The Silence

A little blind Tajik boy each day comes late to his job. The reason is his joy of life: The voice of around. He likes to listen to the music of nature, he likes to be as other people to see it. Unfortunately it costs high in his life. He loses his job, just because he loves music. The owner of the house where boy and his mother live tell them to free the apartment and they remain without anything. But boy continues to enjoy the life... The movie makes hearts ache. The song which I liked in this movie so much was "Charo hargiz namepursi?" (Why you never ask?) of Daler Nazarov which performed very well by Oleg Fezov. I recommend this movie to watch for all those who love the life!

This is simply the most beautiful movie I've ever seen. It revitalized all my senses. It helps to have some information about the cultural background of the movie. The fact that it takes place in Tajikistan an X-soviet republic, of Iranian ethnicity and Persian language etc.

What worked:

• the theme of the movie; the general theme of the movie is appealing and strong. The movie helps gain more insight into a new society that I did not know much about. What works is the innocence that the blind character portrays in the movie

What did not know:

• acting; the acting is not convincing and relatable. Maybe the movie has its cultural significance, it failed to impress as a world viewer
• screenplay; although the overall concept is good, the movie does not carry that concept into a strong narrative

Final verdict: if you want to see something different, go for it

Subtitled in English, this story of a 10-year old blind boy's experiences is visually and aurally intertwined. Filled with striking scenes and hypnotic music, the production is unique and riveting. The camera wanders through the bazaars and shops of Tajikistan providing a glimpse into a culture not well known to Westerners. The interplay between the boy and the beautiful young woman who acts as his eyes is touching, filled with humor, and played with a simple elegance. The distractions encountered by the boy on his way from home to work are a delight. Supporting roles are well played. The harmonies of the music, the city, and everyday life produce a funny and profound film well worth watching.

The director Mohsen Makhmalbaf made a number of acclaimed films in his native Iran over the Eighties and Nineties, but with the 1998 effort SOKOUT ("Silence") he moved farther afield for his shooting location: Tajikistan, where the locals speak a Persian dialect mostly intelligible to Iranians, but the culture is an exotic mix of Central Asian and Soviet traditions.

Khorshid (Tahmineh Normatova), a blind boy aged around 10, is employed in the workshop of an instrument maker, tuning the instruments. His mother (Goibibi Ziadolahyeva), abandoned by her husband, urges him to work hard, for their landlord is demanding the rent and threatening eviction. Unfortunately, Khorshid is particularly prone to arriving late at work because he is easily distracted from his commute by the sound of music coming from the radio or street musicians. Nadereh (Nadereh Abdelahyeva), the adopted daughter of the instrument maker, tries to keep Khorshid out of trouble. This is a mystical film, by which Khorshid's desire to follow the beauty of music above all else serves as a metaphor for the renunciant's search for God.

However, that mystical point is made quite subtly, and I suspect most audiences outside the region won't pick up on it. What will strike most foreign viewers is the beautiful imagery and soundtrack. Filming outside Iran in a country with less strict dress codes, Makhmalbaf's camera focuses heavily on female faces and the colourful floral prints of Dushabe's women. In Nadereh and another young cast member he captures that brief moment where girlhood gives way to womanhood. We hear a number of musical instruments from Central Asia, but besides the local folk music the dramatic opening of Beethoven's Fifth figures prominently, tying this exotic locale to a more universal ideal. Things are not entirely rosy, however. The innocence of the children is juxtaposed at a few points with the gritty reality of post-Soviet Tajikistan, now recovering from a bloody civil war and marked by poverty, child labour, and a reborn religious extremism.

The running time is short at 72 minutes, which might disappoint some. Also, Makhmalbaf chose non-professionals to play the roles, and their lines are often delivered somewhat woodenly. However, such wooden dialog may have been desirable to the director, as that slow speech makes the film easier for his native Iranian audience to understand. Still, while not a major masterpiece, this is a visually and musically attractive film and worth watching for anyone wanting a slice of Central Asian drama (or at least one Iranian director's vision of it).