56 yesterday or turns 57 in April – even Wikipedia doesn’t seem to know. In any case, no Persian culture website is complete without at least one mention of her, so here’s ours. For the curious, there is no lack of her music or biographical information online, though it’s important to note that we think her music from the 1960s and 1970s (as opposed to the more contemporary stuff) has the true staying power.
As a little kid I remember being mortified by my parents’ dancing until I saw this video and realized their Persian disco stylings were not entirely their fault. In fact, I couldn’t help but pick up some of these moves myself. Enjoy:
And for kicks, here’s her funky cover of Carole King’s “It’s Too Late”:
The House is Black
Forough Farrokhzad’s 1963 film, The House is Black (in Persian: “Khaneh Siah Ast”), starts with this voice-over:
“There is no shortage of ugliness in the world. If a man closed his eyes to it, there would be even more.”
And so it is in this highly affective, 22-minute documentary set in a leper colony, as the viewer can’t look away once the film has started.
Farrokhzad, who we wrote about a few weeks ago, both directed and edited, layering music and her own poetry atop images of the colony’s residents: a man with uneven stubs for legs half-crawling to a couch; a woman lining her unnaturally sunken eyes with kohl; a man with no fingers praying out loud; the disfigured members of a wedding party dancing; a man with no nose smoking a cigarette; all slivers of happiness and normalcy among lots of poverty and pain and ugliness. Besides the opening voice-over and Farrokhzad’s poetry, there’s only one other voice-over in the film – an explanation of leprosy stressing that it’s a curable disease. I won’t spoil where the title comes from, but it’s moving without feeling contrived.
In a time when diseases like leprosy were not understood and their victims became twice-victimized – once by the disease and a second time by the effects of the ignorance surrounding it – I wonder what this film might have changed in Iran. If anyone has any info, please share it with us.
The DVD that we got (from Netflix, put out by Facets Multimedia) featured an interview with Forough’s sister, Pooran Farrokhzad, in the extras. And incidentally, the interview was an excerpt of the Adventure Divas’ trip to Iran, which we wrote about yesterday.
Film & Television: Adventure Divas Pari Zanganeh Shahla Sherkat women Zahra Moussavi Zanan
by Pars Arts
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Adventure Divas in Iran
There’s no TV at Pars Arts headquarters, but the Adventure Divas makes us wish we’d had one when their shows, which are a “lipstick feminist” take on travel, aired on public television. The main “divas,” mother and daughter Jeannie and Holly Morris, traveled the globe to find women doing cool things. Their journey included a stop in Iran, where they talked to luminaries like singer Pari Zanganeh, founder of Zanan magazine Shahla Sherkat, and taxi entrepreneur Zahra Moussavi, among others. I’ve never been crazy about the word diva, but I think their stopping in Iran was awesome, as is the fact that the series is a mostly female enterprise. I haven’t see any of the episodes yet myself but the whole show is available for purchase on their website (I’m told you can’t buy individual shows anymore but the website still has them listed).
NIMANY
Pars Arts is happy to bring you something a little different today. Sepideh Saremi and Asad Baheri, fashion neophytes, recently found themselves both intrigued and perplexed by NIMANY, the work of designer Nima Behnoud. Here’s their instant messenger conversation about NIMANY, fashion, and the ethics of cashing in on culture.
Sepideh: ok so we’ve chatted back and forth a bit about this designer nima behnoud’s t-shirts
Asad: yes
Sepideh: i’m really conflicted
Asad: and I love that he is using persian calligaphry
Asad: what are you conflicted about
Sepideh: yeah, it’s beautiful
Sepideh: well, for one they’re $70
Asad: yes
Asad: that puts it way out of my price range
Asad: I was thinking about designer clothes
Asad: and a friend of a friend of mine has his own label
Sepideh: which one, can you say?
Asad: it’s called Tavik
Asad: it’s not persian, just so-cal
Asad: he’s had stuff appear on the OC and he has some pro-surfers wearing his stuff
Asad: his shirts and board shorts are 30-40
Asad: that I can deal with
Sepideh: is the guy persian?
Asad: no
Sepideh: cool logo tho
Asad: and Tavik sounds persian doesn’t it
Asad: I dunno why
Sepideh: a lot of persians buy louis vuitton and prada and coach crap too tho
Sepideh: so maybe $70 is not out of range for nima’s target audience?
