2 Jafar Panahi's Forbidden Tetralogy
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2 Jafar Panahi’s Forbidden Tetralogy This Is Not a Film, Closed Curtain, Taxi Tehran, Three Faces Abstract Chapter 2 brings a reflection on Jafar Panahi’s forbidden tetralogy, This Is Not a Film (co-directed by Mojtaba Mirtahmasb, 2011), Closed Curtain (Pardeh, co-directed by Kambuzia Partovi, 2013), Taxi Tehran (Taxi, 2015) and Three Faces (Se rokh, 2018), all of which have come into being despite (or as a result of) the 20-year ban from making films imposed on him by the Iranian authorities. Forcibly shot in enclosed spaces, these films are marked by a relentless scrutiny of their restrained locations and of the director himself, turned into reluctant protagonist of his non-films. In such restrictive circumstances, Panahi’s irrepressible creative vein is channelled towards bringing to the fore, with radical realism, film’s inherent conundrum between its recording and artistic properties. Keywords: Non-cinema; Jafar Panahi; This Is Not a Film; Closed Curtain; Taxi Tehran; Three Faces This chapter will address cinema’s constitutive dilemma between presenta- tion and representation of reality by means of a reflection on Jafar Panahi’s forbidden tetralogy, This Is Not a Film (In film nist, co-directed by Mojtaba Mirtahmasb, 2011), Closed Curtain (Pardeh, co-directed by Kambuzia Partovi, 2013), Taxi Tehran (Taxi, 2015) and Three Faces (Se rokh, 2018), all of which have come into being despite (or rather as a result of) the ban from making films imposed on him by the Iranian authorities. Though the documentary genre has never featured prominently in Panahi’s portfolio, throughout his career he has applied himself to an unrelenting realist programme that eventually cost him his freedom of movement and his own ability to make films, despite the international acclaim bestowed on his oeuvre. By means of typical realist devices – a prolific use of long takes, location shooting, non-professional acting and Nagib, L., Realist Cinema as World Cinema: Non-cinema, Intermedial Passages, Total Cinema. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2020 doi 10.5117/9789462987517_ch02 64 REALIST CINEMA AS WORLD CINEMA focus on contemporary issues – his fiction films have repeatedly exposed the plight of women, immigrants, children, animals and artists under the oppressive Iranian regime. His attempt, in collaboration with director Mohammad Rasoulof, to document on film the demonstrations against the fraudulent reelection of Mahmoud Ahmadinejad in June 2009 eventually led to his imprisonment in March 2010, together with a number of his supporters and family members. Though these were soon released, Panahi remained in custody for several months and was only freed after staging hunger strike and paying a hefty bail. He was subsequently banned from writing screenplays, shooting films, giving interviews and leaving his country for a period of 20 years, combined with a six-year prison sentence yet to be enforced at the moment of writing. Despite the gravity of these threats and penalties, Panahi remains ready to pay for the ethics of his artistry with his life if necessary, and this is why the subject of suicide haunts his forbidden tetralogy, itself a collection of secretive and abortive attempts at fully-fledged fiction films. As he states in the documentary Où êtes vous, Jafar Panahi? (2016), surreptitiously shot on the occasion of a major retrospective of his work at the Centre Pompidou, in Paris in 2016, his main judge is his mirror, meaning that he can only make films that are sanctioned by his own conscience, albeit at odds with his censors’ code of practice. Thus he is forced to work in semi-isolation and to anonymise most of his collaborators so as to protect them from persecution. Some of them have indeed been penalised, such as Mojtaba Mirtahmasb, the co-director of This Is Not a Film, Kambuzia Partovi, actor and co-director of Closed Curtain, and Maryam Moghadam, actress in the same film, all of whom had their passports confiscated and were prevented from promoting these films abroad. Forcibly shot in enclosed spaces – his own apartment in This Is Not a Film, his leisure home at the Caspian Sea in Closed Curtain, inside a car in Taxi Tehran, and mostly inside a car again in Three Faces, as Panahi travels to the remote Iranian Azerbaijan – the forbidden tetralogy is marked by a relentless scrutiny of these restrained locations and of the director himself, turned into reluctant protagonist of his non-films. Incipient plots are com- mented on, but remain undeveloped amidst the register of the frustrated filmmaker’s daily routine and conversations with occasional interlocutors. In such restrictive circumstances, Panahi’s irrepressible creative vein is channelled towards bringing to the fore, with radical realism, film’s inherent conundrum between its recording and artistic properties. Kracauer (1997: 40) famously remarked that, ‘due to its fixed meaning, the concept of art does not, and cannot, cover truly “cinematic” films – films, JAFAR PANAHI’S ForBIDDEN TETRALOGY 65 that is, which incorporate aspects of physical reality with a view to making us experience them’. For Bazin (1967:12), in turn, film’s ontological nature has ‘freed the plastic arts from their obsession with likeness’. Along the same lines, Lev Manovich (2016: 21) observes that, whereas the other arts can deliver themselves to abstraction, cinema is irredeemably tied to real-life mimesis due to its photographic basis. He says: Behind even the most stylized cinematic images we can discern the bluntness, the sterility, the banality of early 19th-century photographs. No matter how complex its stylistic innovations, the cinema has found its base in these deposits of reality, these samples obtained by a methodical and prosaic process […] Cinema is the art of the index; it is an attempt to make art out of a footprint. But then, of course, as Manovich and so many others contend, everything has changed with the advent of digital technology, which allows for the generation of images and sounds on computer, without the need of camera or lenses or any objective reality. This has ushered in what is now being referred to as the post-cinema age (see, for example, Denson and Leyda 2016), in which, Manovich (2016: 29) tells us, the emphasis has shifted from the mode of production of a film, where the profilmic event plays a major role and manipulation is negligible in comparison, to the mode of postproduction, where shot footage ‘is just the raw material to be manipulated in a computer where the real construction of a scene will take place’. Although some scholars have, regretfully or joyously, accepted the victory of manipulation over the index, and posited the digital as the final nail in the coffin of cinema as we used to know it, the fact remains that many film- makers, such as Panahi, continue to valorise production over postproduction regardless of the technology at play. Indeed, one of the most remarkable consequences of the digital revolution is to have enabled filmmakers from the most disparate areas of the globe to embark on otherwise unthinkable realist ventures. Panahi is the first to welcome this development, saying: ‘Fortunately, digital cameras and other facilities offered by digital technology allow you to film without the need to ask the authorities, discreetly and cheaply’ (Chéroux and Frodon 2016: 24). This is how he has been able, over the years, to tell the world about the dire conditions of filmmaking in Iran. Thus in this chapter I propose to reverse track and test the concept of ‘non-cinema’ as post-cinema’s fiercest nemesis. My approach may diverge from views such as William Brown’s (2016: 105), my fellow advocate of non-cinema, which he defines as an intrinsic component of cinema 66 REALIST CINEMA AS WORLD CINEMA brought about with crystalline clarity by digital technology. As I have explained elsewhere (Nagib 2016), my own view of non-cinema refers to works which, throughout film history and geography, have overflown the boundaries of the medium in order to merge with other artforms or life itself, resulting in transformative politics. Needless to say, non- cinema is utopia, for indexical as it may be, cinema is first and foremost manipulation, from the moment a camera frames and decontextualises a chunk of objective reality. Striving for non-cinema therefore becomes a mise-en-abyme exercise in self-reflexivity and self-denunciation – as I hope to have demonstrated, in Chapter 1, in a completely different context, about The State of Things – curtailing and unveiling manipulation as soon as it takes place, and coming close to but never really ceasing to be cinema in the conventional sense, as my analysis of the forbidden tetralogy will hopefully demonstrate. In what follows, I shall first lay out the theoretical underpinnings for my non-cinema concept, moving on to conduct a detailed analysis of Panahi’s forbidden tetralogy as a subset of realist cinema, where emphasis is placed on production rather than postproduction and the index reigns sovereign. The Politics of Self-negation Although particularly notable, and unavoidably so, in the forbidden tetralogy, Panahi’s self-negating method can be observed across his entire oeuvre, a clear example being his early film The Mirror (Ayneh, 1997), in which the filmmaking process is disrupted halfway through by the child protagonist who decides to step down from her role; from then on the film abandons the plot to document the child’s seemingly non-staged progress across the streets of Tehran. In so doing Panahi’s films could be seen as a late bloomer of a long modernist tradition in political art whose agenda draws on its own rejection as art. As we have seen in Chapter 1, Alain Badiou addresses this tradition in terms of ‘inaesthetics’, an understanding that concludes with a reproach levelled at the revolutionary avant-gardes which, according to him (2005: 8), were incapable of maintaining their alliances with either the didactic or the romantic currents in their rejection of classicism.