Cinema is a Machine of Empathy

The Stranger and the Fog

“CINEMA  IS  A  MACHINE  OF  EMPATHY”:  RESTORING  AND CURATING IRANIAN’S CINEMATIC HERITAGE.

An interview with Ehsan Khoshbakht  

By André Habib (Université de Montréal)

The  international  recognition  of  Iranian  cinema  parallels  its  presence  on  the  world  festival  circuit,  from  Gaffari’s  1963  Night  of  the  Hunchback,  through  Kiarostami’s  Palme  d’or  for  The  Taste  of  Cherry  to  Rossoulof’s  in  extremis  addition to the 2024 Cannes Festival selection. These last few years, festivals (in particular  Cannes,  Venice,  Berlin,  Locarno)  have  been  pivotal  in  diagnosing  the  “state  of  affairs”  in  the  Islamic  Republic  of  Iran,  the  ongoing  creative  struggle  and resistance filmmakers have opposed to the regime. We could also add that, over the past ten years, it is also via festivals, and particularly those specialized in showcasing film restorations, that we have witnessed a reappraisal and renewed appreciation  for  works,  mostly  shot  before  the  revolution,  that  had  fallen  into  relative  oblivion  and  which  all,  in  some  respect,  display  eloquent  forms  of  politic  and  poetic  resistance.  It  is  safe  to  say  that  nowhere  is  this  truer  than  at  the  Cineteca  di  Bologna,  via  its  now  world-renowned  Cinema  Ritrovato  festival and through the work of the Immagine ritrovata laboratory. Crucial to this new wave  of  rediscoveries  is  Ehsan  Khoshbakht,  who  has,  since  2018,  worked  as  co-director of the Cinema Ritrovato festival, apart from curating many ambitious programs  across  the  world  (notably,  recently,  the  October  13th  to  November  27th MoMA program, Iranian Cinema Before the Revolution, spanning fifty years and  presenting  close  to  70  feature  and  short  films).  He  is  also  a  filmmaker,  an  architect and an essential figure, with others, of the contemporary reassessment of the importance and richness of the history of Iranian cinema. Shortly before the launch of the Fall of 2023 MoMA cycle, we had a chance to interview him for this special issue of Regards. 

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What has been the relationship between the Cineteca di Bologna and Iranian cinema these last years and what were the projects you were directly involved in? There  was  an  important  focus  on  Iranian  Cinema  in  2022  (with  among  other  things  films  by  Shahid  Saless  (Far  from  Home,  1975),  Ovanessian,  The Spring (1971),  Karimi,  The  Carriage  Driver  [1971]),  and  many  wonderful  films  were shown in 2023 as well (Beyzaie’s The Stranger and the Fog [1974], and The Ballad  of  Tara  [1979]),  without  forgetting  the  major  rediscover  of  Aslani’s  Chess  of  the  Wind  (1976)  in  2020.  It  seems  to  be  an  important  thread  of  the  Festival since 2015. 

2015  was  the  first  year  I  got  involved  with  the  festival  in  a  curating  capacity.  We  started with a bit of antipasto — a small programme showing the work of Farrokh Ghaffari,  Sohrab  Shahid  Saless,  Kamran  Shirdel,  and  Dariush  Mehrjui.  Its  success  led  to  programmes  that  in  terms  of  size  were  not  necessarily  larger  but  could  delve  deeper  into  the  notions  of  Iranian  modernist  and  popular  cinemas  after  WWII.  That’s  how  the  Golestan  Film  Studio  retrospective  in  2016  and  the  Samuel  Khachikian in 2017 tribute came about. Thanks to an encounter between the work and  a  new  audience,  the  necessity  of  initiating  restoration  projects  came  to  the  fore.  When  the  35mm  prints  of  film  by  Golestan  were  shown,  first,  their  timeless  beauty  was  rediscovered  and  then  the  fragile  state  of  the  prints  was  noted.  Only  two  years  later,  the  very  same  film  that  shook  the  Bologna  audience  –  Brick  and  Mirror in a 120-minute version – was restored in 4K in its original 130-minute length and premiered at the Venice Film Festival. The Spring by Arby Ovanessian was shown in  2022  from  a  French  print  belonging  to  Langlois,  and  then  the  next  year  it  was  restored by the filmmaker himself. The ongoing success of Iranian pre-revolutionary films  has  encouraged  us  and  others  to  seek  for  more  titles  and  try  harder  to  save  them. Of course, being an Iranian, it feels almost like a moral responsibility although one that often comes with too much headache and heartache.

