This Is Not a Film

A late addition to the Cannes 2011 programme after being smuggled into France inside a cake, Iranian director Jafar Panahi's "This is Not a Film" (2011) is by no means your average political documentary. The 75-minute piece, shot partially on an iPhone, captures the day-to-day life of Panahi during a state-imposed house arrest in his Tehran apartment as he appeals a six year prison sentence and 20 year filmmaking ban for his opposition to the 2011 Iranian elections.

Here in the Western world, our access to information, democratic governments, and human rights are taken for granted. Panahi and Mirtahmasb are putting their lives on the line to tell the stories they feel they must tell, in the hope that, one day, their nation will be able to have the same sort of pro-democratic freedom as the rest of us. Gripping entertainment. Little by little "This Is Not a Film" leads to a final scene of overwhelming power. Anyone interested in cinema and/or Iran owes it to themselves to become familiar with this "not" film.

Iranian director Jafar Panahi is one of world's most important movie makers nowadays, while also a victim of the oppressive regime in his country. Arrested, together with other artists, during the events following the Iranian presidential elections in 2009, he spent several months in prison. He was freed then on bail while the judicial procedure against him was going on. Mr. Panahi was eventually sentenced to 6 years of prison and 20 years ban to make movies.

It was during the period spent at home in 2010 that Jafar Panahi made this movie, with the title This is Not a Film (In Film Nist). A friend, documentary producer Mojtaba Mirtahmasb (the author of Lady of the Roses, 2008), came with a consumer-grade camera and shot the footage for a 75 minutes video, having Mr. Panahi as co-director, screenwriter, film editor and star. The video was eventually smuggled outside Iran on a flash drive and screened at the 2011 Cannes Festival.

It's just that: 75 minutes in a day spent by Jafar Panahi at home, waiting for the result of the trial. He talks to the phone with his lawyer, then feeds his pet (who is a very nice iguana), then talks with the cameraman shooting the footage about a project for a new film, rejected by the censorship, memories from some of his movies come and go, suddenly a terrible noise of explosions is heard - it's nothing than fireworks, and Mr. Panahi goes to the window to shoot them with his cell phone.

A movie that is not a movie, says Mr. Panahi. It's just mundane reality. Well, it's not that simple: this movie is a non-movie while this non-movie is a movie. Because it's his reality, his universe, which is sending us to the universe of his movies. All his movies talk actually about him, about his universe, and it becomes obvious here, in this non-movie which carries all the tension between image and reality - reality sublimated in cinematic image. Like Mozart, this moviemaker thinks only in artistic constructions. For Mozart any fact of life was musical sound, musical rhythm, for Panahi every fact of life is cinematic image, cinematic rhythm. Look, even his concerns for the sentence to come become art! However, the strongest association should be made to Beethoven! This moviemaker carries all the tension between reality and art, all his creation is fully aware of the paradoxical relationship between reality and art: reality mirrored in art, art mirrored in reality, art suffering that reality struggles to keep its autonomy, reality suffering that it is taken for art.

Jafar Panahi: "If we could tell a film, then why make a film?"

My interest in Iranian cinema started with Dayereh (2000) by Jafar Panahi and since then I've watched a few other Iranian films of which most are directed by him. I remember after the first film I saw, I read about him on Wikipedia and read about his sentence and ban from film making. It is quite shocking and this gives more sense to this documentary which would have never been seen if it hadn't been smuggled out of Iran on a USB stick.

In film nist starts with Jafar Panahi having breakfast over the course of breakfast he calls a friend, Iranian documentary director Mojtaba Mirtahmasb asking him to come over. The only link we have with the outside world is through his phone. Before his friend comes Jafar has a phone call with his lawyer who confirms that he will definitely have to go to prison and that she may try to reduce the ban duration on appeal but it's probably all she can do. She tells him that it is not a judiciary sentence but a political one. When his friend arrives, Jafar Panahi explains the last films he wanted to do and how they were both denied approval and had to let them go. He has the script of one and decides that he can explain it, using his living room, the carpet representing the room in which a girl is- also- imprisoned and a chair for the window.

This is not a film is exactly what the title says it is. It is a day, a documentary at most. Most of Jafar Panahi movies give a lot of freedom to (amateur) actors who creates the whole atmosphere. It seems clear that this was not planned either, this has no script or no particular goal except to have a camera there, to document whatever could be documented before it's too late.

The setting is also particular as the whole town goes crazy over the celebrations of "Fireworks Wednesday" and the two friends stay inside, wondering what to do and how to do it. It gets particularly strange when Jafar Panahi starts recording with his mobile phone, filming the act of being filmed. I think the highest point of this film being not a film, is when Jafar Panahi explains the story of this film he was going to make and in the middle of replaying it... He suddenly becomes silent and his face tells us that he has strong doubts and this is where the quote I picked is said, he doubts the whole concept of a film, of telling a story and if it is a story worth telling. It might be reduced to the film he was discussing in particular, however, I would think that it goes beyond that, that it touches every film he's done including this one.

A lot of the issues are not entirely discussed, maybe as a way to retain dignity in the face of a sentence or simply because they are not thought out to be relevant. These very blunt, almost political and philosophical moments contrast with the comical aspect of his iguana pet slowly climbing a bookshelf or the neighbor who tries to leave her dog with him before he simply starts barking. It is also strongly incidental as when a young arts student walk in to come and pick the trash, a job he does to help out his sister and brother-in-law, suddenly the story focuses on him and as he goes on to pick up the trash, we follow him. In a way, isn't that what movies always tried to do, follow the strange happenings of life?

