At the 74th Berlinale, two autofictions of Iranians in exile produced in Germany seem to echo Scorsese’s statement. At the press conference for his honorary Golden Bear, the master of cinema argued that movies, and especially those shown at festivals, should affect the way we see people around us and how we behave in life. My Stolen Planet (Sayyareye dozdide shodeye man) by Farahnaz Sharifi and Shahid by Narges Kalhor accomplish all that. They pull the spectators into the directors’ worlds and make them grasp reality differently. Those directors’ voices and visions affect the way the audience thinks about people, especially about “foreigners”. A different narration is offered, contradicting the homogenizing and dehumanizing of right-wing politics. However, My Stolen Planet presented in the section “Panorama Dokumente”, and Shahid in the section “Forum” are also a trend, a business. Since the Women, Life, Freedom movement uprising in Iran, film festivals seem to compete in who shows more movies by Iranian directors, even better if females. However, within festivals, the selection of movies related to countries at war has emerged as a controversial issue in the last years, as often not following clear rules and becoming non-transparent. Again, also this year, in the case of Russia and Iran, Berlinale “does not grant accreditation or allow presentations for those working for official national or state-controlled institutions, companies or media” but bases the choice on a “sensitive and careful evaluation of each case”. The risk of further isolating those artists trying to resist and survive, sometimes literally, from within Russia or Iran is evident. To not speak about Palestine. This brand activism has been criticized especially by those artists in exile, for whom those festivals are the only occasion to connect with their artistic community of origin.
Nevertheless, at this year’s Berlinale, around ten movies by Iranian directors are programmed, reaching a record while at the same time bringing on a Berlinale tradition. Only in the past ten years, the Golden Bear has been assigned to three Iranians: to Asghar Farhadi for A Separation (2011), to Jafar Panahi for Taxi (2015), and to Mohammad Rasoulof for There Is No Evil (2020). This year, rumors say there are good chances of winning the Golden Bear for the widely acclaimed My Favourite Cake (Keyke mahboobe man), about an elderly woman rediscovering her love life. Unfortunately, the two directors Maryam Moghaddam and Behtash Sanaeeha wouldn’t be able to collect the award as they weren’t able to attend the premiere in Berlin. The Iranian government has confiscated their passports and imposed a travel ban. Along with My Favourite Cake, many other movies by Iranian directors are present in the parallel sections: The Great Yawn of History (Khamyazeye bozorg) by Aliyar Rasti, What did you dream last night, Parajanov? (Was hast du gestern geträumt, Parajanov?) By Faraz Fesharaki, the short movie City of Poets by Sara Rajaei. Three more Iranian movies are shown in the section Generation: Sheep (Goosfand) by Hadi Babaeifar, Maydegol by Sarvnaz Alambeigi, and Last Swim by Sasha Nathwani.
Memories and Images of a Stolen Planet
In My Stolen Planet director, Farahnaz Sharifi tells her story, along with those of many other Iranian women who live a permanent existential dichotomy. Private and public life seem impossible to conjugate in present-day Iran. Born around the time of the Islamic revolution, director Sharifi spent a happy childhood, dancing with her big family, despite the vigilant gaze of Ayatollah Khomeini always hanging on the living room’s wall. However, when school started, and with it, the imposition of wearing hajab, everything changed. Because hajab is not only a piece of fabric, but a symbol and constant reminder of the oppressive power of the regime, squashing any glimpse of life. Resistance is the last resort, before exile and beyond, before the present takes over the past. In Sharifi’s autofiction resistance takes two entangled paths: dancing and remembering. Two mechanisms of survival emerging also in many other productions by Iranian directors. In My Stolen Planet, dancing and remembering become tangible through the private and public archival material presented. Public and private, as well as past and present are brought together into a fluid stream of consciousness which sometimes makes you laugh to tears and others leave you petrified. This gives the spectator the awkward feeling of being too close to a stranger’s pain, which however is so vivid that it almost becomes one’s own. Sharifi sharply cuts analogic decaying family footage that portrays dissolving silhouettes dancing, into digital self-documentation – herself partying with friends or cutting her beautiful curly hair. This vividness is life; scary and exciting at the same time. And those memories of herself, her family, and her people are resistant, they preserve that stolen planet where she once lived. Those images are tangible proof that can be relieved.
Shahid
Another autofiction that deals with memories, collective and private is Shahid by director Narges Kahlor. At least once in our life, each of us has thought: “What would my life look like if it was a movie?” Kalhor’s is a tragicomedy or, to be more precise, an autofictional mockumentary. Supposedly, Shahid documents the director’s process of changing her name. Years after obtaining asylum in Germany, Narges Shahid Kalhor wants to get rid of “Shahid”, and simply be called Narges Kahlor. She believes “Shahid”, which means martyr, is linking her to death and her roots connected to the present Iranian regime. As her psychiatrist, Herr Ribbentrop argues: her problems lie in the past. And Kahlor agrees, wondering if it isn’t the case for everyone. While Kahlor is worried about her surname, as an answer, the two leading actors Baharak Abdolifard and Nima Nazarinia, reflect on their problems. They are existential and very present; both are still waiting to be granted asylum in Germany. In the meantime, Kahlor’s directing difficulties – which are reflected in a quite oneiric as well as an inconsistent and confused ending- are connected to a plot twist. The already complicated bureaucratic process of changing her name becomes even more challenging when her actual identity is questioned and new historical elements about the origin of the name “Shahid” emerge. Like Fahranaz Sharifi in Stolen Planet, director Kahlor must come to terms with her memories, or more precisely with her family’s history, which is also the history of the Islamic revolution and present-day regime in Iran. This is well rendered in the behind-the-scenes cuts integrated into the movie. For example, when the cast gossips about Kahlor’s privileges, both in Iran and in Germany, linked to her name, or when the crew discusses how to explain the recent political developments in Iran. At that point, symbolically, archival footage is projected on Kahlor’s breast. As known from the news, the brutal oppression of the regime is consumed upon women’s bodies. Like in Stolen Planet, also in Shahid dancing holds a central role and visually marks the protagonist’s development. Initially, her martyr great-grandfather and his friends follow her everywhere, dancing and taking center stage, while she tries to avoid them and run away from her own history. Towards the end, she becomes the prima ballerina and takes the stage back, her history is in her own hands, or better in her own body.
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