Director Jafar Panahi is an incredible figure in Iranian
cinematic history. In 2010, the Iranian
government forbade him from further filmmaking in reaction to films that they
perceived as critical of their regime and an immoral portrayal of the everyday
people of Iran. They arrested him under a charge of propaganda and kept him under house arrest, along with
his wife, children, and an assortment of friends and colleagues. However, this did not prevent Panahi from
making films, as he made two films while under house arrest, and now, at the
risk of suffering his government’s wrath, Panahi ventures outside the confines
of his home to film Taxi.
Shot as a documentary but self-admittedly staged and
meta-commentative, Taxi sees a poorly
disguised Panahi driving around Teheran, providing assistance and rides to
those who require his services. Some
recognize who is he is, others don’t, and every conversation is a different
story to tell. In essence, the film is a
series of dramatic vignettes, captured in the cramped space of the taxi
cab. Some are heartbreaking, some are
comic, but all are a struggle for Panahi to stretch his artistic muscles as a
director under the watchful eyes of his government.
What makes this film so interesting is that it is not
afraid to be blunt and direct about how Panahi has been unjustly
persecuted. The latter half of the film
involves Panahi driving around his teenage niece, who is trying to figure out
how to put together a film for a school project while still following the
Iranian government’s guidelines for broadcastable films. These rules prove unrealistically
contradictory and subject to the simplest of criticisms, and Panahi shows this
as if to say, “You see, world? This is
what I have to deal with. This is why
I’m working with a camera on my dashboard instead of a legitimate crew and
script.” It’s told with good humor, but
the film is quietly seething with the frustrations of Panahi’s unjust
circumstances.
This film was smuggled out of Iran to premiere in Berlin,
and received wide critical acclaim, much to the irritation of the Iranian
government. This is one of those rare
instances where the contents of the film, entertaining as they might be, are
nowhere near as important as the political statement implicit in the film’s
existence. Watching this film is an
act of defiance against Iranian censorship practices and an implicit support of
filmmakers like Jafar Panahi whose voices are restricted, if not silenced. As of this writing it does not seem as if
Panahi has suffered any publicized punishment for making this film, but I think
the least we can do as an audience is watch him film and try to understand his
struggles. And yes, the film is pretty
damn entertaining in its own right, though knowing the context of Panahi’s life
is the primary reason why. Consider this
review your primer and take eighty minutes out of your day to watch a piece of
art against adversity.
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