Far From Home (Sohrab Shahid Saless, 1975)

A transitional film linking Sohrab Shahid Saless's Iranian period with his extended stay in Germany, Far From Home was a meditation on social isolation and stillness. No other film has depicted the painful repetitiveness of an immigrant's life in such candid detail as the film gives us a few days in the life of Husseyin (played by actor and director Parviz Sayyad), a Turkish 'guest worker' in West Berlin.  There's an abundance of elements from other Shahid Saless films: trains, letters written and read, as well as the despairing sight of empty, unmade beds. The vanity of life is captured in dead moments, when even after a character has walked out the frame the camera lingers, staring into the vacuum and revealing a bleak vision of the world of the exploited and the rootless.

Experience (Abbas Kiarostami, 1973)

Abbas Kiarostami’s first mid-length film, The Experience, tells the story of a photography shop errand boy who falls in love with the daughter of a client. Written by his friend Amir Naderi, a renowned director in his own right, as an autobiographical reflection, the film showcases Kiarostami's minimalist and distanced style in full form and stands out as one of his significant works exploring desire and rejection.

The Stranger and the Fog (Bahram Beyzaie, 1974)

Bahram Beyzaie on the set of The Stranger and the Fog

Impossible to see for decades, Bahram Beyzaie's dazzling The Stranger and the Fog, about a mysterious stranger arriving in a drifting boat to a coastal village and falling for a woman, is an endlessly symbolic tale in which ghosts of the past, narrow-minded villagers and forces beyond the controls of the characters take the viewer into a dizzying labyrinth of rituals. In the film's meticulously structured circular narrative, characters, times and spaces rhyme and mirror each other, turning filmmaking into an act of dreaming. Characters are the product of each other's imagination before turning into myth. The films gives the centre of both attention/desire and control to a woman of will therefore it goes beyond the confines of the victimised women of the 1970s Iranian cinema.

The Crown Jewels of Iran (Ebrahim Golestan, 1965) | MoMA

Ebrahim Golestan’s most visually dazzling documentary, The Crown Jewels of Iran  is ostensibly a showcase of the precious jewels housed in the treasury of the Central Bank of Iran, but in reality, it is a bold critique of the treachery of Persian kings. The film’s narration sharply contrasts with its imagery: vibrant shots of jewels in rotation are juxtaposed with Golestan’s voice, condemning the decadence of past rulers. Banned and never shown, the film's powerful message remained hidden for years.

Chess of the Wind (Mohammad Reza Aslani, 1976)

In a mesmerizing take on House of Usher-like themes, set in a decaying feudal mansion, the death of a noble family’s matriarch sets off a power struggle. Mohammad Reza Aslani’s debut feature plunges into a labyrinth of corruption and decay within the household, subtly foreshadowing the revolution to come, while masterfully depicting the hidden inner struggles of Iranian society. This recently rediscovered gem was thought lost after its misunderstood premiere at the 1976 Tehran International Film Festival. However, in 2020, it was restored by the World Cinema Foundation and has since become one of the most acclaimed Iranian pre-revolutionary films. The film features a hauntingly eerie score by Sheyda Gharachedaghi, one of the most prolific female film composers of the 1960s and 1970s.

Brick and Mirror (Ebrahim Golestan, 1964)

The cover of the original pressbook

Iranian cinema’s first true modern masterpiece, Brick and Mirror explores fear and responsibility in the wake of the CIA- and MI6-orchestrated 1953 coup. A Dostoyevskian tale of a Tehran cab driver’s search for the mother of an abandoned baby, it presents a harrowing image of a society rife with corrupted morals and widespread alienation. While rooted in a specific social context, its message resonates universally. The characters often speak without truly communicating, their soliloquies echoing unheard in the endless night they inhabit.

Bonbast [Dead End] (Parviz Sayyad, 1977)

Mary Apick in Bonbast

A daydreamer of a girl (Mary Apick) sees a man standing under her window day and night. Thinking that he must be in love with her, she gets into an imaginary conversation with the man (in a fine use of inner voice) as he continues to follow her everywhere. Eventually, they talk but his and her intentions are not the same, leading to one of the most shattering endings in Iranian cinema.

In the opening title card, Sayyad mentions Anton Chekov as the inspiration for the story (the story, unmentioned, is From the Diary of a Young Girl) but adds more ambiguity by stating that "the current climate in society" prompted him to tell the story hence aiming for one of the most forward films of the late 1970s about the search for and failure in finding happiness in a society built on fear and surveillance.

La Ballade d'un fataliste

Hugo Fregonese

 
Hugo Fregonese : la Ballade d'un fataliste

Hugo Fregonese est l'une des figures les plus insaisissables de l'histoire du cinéma. Ses films, ardents et singuliers, brassent fatalité, mythes et violence crue, dans les canons esthétiques de la série B. Cette version enrichie de la rétrospective présentée à Bologne lors de la dernière édition d’Il Cinema Ritrovato rassemble des films réalisés dans cinq pays différents, dont des joyaux en version restaurée (L’Affaire de Buenos-Aires, Quand les tambours s’arrêteront) ou en copies 35 mm flambant neuves (Mardi ça saignera). Il est temps de faire entrer Fregonese, cinéaste errant et secret, dans la cours des grands.

Entouré de condamnés à mort comme lui, un prisonnier noir fredonne une chanson tout en battant la mesure : Black Tuesday. Les autres détenus, tels des lions en cages, font les cent pas au rythme de la musique. Un travelling passe de cellule en cellule, les barreaux dessinent des ombres dansantes sur les visages fiévreux. « Ferme-là, t’entends ? » s’exclame bientôt un prisonnier glacé par ce chant funèbre. Alors que son cri résonne dans les couloirs déserts de la prison, le titre du film emplit l’écran dans un grondement glaçant de musique symphonique. Ainsi commence Mardi ça saignera (1954), chef-d'œuvre resté invisible des décennies durant. C'est aussi l’instant où Hugo Fregonese, fataliste de génie, entre en scène.

Khaspush (Hamo Beiknazarian, 1928)

The original poster in Russian

 A Soviet production by the Armenian director Hamo Beiknazarian, Khaspush dramatises the Tobacco Revolt of 1890 in which an influential clergyman issued fatwa and banned the use of Tabaco after a Qajar king offered tobacco concession to the United Kingdom.

Il Cinema Ritrovato 2022 – Opening Speech

Screening of Vittorio De Sica's Sciuscià [Shoeshine] at Arlecchino cinema

Among the whole range of trigger warnings that tend to appear at the beginning of films nowadays, there was one I saw recently that I found genuinely moving. 

It was a warning that only Aussie viewers are likely to be familiar with, addressing as it did the Australian Aboriginal peoples. It read: "This film contains images and voices of people who are no longer alive."

I needed to catch my breath. It awakened something in me in connection with this festival. What we do very often involves looking at and listening to the images and voices of the dead. Are we breaking taboos, upsetting long-lost souls?

And that’s not to mention film restoration, which brings those sights and sounds even closer to their origins, heightening the resemblance.