Interview: Jafar Panahi on Making a Statement of Forgiveness Rather Than Revenge with ‘It Was Just an Accident’
There has been no one in cinema making movies like writer-director Jafar Panahi. No literally, no one. Over the course of the last fifteen years, Panahi has been arrested several times by the Iranian government for making critical comments about the political practices within his country. In 2010, he was sentenced to six years in prison, along with receiving a 20-year ban for making any films and travelling outside of Iran. But you can’t contain someone from being creative, and you can’t police those who have something to say and need to expressive somehow, so Panahi started to film in secret, hiding his projects from his government and those he couldn’t trust in order to continue to making the kinds of films that he have made him a household name around the world when it comes to making tales centered around social injustice, political oppression, and highlighting the marginalized within his country. It started with his films, This Is Not a Film, Closed Curtain, Taxi, 3 Faces, No Bears, and now his latest, and potentially best film of his career, It Was Just An Accident.
Panahi’s Palme d’Or winner follows a group of former Iranian political prisoners who come face to face with the man who tormented them while they were held captive. In encountering this monster, the group must come to terms with the idea of whether or not they should seek revenge on this man that almost took their lives, and the mortality of becoming embodiment of the very evil that harmed them. Humor, anxiety, anger, frustration, forgiveness are all swirling around in Panahi’s mind with this film, making for one of the most complex films released this year, and a more than deserving winner of the top prize at the Cannes Film Festival earlier this year. In our review out of Cannes, Savina Petkova stated that Panahi “doesn’t try to simplify a complex ethical conundrum, but leaves it to humans to figure it out the only way they can – collectively, united in their reclaimed strength,” which perfectly sums up the experience of watching the director’s masterpiece.
In my conversation with the writer-director, interpreted by Sheida Dayani, we discussed the director’s reaction to finally getting to see his latest film with a live audience, the abnormal circumstances of having to make films in secret still, and the toll that takes on him mentally and creatively. We also talked about balancing the tone within It Was Just an Accident, making a film about forgiveness rather than revenge, his thoughts on “political movies,” and finding hope within our uncertain, dark times. As our time wrapped up, and his lunch arrived, he asked if I’d want to share his giant platter of sushi the waiter brought to his table, but I’d already eaten so I politely passed. But within this small gesture, Panahi showed me a glimpse of who this man is; someone who’s a kind, decent man who is simply looking to tell the stories that he finds interesting, without the fear or intimidation that his peers don’t have to face. In retrospect, I should’ve sat down and continued to spend time with him, as even speaking to him feels like a once in a lifetime occurrence at this point given how our current political climate is mixed with the ongoing troubles he could face in Iran. But no matter, it was an honor to speak with one of the modern masters of international cinema, and talk about one of his most personal films of his career.
Ryan McQuade: Well, first of all, thank you so much. I was at Cannes and saw the film there, and I thought it was just absolutely beautiful. Let’s start from there, what did it mean to you to be at the festival and to receive the Palme, and to finally see the film with an audience? To be there in that theater and to be at these festivals, subsequent since, has that brought a sense of happiness, a sense of joy, a sense of relief?
Jafar Panahi: Of course, any filmmaker would want to be successful for their film, and when you see the film with a large audience at Cannes, then this is very joyful. I made five films with restrictions, and those I could not see with an audience because I was banned from leaving. I saw the film after all this time with an audience at Cannes, and I think this is really good for me because for any filmmaker, it’s necessary to see it with an audience so you know what parts of the film work successfully and what are some of the weak points. That only becomes clear when you see with the audience. After that, I’ve also seen the film at several festivals at Telluride, Toronto, San Sebastián, and every place has its own feel. But the good thing about it is that I had a sense of satisfaction in all of these places.
RM: That’s wonderful. When you had the restrictions put on yourself by your country, I have to feel probably, as someone that is deeply creative, that must have taken an emotional toll on yourself. As you were making the films, the last five films were made secret and you’re changing the way that you work consistently. How did you keep working within these abnormal circumstances as not just a director, but as someone who lives to be creative in a world that’s starting to frown on that?
JP: From the minute I got that unjust sentence, I kept thinking about a way to continue working, and I was focused on filmmaking. Before I started making those films, I usually saw students coming and complaining about circumstances being difficult and not allowing them to make any films. I only had two choices. Either I would be complaining like them and doing nothing or I would have to find a solution. And after I made Taxi, no longer really came to complain to me about the circumstances being difficult and impossible for filmmaking. It was after that when I saw that students are also trying to find their own way.
RM: You made this one film also in secret, with even just submitting your idea for a film to your country being a terrifying thing because if they reject it, then they know what film you’re going to make. So for yourself, in this process of making truly independent films in the most unlikely ways, how secretive are you of these texts and of the process of your story once you’ve created it? How much trust do you need to have to collaborate with someone at this point?
JP: Well, in terms of exchanging ideas, I did some with my very close friends, but of course, I had to be very careful. When it got to presenting the text to the Ministry of Guidance, I couldn’t even do that for some time because I was banned from making films. I know that you asked about this film in specific.
