THE IRANIAN FILM industry operates under a blanket of censorship
that's hard to imagine from the sex-crazed, blood-drenched aisle
seats of our own cinematic Gomorra. Since the Islamic Revolution
of 1979, almost all western movies have been banned due to severe
restrictions governing the ways women can be portrayed. "We
are not against cinema; we are against prostitution," the
Ayatollah Khomeini has declared, which means, in practical terms,
that Islamic dress codes requiring women to cover their hair and
wear loose-fitting garments in public must be strictly observed
at all times. Though a woman may be "at home" in the
context of the film, the censors, who apparently don't buy into
the suspension of disbelief, still consider her to be "in
public" when her image appears on the screen. Women are often
pictured sleeping with their head scarves on in post-revolutionary
Iranian films.
Furthermore, according to Islamic codes, a woman may only be
"intimate" with members of her own family. Intimacy
includes activities like touching and hugging, which can't be
portrayed on screen unless the actors are related. It's very difficult
for Iranian filmmakers to portray husband and wife characters
if the actors aren't married in real life. This, added to a legacy
of harsh political censorship from the time of the Shah, has resulted
in a style of filmmaking that (at least in the examples exported
abroad) is often concerned with small conflicts, the lives of
children and the anxieties of everyday life. The mysterious death
of a cow, a crack in a water jar, a schoolboy's lost notebook
and a little girl's desperate desire for a plump goldfish--these
are all basic plots of some better-known Iranian films.
Despite restrictive guidelines, Iranian filmmaking has thrived.
The White Balloon, the first feature-length film from director
Jafar Panahi and winner of the 1995 Camera D'Or prize, is a sweet
but sober glimpse into the life of a little girl in downtown Tehran.
Panahi's film has the slow rhythm and attention to inner- life
typical of the films of Satyajit Ray or Ingmar Bergman. The story
is about Razieh (Aida Mohammadkhani), a determined 7-year-old
girl who wants nothing more than a certain beautiful goldfish
to decorate her family's house for the New Year. Though it's tough
to convey the excitement of such a simple plot in words, her quest
for the fish is surprisingly moving. This is partly because the
adorable Mohammadkhani, who shouts all her lines, is so
utterly appealing; and partly because the market of Tehran, where
she ventures out to buy the fish with her mother's money (under
strict instructions to bring back change) seems like no place
for a little girl to be wandering by herself.
A sense of threat accompanies Razieh on her journey. First, some
snake charmers--a bunch of men that she has been warned not to
look at--manage to separate the 7-year-old from her note. With
the help of her sturdy vocal chords she manages to get the money
back, only to lose it again. There's a subtle feeling that Razieh
might be paddled by her parents if she doesn't get her money back--her
brother, who convinced their mother to give his sister the money
in the first place, shows up at one point with a black eye.
The adults who surround the two children can't seem to understand
how dire it is that they get their money back, but the kids themselves
are quite certain of the gravity of their task. With earnest concentration,
they try a variety of techniques to retrieve the bank note that
has fallen through a grating into a cellar. The film takes place
in real time, heightening the sense of living inside a child's
world. Though the adults can't understand how important it is
for Razieh to get her goldfish or to retrieve her money, it becomes
very clear to the audience that these are matters of immense importance.
Though The White Balloon is about children, it isn't really
a children's movie. The subtext is probably too dark for younger
kids, and there's a sense of threat, nuance and subtlety that
would probably be better appreciated by Arch Deluxe-quaffing grown
ups. Panahi's static compositions, which resemble still photography
more than the dynamism of western directors, give The White
Balloon a documentary air of mature calm; this, along with
the small scale of the subject matter, lends the film the remarkable
feeling of being a chronicle of real events.