In part because, luckily, many of the filmmakers are still alive, in part because it is the only way to access the material, you’ve had to work directly with the artists  to  obtain  prints  and  information.  How  does  that  change  the  work,  instead of working directly with estates or archives?

First,  I  should  say  that  even  when  the  filmmakers  are  with  us,  the  majority  of  them have absolutely no idea where the original elements of their films are. This is unbelievable and very sad but it is the reality. Except  for  Ebrahim  Golestan  who  was  the  sole  producer  of  his  films,  in  other  cases, the films were produced by individuals or institutions that no longer exist. I  mean  how  should  one  approach  “The  Ministry  of  Culture”  of  Imperial  Iran  in  a  post-revolutionary  context?  Should  we  consider  “The  Ministry  of  Culture  and  Islamic Guidance” as the new owners of the film? Legally speaking, they are the owners,  and  whenever  they  can  make  money  out  of  the  less  problematic  titles  (meaning films with no unveiled women in them, such as films by Shahid Saless) they  happily  do  that.  But  ethically  speaking,  this  is  the  very  ministry  that  has  suppressed  the  freedom  of  speech  and  the  free  production  of  moving  images  and has forced many of the great talents of Iranian cinema into exile. So how can one acknowledge their patrimony over some of the classics of Iranian cinema? When the filmmakers are around, we can always prioritize intellectual rights over legal  ones.  Iran  is  not  part  of  the  international  copyright  treaties  which  makes  it slightly easier to bend some of the rules. Their presence in tracking down the material or restoration could be extremely beneficial.With the estates, it depends on their dedication to the memory of the filmmaker and the extent of their familiarity with the process of our work and its outcome. Certain  unrealistic  demands,  financial  or  otherwise,  can  hinder  embarking  on  restoration projects but fortunately, in the case of Iranian cinema, it usually ends in  collaboration  and  cooperation  because  they  know  it  is  the  only  chance  to  preserve the memory of the artists in question.

Can  you  talk  more  precisely  of  your  involvement  with  the  restoration  and  presentation of the two Beyzaie films this year at Cinema Ritrovato?

Let’s start with The Ballad of Tara. I had no role in having it restored, except the knowledge  that  it  was  being  restored  in  Tehran.  So  through  Mr.  Beyzaie  I  first  got the news and then the copy and the permission to screen the film. I heavily modified  and  edited  an  existing  translation  of  the  subtitles  too.  Mr.  Bayzaie’s  language  is  a  fascinating  combination  of  formal,  informal,  and  classic  Persian  spoken by different characters. I wanted that to come across better.The  Stranger  and  the  Fog  was  a  different  story.  I  was  in  negotiation  with  Mr.  Beyzaie  to  let  the  Cineteca  di  Bologna  handle  his  film  legacy  in  terms  of  depositing the existing material, preserving and, when possible, restoring them. Cecilia  Cenciarelli  has  been  pretty  much  holding  the  helm  on  this  and  other  similar  projects,  including  the  Golestan  Project.  However,  in  the  early  stages,  the  whole  Arsene  Lupin  stunt  of  shipping  the  film  out  of  Iran  with  the  help  of  a  famous  actor  was  orchestrated  by  me.  When  the  original  camera  negative  reached Bologna, the usual process of submitting it to the Film Foundation was carried  out  by  Cecilia.  Then  I  had  some  supervision  on  color  grading  (on  behalf  of Mr. Beyzaie) and also creating new subtitles for the film. We plan to continue this with other films Mr. Beyzaie made between 1969 and 1979, so it’s a fantastic and essential preservation project.

What  is  the  role  of  the  Iranian  National  Archive  in  Tehran  in  these  projects,  and  do  you  know  if  they  are  actively  working  to  preserve  their  national  heritage (and in what respect)?

I  do  know  they  are  actively  engaged  in  preserving  their  collection  but  because  of  the  secrecy  around  what  they  do  and  because  Iranian  institutions  don’t  feel  obliged  to  report  to  the  citizens  about  what  they  are  doing  with  their  culture (and their money), there’s usually no information about what I’m almost certain are  some  worthwhile  and  noble  activities.  So  it  is  often  left  to  rumors  and  hearsay  to  get  what  they  are  up  to.  Despite  the  obvious  limitations  they  face,  they  have  been  supportive  of  the  projects  in  Cineteca  by  either  lending  prints  from  their  collection  or  facilitating  the  shipment  of  privately-owned  prints  belonging to individuals.

