Salaam Isfahan (Good Morning Isfhahan) – Film review by Emma Johnson
This documentary is part of the International Competition and is screening again on Tuesday, 20 April at 20:00 in the Capitole 2 Fellini cinema.
In this graceful and moving documentary, Sanaz Azari quietly explores Iran’s political and social climate in the days surrounding the 2009 elections. Subtle and respectful in her approach, the director remains in the background, leaving room for the people of her birthplace to express their thoughts. This is not the story of tumultuous crowds or outright politics, nor are we told how Iran is. Rather, it is about individual voices, personal hopes and the all too human need for self-expression.
Under the guise of a photo shoot, the crew takes to the city streets in order to capture a glimpse of peoples’ daily lives. The film opens with a shoot already in place on a quiet, shady road. The majority of people pass by quickly, refusing to be photographed. One neatly dressed man, who has himself posed for several photos, remarks “they don’t want any trouble with the elections coming”. This aside introduces the political undertone that flows through the film and grows in importance with greater proximity to the elections. While the political situation is not often directly referred to, it is always there – we can feel it.
Many participants in the film are all too keen to have their photos taken for a European documentary. Their willingness indicates their need to be heard, their need to be recognised as an individual. What is perhaps most poignant in this documentary is the fleeting moments captured before the click of the shutter, where people’s reactions and gestures allow brief insights into themselves as they nervously look at the camera or unabashedly pose. These silent moments reveal much and give weight to a very human story.
By asking simple, disarming questions like “What did you do today?” or “Where are you going?”, Azari gives the participants room to open up and reveal something about themselves, albeit unknowingly. In doing so, she offers the audience a privileged position – one where they are not told what to think but are able to see and interpret for themselves.
Parts of the documentary are filmed in various interiors, allowing the audience entry into a more intimate, secret world – one where private thoughts can be spoken aloud. In a particularly touching scene, a female protagonist demonstrates how to wear the different headdresses that are obligatory in a post-revolution Iran. Showing the camera the “latest fashion” and the different styles, she implicitly touches on the need for self-expression and the way this manages to emerge, even within the most limited confines.
In a beauty salon, three women talk and joke about what they are still able to do in Iran under the current regime, in between applying make-up and swapping beauty tips. We visit them again after the results are announced. Here the violence surrounding the politics is explicitly addressed – they speak with sadness about the young people who have died in the demonstrations, “for nothing”. Yet the sense of futility soon dissipates as a philosophical note is struck with humour – one of the women who is preparing for a wedding notes that at least there will be no official raids at the wedding party to verify if there is dancing, as the army now “has bigger fish to fry”.
On election day, the documentary moves outside the city and up to the nearby hills. People stroll in the soft, fading light, far above the city spread out below. A reflective, peaceful mood reigns here, seemingly far away from the political tensions below. Families and friends pose for photos as they talk about their days. Yet at the same time, just as the city remains in the frame, politics loiters in the background – it is an ever-present reality. Many talk of having gone to vote or the general climate, but their worries about the current situation remain unspoken. Two friends are asked what they love about Iran and respond that it is home, that is the only place where one is not a foreigner. Then one of them concedes that you can be a foreigner even in Iran, depending on the political climate.
In one of the most striking and beautiful shots of the documentary, the camera slowly follows the gondola’s descent back down the dark hill to the glowering lights of the city. The noise of the crowds shouting political slogans rises, (though we do not see them) signalling an inevitable return to the city and to all its problems.
In a final series of photos, a young couple poses on a bridge that traverses a dry riverbed. They express frustrations about the fraudulent election that touch the audience and make them wonder about Iran’s future. When asked where they are going, the young man replies that they are off to join the demonstrations and to “get beaten up”. A heartbreaking sense of futility is evoked, as is admiration for their resolve.
Beautifully filmed, Salaam Isfahan documents the lives, reactions and feelings of normal people living under extraordinary circumstances. By giving room for people to knowingly or unwittingly tell their own story, Sanaz Azari opens up various personal Irans and gives the audience another experience of the country, one that we can access and relate to, despite the foreignness of the circumstances. And she does it with a moving grace.
Director – Sanaz Azari