Until they lifted the ban and I knew that I still cannot be presenting anything because of the contents of the film, I couldn’t trust them and I knew that even with that, it would be impossible because they would never allow me to make such a film. It’s true that the limitations were lifted, I didn’t have any sentence banning me from films, but because of the contents of the film, I had to follow the same style of film-making as I did in my past five films.
RM: Getting to the film, a movie like this can easily be about revenge, but it’s not about that. It’s about, for me, different perspectives that ultimately lead to forgiveness. So for yourself, as you were making the film and writing the story, all those emotions have to be within yourself as well, so could you talk about exploring those emotions for this movie and taking the easy way out with a tale like this?
JP: Vengeance and forgiveness are only the facade of the film. They’re only on the surface to keep the plot moving. What mattered to me in the film was a fundamental question, and that was what is going to happen in the future? Is the cycle of violence going to continue or is it going to come to an end at some point? And anyway, what is it that’s going to happen in our future?
What about the range of emotions? I have to say that socially engaged cinema cannot be separate from human emotions. Because the basis of socially engaged cinema is a humanistic outlook. This film could very easily slide into a zero-sum political film with no meaning. What does a political film mean? What is its definition? As far as I’m concerned, political films are ideological partisan films. It does not matter where in the world you are.
It doesn’t matter where in the world you are. In a political film, anyone who’s not part of your ideology or party is not in the good group, and even if it gets very intellectual, it’s just going to say, “They’re not as good as my party.” But in social cinema, there is no division between good people and bad people. You just allow everyone to speak their minds.
And in fact, it is the filmmaker who cannot impose their understanding onto the characters. And must allow them to do what they need to do impartially. What I’m trying to say is that if this were a political film, it would not allow the interrogator to speak his mind in the film. The interrogator would not be talking about his beliefs. He would not be talking about his past. So it’s very clear. You know what kind of a film you are making, and that genre of film has certain characteristics and you need to observe them.
Outside the film and filmmaking, I, as Jafar Panahi, have my own very strict sidings, political sidings. But in the film, I try not to impose those.
RM: Within the humanity and conflict within the film lies humor, which is very human in all of us, and that goes to you balancing the tone throughout it. Could you talk a little bit about just creating that tone, making it feel natural between things that are humorous and other moments of tense confrontations?
JP: Some of it is actually cultural differences. Based on where you live, it just comes into the film without you feeling or thinking that you’re bringing humor.
And you can see the reflections of this throughout the world. In some places like East Asia, in some parts of the film, when I expected the audience to laugh, they did not laugh. They showed no reaction. And in other parts of the world, like North America, audiences laughed at places I did not expect.
Having said that, I tried the film to not be very heavy. Up until the last 20 minutes, I wanted it to have a sense of lightness. And that’s when I wanted to shock the audience. And make the audience so involved in the film that even upon leaving the theater, they would be still thinking about the film.
If those moments of humor and details were not throughout the film, at the end, in the last 20 minutes, the audience would not be struck. And the film would have been monotonous. But now, this way, with all this humor, as the audience has this bitter smile, all of a sudden, it just crumbles on you. It cringes on your face, everything falls, and the audience is just looking in shock.
This goes back to your question about watching a film with an audience. When I saw the film for the first time with an audience at Cannes, I sensed exactly these moments. Not only in the audience, I sensed it, but in my team members when I turned around and saw them, because they were all also watching it for the first time, and I saw that they all have a lump in their throat. And when I was talking about the film, they were crying. Some of them were crying.
This is what I meant by saying that it matters to watch the film with an audience, because then you assess yourself and whether you were able to succeed or not. If you are deprived of watching the film with an audience, you’re never going to know what you need to do with films. You don’t know if you need to shorten some parts or keep them as they were.
RM: The last thing is that what you’ve gone through, you being here for this interview right now is a miracle given everything that’s going on in this country and around the world. And I think the film speaks on a theme of trying to find strength within dark situations like yourself or harsh situations happening around the world, ongoing genocides, and people are looking for a way to fight when things are bleak. So with all of this, how do we find courage to move forward?
JP: If you want to talk about courage in relation to me in this film, I think it’s irrelevant because I was only doing my job. I was just doing my work and that’s the only work I know how to do. And I knew that if I don’t make films, I’m going to disappear.
That’s something I really did for myself. There’s no sacrifice in it. But the reaction I showed to the restrictions to continue working, I expect to see the same kind of reaction in so many places and I don’t see them. When they take away my work from me, I have a reaction. But I see there are places in the world where this is happening and reactions that need to come are not coming out. In places that I really do not expect to not see a reaction.
Some journalists came to speak with me, and for some questions. Journalists would come to speak to me, and in some places of the interview, during the interview, for some questions, they would bring their voice down. As if they were afraid of being tapped. (pauses) What has happened to our human society?
It Was Just an Accident is currently in theaters from NEON.
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