Does the Tehran Cinema Museum play a role in these restoration projects? 

It  doesn’t.  It  has  been  defined  as  a  place  for  showcasing  the  history  of  Iranian  cinema  and  documenting  its  past.  The  restoration  works  are  carried  out  by  Filmkhaneh and two or three private companies based in Tehran.

You are also a filmmaker. You made recently Celluloid Underground (2023) and also Filmfarsi (2019),  a  wonderful  documentary  on  the  Iranian  popular  film  genre,  but  which  was  also  a  personal  journey  into  the  Iranian  cinema  of  the  60’s and 70’s leading to the Revolution. What has making films such as these brought  you  in  terms  of  understanding  of  the  films  and  filmmakers  you’ve  been engaged with restoring their works?

Making Filmfarsi  was  an  extension  of  my  work  as  a  curator,  meaning  that  I  decided to make a film of fragments about a cinema that I couldn’t show. Cinema is a machine of empathy but most people don’t realize that empathy is generated The Stranger and the Fog (Beyzaie, 1974) not only for when the films are viewed in darkness but it’s also a feature of the process of making a film, maybe because empathy is an offspring of time.Speaking of time, I spent five years making Filmfarsi and throughout that period, I allowed my change of perception of Iranian popular cinema, from dismissal to understanding and even admiration, to become part of the narrative arc of the documentary.There were more tangible revelations too. When the opportunity arose to scan two films by one of the greatest talents from that period – Samuel Khachikian – the amount of details we could see in the film suddenly transformed our notion of  Iranian  popular  cinema:  a  shot  of  a  scorpion  climbing  a  wall  in  a  derelict  basement  where  an  alleged  serial  killer  on  the  loose  hides.  Previously,  we  were not able to see that (real) scorpion in the shot. All those great efforts for authenticity  or  particular  expressionist  effects  and  many  innovations  were  lost  or unseen in ghastly and unwatchable bootleg copies.

You mention “tangible revelations” during the making of Filmfarsi. Similarly, what  do  you  think  are  the  most  significant  repercussions  of  the  restoration  work  (carried  out  in  Bologna  in  particular)  on  the  writing  of  the  history  of  Iranian  cinema,  not  only  in  aesthetic  terms,  but  also  politically?  What  do  we  get to learn when we work on such a restoration process?

How  subversive  and  innovative  these  films  have  been  is  something  I  always  understand  better  when  working  on  the  restoration  of  the  Iranian  films.  For  instance, we restored the original version of The Crown Jewels of Iran (1965) by Ebrahim  Golestan.  The  previously  circulating  versions  had  nearly  80  percent  of  the narration removed/censored.

In  February  2023,  at  the  Cineteca  di  Bologna,  you  curated  a  three  day  program, Bologna  per  l’Iran,  in  solidarity  with  the  popular  uprising  in  the  streets  and  the  “Woman,  Life,  Freedom”  movement.  The  program  showed  many films from the 60’s, 70’s and 80’s as well as many more recent classics, from  Satrapi  to  Panahi.  In  particular,  the  cycle  began  with  the  presentation  of Streets of Fire, a short film that is part of a work in progress by Majed Neisi, culled using private images from demonstrations and protesters he found on Instagram or TikTok. It was a very moving and heartbreaking moment and it became very clear that all these films that were presented, in some shape or form, allowed us to better understand the current situation. How do you see this  dialogue,  and  in  particular  the  role  of  film  restoration  and  curation  of  Iranian’s past (and in particular the films of the 60’s and 70’s) with the current uprising and continuous repression filmmakers and citizens are subjected to.