Sepideh: (you’re right, tavik does sound persian)
Asad: I was yelled at the other day for calling louis vuitton LV
Sepideh: i guess it makes me a little sad that i can’t get one because it costs so much… and makes me feel left out
Asad: depends on the target audiance I guess
Sepideh: right
Sepideh: i read that heidi klum really likes his shirts
Asad: but how many persians are rushing out to buy 70 tshirts with just persian calligraphy
Sepideh: right, exactly
Sepideh: what if you spill something on it, right? jeez
Sepideh: there’s a guy on westwood blvd who does amazing calligraphy paintings and i got one for $120…$120 doesnt seem so bad for a painting but $50 less for a tshirt seems egregious
Sepideh: maybe because tshirts are casual and this goes along with that whole pricey casual thing
Asad: and I didn’t like that cuba campaign either
Asad: yes
Sepideh: like $200 jeans and etc.
Sepideh: puke
Sepideh: but a LOT of persians are into it
Asad: I like my threadless $20 tshirts thank you very much
Asad: well I was thinking about a pair of 200 jeans
Sepideh: and threadless shirts are really cool too
Asad: BOSS jeans are the only ones that fit me really well
Sepideh: wow so retro!
Asad: but they are insanely expensive
Sepideh: hugo boss makes me think of the 80s
Sepideh: like, shiny black coffee tables and lots of red lipstick
Asad: lol, they are still around, just selling expensive stuff
Sepideh: maybe i’m a cheapskate then
Sepideh: my favorite jeans cost $20, i get them on sale at express and they last about a year
Asad: you know, one of my favorite pairs of jeans is from target
Asad: does that make me a pauper
Sepideh: everyone does that stuff tho, but dude, back to nimany
Asad: ok
Sepideh: another thing that gets me is the very generic punkiness of it
Sepideh: i feel like persian calligraphy’s getting used
Asad: it doesn’t look like it’s something that took a lot of effort
Sepideh: used in the bad way
Sepideh: i feel bad for rumi
Asad: I didn’t feel like wow, this person did a lot of design
Sepideh: altho it looks like he is a graphic designer and has done a lot of other stuff
Asad: that doesn’t bother me as much, it’s normal to recycle cultural icons
Sepideh: i suppose
Asad: but this strips it of its meaning somehow?
Sepideh: i mean when heidi klum says wow these are fantastic
Sepideh: that makes me sorta meh
Asad: cause she doesn’t know anything about the background?
Sepideh: i dont know, maybe i’m still just mad i dont have one
Asad: heh
Sepideh: yeah bcz she’s sort of a clothes horse
Asad: well in LA at least persian calligraphy is well known
Sepideh: another thing is i’ve only seen one person wearing one of these nimany shirts and
Asad: at least in the graphic world people know persian calligraphy
Sepideh: he was sort of a persian scenester, so that’s a turnoff
Asad: well those are the persians that buy the LV, CK… brand stuff
Sepideh: but then when i read this history page on his website i was really impressed by the production process for the shirts
Sepideh: tho a while ago there was this feature on iranian.com
Sepideh: remember that?
“East Kisses West”
Sepideh: it feels sort of contrived
Asad: oh yeah, I remember that
Sepideh: “We made hand-distressed denim and held shows in the underground parties in northern Tehran. We sold them to the hipster crowd not to make money but to be cool!”
Asad: from the history: “Behnoud feeds this hunger for unique fashion with unparalleled creativity.”
Sepideh: right…
Asad: yeah I am not buying it
Sepideh: i think that’s an unfortunate sentence
Asad: hah
Sepideh: and then he says this: “Unfortunately most of what we are presented today, through the context of Iranian culture and image in the art scene is a melodramatic and sad depiction, referring to a tragic former existence that is no more. That detached and melancholy presentation of the Iranian life style bothers me; not because it does not exist, but because it completely ignores an entirely different face of life and energy, which drives and energizes the youth of Iran.”
Asad: I dunno what that means
Asad: the energy that drives and energizes the youth of iran?
Sepideh: i think it means that he thinks iranian art is too depressing
Sepideh: and that young iranians like to party too?
Sepideh: i suppose we ought to ask him directly
Sepideh: i sort of agree that most iranian art made outside of iran is pretty melancholy/political
Asad: everyone likes to party
Sepideh: maybe that’s because it’s what non-iranian audiences want to see/need to see, maybe it’s a political or personal expression of the artist
Asad: yes
Asad: well I dunno about persian art being depressing, there is a lot of persian art that is beautiful
Asad: it’s just that here in the US we don’t know too much about it
Asad: but it exists in europe
Sepideh: i dont think depressing and beautiful are mutually exclusive either tho
Sepideh: so his idea is to show iran’s underground scene…
Asad: you know I just don’t buy the underground scene, christiane amanpour is forever talking about the underground scene
Sepideh: except when that scene HAS to be underground there are definitely implications that are important, right?
