Khers nist

No Bears is a metafictional exploration by Jafar Panahi, tackling the social and political restraints placed on himself and others. While the subject matter might seem daunting, the film is surprisingly accessible. Despite its gravity, it maintains a humble, understated tone, grounded by Panahi's calm demeanour, honesty, and politeness. Moments of dark-tinged humour-like Panahi reviewing footage accidentally left running on a camera-lighten the tension.

Panahi stars as himself, directing a film about two people attempting to migrate illegally, which is presented as a semi-documentary. In a unique twist, No Bears becomes a semi-documentary within a semi-documentary, blurring the boundaries of fiction and reality. Panahi has relocated to a small village near the Turkish border to direct remotely via webcam, as he was subject to a chronic travel ban at the time. Perhaps he sought proximity to his crew or a respite from the surveillance of Tehran. However, his interactions with the local villagers and the tensions of living near the border create a layered narrative that reflects both the film's themes and Panahi's real-life challenges. The frequent disruptions to his work caused by poor internet signal serve as a fitting metaphor for the control and limitations imposed on his creative freedom.

At its core, No Bears is a film about resistance. Panahi refuses to bow to Iranian authorities' attempts to silence him. His dealings with the villagers mirror his experiences with the regime-both characterised by arbitrary rules, superstitions, and traditions that he quietly defies. Acting as a beacon of reason, Panahi invites viewers to question the power of authoritarian systems, suggesting that their strength lies in collective compliance. The title, No Bears, reflects this theme. Villagers keep the young indoors with tales of bears prowling at night, but no such bears exist-a lie that encapsulates the broader dangers of imagined fears used as tools of control.

Panahi's calm rationality contrasts with the fabrications and self-deceptions around him. He resists not only the idea of leaving Iran to escape its constraints but also the notion that he should be forced to abandon his homeland to live freely. Why should he, or anyone, have to leave to live authentically?

Beneath Panahi's serene exterior lies a quiet yet profound frustration-his inability to fully integrate, to prevent tragedy, or to appeal to others' sense of reason. He is like Lemuel Gulliver, bound by the Lilliputians, constrained by a system of small yet unyielding forces.

Telling the truth is difficult for Iranian filmmakers. You have Government control on one hand (the real tale of Panahi remotely directing a film being shot in Turkey while stationed on the borders of Iran as he is not allowed to leave the country) and you have quaint traditions on the other (in the Iranian villages on the border) that often lead to tragedy. However good your intent, the road is bumpy and leads you to a sad, nihilistic end. Intelligent filmmaking that captures the difficulty of renowned filmmakers to capture the Kafkesque ground reality in Iran and the frustrations of Iranian nationals today. Deserved the Special Jury Prize at Venice.

Film director Jafar Panahi is prohibited from leaving Iran, but is trying to make a film in neighbouring Turkey. In order to make that work, he moves to a remote village near the border, where the communications are a bit hit and miss. With the help of his obliging host "Ghanbar" (Vahid Mobaseri), though, he tries to make the best of it. Initially, it's a friendly village but when he takes (or doesn't!) a photograph of a young couple, he finds himself drawn into an increasingly acrid stand-off between two young men, and their families, to whom a girl may have been betrothed when her umbilical cord was cut. His frustrations with these encroachments are not helped by production difficulties with the two two stars of his documentary-style film - real life lovers who are trying to find a way to escape, safely, to Paris. There is the slightest hint of menace here as the plot develops and although we see little actual evidence, there is a distinct sense that this man is increasingly unwelcome, despite the platitudes from the villagers, encouraging a sixth-sense feeling that the authorities are distantly watching this film-maker. There is a distinct perception of intimidation! What is also clear is that these ordinary Iranian people live in fear of the police, the Revolutionary guard and that rather flies in the face of their genuine, peaceable and hospitable, nature. Now, perhaps Panahi's less-is-more style works for some, but for me I found this all rather a slow watch. He shuffles around with little useful dialogue to develop his on-screen persona, nor my interest in him. Clearly this is a story about freedom and a sort of subliminal oppression but somehow the characters themselves here didn't really develop that theme sufficiently, nor did they really engage me. The ending, too, is disappointing and inconclusive in equal measure and I was rather underwhelmed. The film does offer us an interesting depiction of rural life that probably hasn't changed in millennia, but somehow I felt little better than a fly on the wall with nowhere near enough to go on to join in. Perhaps just too much of this is predicated on a knowledge by the audience of this director and of his relationship with his government.

The way Jafar Panahi successfully transcends and exceeds all the limits in his filmmaking always leaves me mind-boggled and is fascinatingly masterful. This viewing experience left me with a question "To what extent are you willing to go to tell your story?"

No Bears takes us through a powerful journey of sophisticated simplicity that expands boundaries and defies censorship restrictions both mentally and physically and in a blend of fiction and realism with a story of adaptive determination in creating, fear of crucial decisions, and passion for the story.

His ability to shape the narrative with all these elements is beyond impressive as Panahi sheds his lens on a parallel story between reality and fiction under the premise of hope, while metaphorically introducing a bigger political theme of the fear of modern authority versus the absurdity of the superstition that remains a common element in both narratives including the self-reflexively portrayal of himself as a character, which also introduces an intimate layer.

The storytelling crafts beautifully palpable emotions some of which are felt indirectly, where the sense of fear and threat are always visible and kept translating different feelings so well through an observative lens.

A masterfully crafted film that showcases the incredible talent of Iranian director Jafar Panahi. Despite facing constant harassment and a six-year prison sentence on baseless charges, Panahi continues to push the boundaries of cinema with his deeply personal and thought-provoking work.

In "No Bears," Panahi plays a fictionalized version of himself as he directs a film remotely from the Iranian village of Joban, near Turkey. When his WiFi goes out, he becomes intrigued by a local ceremony and loans one of his cameras to a villager to document it. The film then follows two parallel tracks: the story of Bakhtiar and Zara, which serves as a reconstruction of a real-life event, and the recording of the ceremony, which opens up a can of worms in the village as it is used as evidence against a young woman accused of having premarital relations.

Throughout the film, Panahi deftly explores themes of truth-telling, social activism, and the blurred lines between reality and fiction. The acting is superb, with Bakhtiar and Zara's tumultuous relationship feeling both realistic and emotionally charged. The cinematography and direction are also top-notch, with the film's remote setting adding to its sense of isolation and tension.

Overall, "No Bears" is a powerful and thought-provoking film that showcases the resilience and determination of its director. It is a must-see for fans of Panahi's work and anyone interested in the intersection of art and politics.