This  was  a  new  experience  for  me  to  combine  the  old  and  the  new.  It  came  out of the sheer necessity to address the key question posed by the institution 1- The film was completed during the summer of 2023, under the title Inside the Iranian Uprising (a  cinematheque  in  Bologna,  hence  the  film  history  angle)  and  the  current  situation  in  Iran.  So  in  a  way,  it  was  a  clandestine  type  of  programming:  taking  risks  and  looking  for  new,  even  explosive  encounters  of  moving  images.  The  first risk I took was with Neisi’s teaser for his upcoming film which he eventually finished by June 2023 (the final version became one of the most viewed original documentaries  on  both  BBC  and  PBS  during  its  initial  broadcast.)  His  film  went  beyond  a  documentary  and  became  a  document.  Neisi,  41,  apprenticed  with  Kamran  Shirdel,  the  most  militant  of  the  1960s  documentarians.  Therefore,  I  included films by Shirdel who was the first filmmaker to deal with the problems of women in Iranian society. Then it made sense to go as early as Ebrahim Golestan, because it was he who first used documentary cinema as a means of disobedience and even quiet rebellion. The defiant nature of Iranian cinema continues to this day and films by Panahi and Rasoulof are the most obvious examples of it though as  fighters  and  dissidents  they  can  make  stronger  statements  in  real  life  than  in  their  cinema.  By  starting  with  a  female  filmmaker,  Forough  Farrokhzad  in  1962, I wanted to remind everybody that the so-called Iranian New Wave had a godmother, instead of, like its Western equivalents, a godfather or godfathers. The  programming  was  done  quickly  –  within  a  couple  of  days  –  and  it  was  put  together  even  faster  and  that  brought  the  energy  and  urgency  it  required.  The  same  format  won’t  work  in  a  film  festival.  I’m  usually  a  slow  curator,  meaning  that  I  think  at  least  two  years  ahead,  therefore,  my  programs  can’t  necessarily  address the most immediate issues of the day and what’s going on in the street. In this case, and by using the format of cinematheque screening, I could respond faster. However, the flexibility of Cineteca is missing in other Western European cinematheques as they have unnecessarily long leads which results in killing any possibility of spontaneity and immediate reaction to the state of things.

The juxtaposition of the old and the new that you mention in connection with the Bologna per l’Iran program is very interesting indeed. Have you seen other cinematheques working in this same direction over the past year in support of  what’s  happening  in  Iran?  And  why  doesn’t  this  kind  of  approach  work  seem to work for festivals? 

As  far  as  I  know,  no.  It’s  because  they  haven’t  yet  realized  how  tied  past  and  present of cinema and society in Iran are. Festivals have specific objectives and since most of them focus on contemporary cinema perhaps the imagination for linking it to a larger picture of the history of Iranian cinema is missing. 

You  told  us  about  the  programming  dedicated  to  pre-revolutionary  Iranian  cinema that will take place this fall at MoMA. Can you tell us a little bit more about  it?  Will  it  follow  this  same  approach,  or  does  it  aim  to  explore  other  aspects? Will the link with current events be explored, and in what way? 

The  program  in  New  York  is  a  historical  overview  that  aims  for  a  new  kind  of  inclusivity and totality of the different types of cinema existing in Iran, including (for  the  first  time)  popular  films,  education  films  and  documentaries  about  religion,  along  with  more  often  shown  Iranian  New  Wave  films.  It’s  a  program  put  together  with  a  specific  film  history  narrative  in  mind,  though,  again,  for  a  contemporary audience seeing these films in relation to recent events in Iran is perhaps inevitable.

A  final  question  concerns  the  distribution  of  Iranian  films  in  Europe.  It’s  interesting to note that the delay in the distribution in Europe of Iranian films made before the latest events (we think, for example, of The Wastetown with Baran  Kosari,  2023)  offers  the  opportunity  to  take  a  different  look  at  these  films  in  relation  to  the  present,  or  even  Jafar  Panahi’s  last  film  that  was  obviously read through the lens of what was occurring in the country. How to account for this “delay effect” and has Iranian cinema often had that type of “semi-prophetic” quality (no pun intended)?

Not all the films are released with delays. Many are seen by non-Iranians first. A Panahi  film  is  most  likely  discussed  (and  seen  as  work-in-progress)  with  major  festivals even before it is completed. Does Iranian cinema have a prophetic side? It  does.  But  it’s  not  because  of  some  supernatural  element  assisting  Iranian  filmmakers,  it  is  simply  because  those  who  look  closely  and  patiently  discover  situations that are about to unfold fully in the future. Their meaning is not very clear in a 1974 movie but when the revolution in 1979 happens one can see why people reacted the way they did in 1974. It explains the tensions felt in a film in 1974.  Therefore,  some  films  seem  to  be  about  events  in  the  future  rather  than  about their time of production. Chess of the Wind and The Stranger and The Fog are brilliant examples.

This interview was conducted via email by André Habib, with additional questions by Claudia Polledri, between August 28th and November 23rd, 2023.