Asad: I think they both went to the same basement party
Sepideh: you hear all this stuff about iranian kids rolling on e and snorting coke
Sepideh: i’m not sure if that’s the same underground he’s talking about or what
Asad: there is definitely a music scene, and I don’t think that’s sad and depressing
Sepideh: agreed
Sepideh: but my deal is maybe positioning these shirts to new yorkers and etc.
to whom “underground scene” means nothing except that it’s exclusive and cool
Asad: yeah
Sepideh: i think that does a disservice to the same iranian youth whose underground scene exists bcz they can’t live freely
Sepideh: not to get too “melodramatic and sad”
Asad: so how much would you pay for a nimay shirt
Sepideh: i don’t know…
Sepideh: now that i’ve articulated how they make me feel i’m not sure i’d wear one at all
Sepideh: then again, it’s likely i’m just projecting
Asad: I am not sure if I would wear one, it’s just not me
Sepideh: why not?
Asad: it’s too exclusive and cool
Sepideh: somehow that makes it uncool
Asad: yes
Sepideh: like it’s trying too hard
Asad: exactly
Sepideh: like the persian scenester i saw one of these shirts on!
Asad: it reminds of the persian guy with all the designer clothes and cologne and the mbz
Sepideh: haha
Asad: yup yup
Sepideh: so maybe we’re put off by these shirts reinforcing that stereotype?
Asad: I am at least
Asad: and honestly I think a lot of other people would be too
Sepideh: i think he has a really excellent opportunity to introduce his clientele to persian culture
Sepideh: instead of just stopping at “they’re grabbed by the graphical element”
Sepideh: this is rumi and hafez we’re talking about, it’s not just a graphical element
Sepideh: i think i want it to be more than it is
Asad: yes
Sepideh: so i think i’m slightly pissed that the use of persian graphics, which belong to all of us, stops at fashion
Asad: I know what you mean in that aspect, he’s just using things that we consider our heritage to make money
Asad: you want him to add something to it
Sepideh: yes
Asad: instead of just putting it on a tshirt and saying hey it looks cool
Asad: he could put any words on there instead of hafez and rumi
Sepideh: exactly
Sepideh: maybe it’s another layer of exclusivity
Sepideh: not only do you have to have $70, you also have to be able to read the shirt
Sepideh: double-insider
Asad: yes!
Asad: you have to be super-cool to totally get it
Sepideh: i’m okay not being that cool
Sepideh: i bought a tanktop once with a picture of googoosh on it
Sepideh: it was the only way a lot of people knew i was iranian when they saw me
Asad: did you feel more exclusive in it?
Asad: I have a tshirt with the picture of the national football team on it
Sepideh: or rather, they were confused as to why this white-looking girl was wearinga googoosh shirt, until i’d say hi
Sepideh: so it was a cute way to say “hey, i’m persian too!”
Sepideh: yeah, team melli is cool
Sepideh: i didn’t feel exclusive, but felt more included, if that makes any sense
Sepideh: like wearing a nametag or something, it showed people who i was
Sepideh: pretty powerful for a tank top
Asad: yes
Asad: I guess it all depends on which group you are looking at
Asad: we are really big on our groups
Asad: are you aryan or turkish or afghan or ….
Sepideh: yeah
Sepideh: i get all googly for pretty much all middle eastern people, and babies from anywhere
Asad: is there any designer clothing line that you would pay 70 for
Sepideh: um well i’ve paid more than that for shoes before
Sepideh: sneakers, no less
Sepideh: but i bought those 4 years ago and still wear them, so maybe that’s different
Asad: I paid about S120 for a pair of kenneth cole shoes
Asad: but they last and are super-comfortable
Asad: but I think that’s different
Sepideh: yeah shoes are different
Sepideh: i can say with absolute certainty that i will NEVER pay $70 for a tshirt
Sepideh: i dont care if coco chanel came back from the dead and stitched it for me herself, it’s just too much money for something i’ll eventually wear to the gym or to bed
Asad: hahahaha
Asad: yes
Asad: I agree
Sepideh: so hopefully nima doesn’t hate us too much now
Asad: it’s ok
Sepideh: we can’t afford his shirts anyway
Asad: I am already kicked out
Asad: lol exactly
Sepideh: at least we can read them
Asad: good point
Sepideh: take that, heidi klum
Asad Baheri is a Pars Arts contributor and writes at Evil Asad. Sepideh Saremi is the editor of Pars Arts.
Film & Television Interviews: Bahman Farmanara Iranian New Wave PODCASTS
by Pars Arts
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A Podcast with Bahman Farmanara, Filmmaker
Despite his place as one of the founders of socially-conscious and politically subversive Iranian New Wave cinema, Bahman Farmanara is noted as much for the films he didn’t make as for those he did. In fact, until he made the award-winning 2000 film Smell of Camphor, Fragrance of Jasmine (Booye Kafoor, Atre Yas) Farmanara hadn’t made a film in twenty years.