I liked: It doesn't get much more explicitly banned film, well this is not a film.

I disliked: Very random in a bumpy unscripted way.

70/100 If you are looking for a deep political look in the situation of Iran's cinema industry and its struggle then you won't find it. This is a purely individual look at what it is to be a forbidden film maker.

Read more reviews at: www.theordinaryreview.blogspot.com

Hidden inside a birthday cake and smuggled out of the country, the 75-minute "effort", This is Not a Film, tells us all we need to know about the cruelty of the Iranian dictatorship and the courage of film director Jafar Panahi. Panahi, who has given the world such masterpieces as The White Balloon, The Circle, and Crimson Gold was arrested in March, 2010 and faces a ban of twenty years from making films and a six-year prison sentence for "propaganda against the Islamic Republic." This refers to exercising free speech by speaking out against the rigged elected of Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad.

As part of his sentence, Panahi is barred from making films or writing screenplays, is unable to speak in his behalf, and forbidden to leave the country. While awaiting the results of his appeal, Panahi is filmed in his home by fellow director Mojtaba Mirtahmasb using a digital video camera and a cell phone. What begins as an innocuous home movie with Panahi sitting at his table eating breakfast takes on an added dimension when he calls Mirtahmasb, asking him to come by to discuss some ideas, but cautions him not to tell anyone about his visit.

While waiting for his friend to arrive, he talks on the phone with his lawyer who tells him that the court may waive the 20-year ban on filmmaking but are not likely to reduce his jail sentence. When Mirtahmasb arrives, Panahi reads from his latest screenplay which was rejected by the censors. Acting out the story, he puts tape around the area to suggest the apartment in which the story occurs. As he begins to read the screenplay about a young woman forbidden by her parents to attend university, tears come to his eyes and he stops, saying poignantly,

"If we could tell a film, then why make a film?" and expresses his regret about the harshness of the penalty he faces. Soon he takes care of his pet Iguana, Igi, and cares for a neighbor's dog who doesn't know the value of silence. As fireworks explode on the streets to celebrate the Persian New Year, a college student arrives to collect the trash as a substitute for the custodian, and the two engage in a dialogue, remembering the day when Panahi was arrested. To bring home the point even more forcefully, Panahi watches as a TV newscaster proclaims that fireworks are illegal. What started out as a home movie at the end becomes an act of non-violent protest.

This Is Not A Film comes to audiences already with a high level of notoriety. The famous film behind "cakegate", it's constricted production meant that the film was distributed out of Iran on a USB stick concealed inside a birthday cake. It's the kind of screwball scenario you might find on a Judd Apatow movie, but This Is Not A Film is no laughing matter. As the title would assume, this is not so much of a film as it is a film exorcism.

Whilst under house arrest, and pursuing an appeal against a six year prison sentence and 20 year ban from directing, esteemed Iranian auteur Jafar Panahi (The Mirror, Crimson Gold) invites fellow filmmaker Mojtaba Mirtahmasb into his home to crudely document a day in his tormented life.

Shot on a digicam and later an iPhone, we follow Panahi shuffling around his apartment, feeding his daughter's pet iguana, paying the delivery boy for takeaway food, and calling his tenacious attorney trying to get him out of house arrest. At first, it's a minor study of segregation and loneliness, but This Is Not a Film is at it's most enthralling when Panahi expresses his natural directing flare; acting out his latest screenplay from the (dis)comfort of his family living room, discussing camera angles to the most minute detail, and reflecting on how he managed to reach such a raw level of intimacy in his previous works. Whether you are aware of his filmography or not, it's clear that Panahi is an exuberant cinephile, which makes his current, and ongoing battles with the government even more distressing.

If you were forced to judge this meta-commentary diatribe, one could suggest that Panahi and Mirtahmasb fail to present a bigger picture on the crisis of the state's dominance over artistic intent. Similarly to 2006′s female equality drama Offside, This is Not a Film is incredibly subtle with it's political allegories, bordering on the coyly parabolic. Instead of presenting a bigger, ultimately more controversial picture on the crisis of state dominance in the creative industries, Panahi and Mirtahmasb reach a palpable level of verisimilitude in the very smallness of the situation. It all comes together in a final twenty minute sequence where Panahi falls behind the camera and back into storyteller mode (it could cost him his life, but he can't help it). He follows a young dustman around the apartment block and asking him what his plans for the future will be. The cordial apprentice is unsure, but it's hopefully going to be a life less frightening than the one Panahi has been dealt.

This Is Not A Film concludes with harrowing sentiment. With the sound of New Years' Eve fireworks and cheering in the background, the screen fades to black, with the credits and special thanks nods are left blank, followed by a final frame that sets out a humble dedication to all Iranian filmmakers. It may be a non-film but, whatever it is, it's certainly a riveting watch; and has rightly earned a place in the Oscars' documentary award shortlist.

Here in the Western world, our access to information, democratic governments and human rights mean that cinema is taken for granted, and filmmakers have it easy. Whilst we bemoan the extortionate prices of popcorn, Panahi and Mirtahmasb are putting their lives on the line to tell the stories they feel they must tell, in the hope that, one day, their nation will be able to have the same sort of pro-democratic freedom as the rest of us.

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