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| Parviz Davaie |
I'm honored to publish this personal, intimate portrait of Iranian author and film critic Parviz Davaie on my blog, not only because it gives insights about the man whose work I've always admired, but also because it is written by no one but his old friend and collaborator, and another pioneer of (modern) film criticism in Iran, Kiomars Vejdani.
PARVIZ DAVAIE: A TRIBUTE
By Kiomars Vejdani
"Davaie speaking." His voice at the end of the phone was my first contact with Davaie for over fifty years. It had not changed a lot. The same soft tone reflecting his gentle nature. For the first few moments he was formal, serious, and rather reserved. But soon as he found out the identity of the speaker the formality gave way to unreserved warmth and welcoming friendliness. Exactly the sort of response I was hoping for.
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| A Setareh Cinema cover from November, 1966 |
We arranged to meet the next day at eleven in the morning at the central square by the clock tower. (suggested by him as a place in Prague familiar to and easily found by tourists and visitors.) Next morning I was at the site a short while before the appointed time, looking in every direction for Davaie not quite knowing how he looks like after all these years (by then I had not yet seen his recent photos on the internet).
There was an element of Hitchcockian suspense as I was looking at any approaching stranger wondering with anticipation. Then at exactly eleven o'clock he was there (Davaie was always well known for his punctuality.) The same tall slim figure and handsome features. But the passage of time had turned his raven black hair into snow white, matched by equally white eyebrows and now an added becoming beard. He had aged. (Time does not stop for anyone.) His long black coat completed his dignified image of a writer and a poet.
Unless it was my imagination his skin looked a shade darker. But he certainly looked thinner than his younger days. (Unlike me who has gained weight with advanced age.) We tentatively approached each other. His reaction to my first few words was total amazement. "But you can speak Farsi!" Apparently in my letter I had given him the impression that I had completely forgotten my native language which is almost true. My command of Persian language is very basic and nothing like the days gone by. Nevertheless with a mixture of English and broken Farsi I managed to communicate with him. We talked about cinema, life, our past, and everything under the sun. Within less than an hour it felt as if we had never been separated. For we had a good deal in common. We were more or less the same age (born in 1935و he was three years my senior.) We were both born in Tehran and spent our childhood and youth in that city. And above all cinema was the love of our lives.