Rewind to 1979 and the politically-charged Tall Shadows of the Wind – a film about villagers who build a scarecrow that soon becomes their dictator – is banned by the Shah. After the Iranian revolution, the film is released for three days before being banned again, this time by the new regime. Farmanara leaves Iran for Canada in 1980, where for ten years he works as a film distributor and producer because making films in North America is not financially feasible. Then, in 1990, Farmanara is called back to Iran to run his family’s large textile business. For the next ten years, he submits ten scripts to Iranian censors and receives ten rejections. Until, a few days after his last rejection, he comes up with the idea for Smell of Camphor, which is a tongue-in-cheek tragicomedy about a director named Bahman who hasn’t made a film in twenty years. Farmanara ends up playing his own lead (the photo of him above is a still from the movie). In the film, his character says, “For a writer not to write or a filmmaker not to make films is a kind of death,” so it is fitting that the character is working on a documentary about Iranian burial rites and that death is a recurring theme in Farmanara’s work.
Since Smell of Camphor, Farmanara has made two other films, and he was in New York this week for the Film Society of Lincoln Center series, “Storm Warnings: The Films of Bahman Farmanara.” Pars Arts attended several screenings and talked with him about dreams, religion, his films, and Iran:
Pars Arts podcast with Bahman Farmanara
(right-click to download the mp3).
Some notes and more context: There are a few interruptions and the interview starts with us chatting about USC, where Farmanara went to film school. In answer to the first question we posed about the name of the series, Richard Peña, the program director at the Film Society wrote to tell us, “I think Bahman’s films have a certain ‘lightning rod’ quality to them–they seem to be good indicators of feelings and disturbances simmering just below the surface of daily life.” This interview with Bahman Farmanara was recorded live at the Walter Reade Theater on Monday, 1/29/07, by Sepideh Saremi. Many thanks to the Film Society and Mr. Farmanara. Smell of Camphor, Fragrance of Jasmine, is the only Farmanara film available on Netflix at this time.
Wednesday Edition: Pars Links
We’ve been hard at work the last couple of days on an interview/article about Bahman Farmanara but promise it’s worth the wait. It’ll be up tomorrow, with a podcast available for download. To tide you over, here’s what’s going on in the Iranian world of events and media, via the Internet.
Ansari at UCLA
Anousheh Ansari, the first female space tourist, is appearing at UCLA on Thursday, March 1st. If you’re in LA, you should try to go – I think the event is free (if memory serves, parking at UCLA is definitely not free). Hopefully we’ll have some pictures from the event. It’s going to be mobbed by Persians, which is always fun.
Bebin Here
There’s a new Iranian online TV station. It’s very clunky on my Mac, but it looks like Bebin.tv (“bebin” means “look”) has mostly lifestyle-oriented programming, in Farsi, English, and the hybrid most popular with the young Iranians abroad, “Fengilisi.” It looks like they’ve got their own version of the NBC show The Office, called “Bebin’s Office.” Potentially the most interesting part of the site is the vPOD section, which is user-generated content. Think YouTube, but harder to stream and you can’t embed the files.
Noor Update
The Noor Film Festival is this weekend, also in LA – the opening ceremony is sold out but you can still get tickets for other showings that are happening through February 4th. If you can’t make it there, two of their features are actually available on Netflix (sort of defeats the purpose of a festival but, well, what are you going to do?).
Activist Arrests
Three Iranian women’s rights activists have been arrested in Iran. Not much more to say here besides the proverbial “this sucks.”
Selling Out in LA
Lian Ensemble plays “sonati,”, or traditional Iranian, music; their LA show at the Getty Center is sold out (what an amazing venue that must be, with those fantastic views of the city), but Chicagoans should know they’re going to be in the Windy City on April 28th and definitely plan ahead; see their event schedule for more details.
Current-Event Anxiety
The International Herald Tribune has a first-person piece by Behzad Yaghmaian about the 1979 revolution and life under regime. Over in the UK, the Guardian has a brief interview with Hossein Bagher Zadeh about his experience with the Islamic Republic’s censorship. Coming off this past weekend’s protests in Washington, D.C., Iranian.com has some photos and an essay. That’s about all our psyche can handle right now, but a quick Google News Search for Iran is easy enough for those seeking more.
Haale at Carnegie Hall
We covered innovative singer Haale recently (and will review her EPs soon). She will be appearing at Carnegie Hall this Sunday, as part of a series curated by David Byrne. For the last several weeks, I’ve listened to his song Glass, Concrete, & Stone and Haale’s song “Navayee” at least once a day, without the knowledge of this show; interesting to see them converge in this way.
Ali Dadgar at Berkeley
Artist Ali Dadgar has an exhibit at UC Berkeley through March 2nd. Much of his work is on Iranian.com.
