Bearly Illegal

I come across movies which are fairly criminal on a depressingly regular basis, though that may have something to do with my having what’s virtually a blanket taping policy when it comes to the Cellar Club strand on Talking Pictures TV. If we’re talking genuinely criminal films – well, not so much, although there was an exception to this the other day when I checked out Jafar Panahi’s latest project, No Bears (Farsi title: Khers Nist), as this film is properly illegal.

Illegal in Iran, I should say, although looking at the news it’s easy to get the impression that virtually everything is illegal in Iran these days. People used to complain a lot about the way that the UK government supposedly didn’t support the UK film industry enough, especially back in the pre-Working Title and Film Four days, but the UK government didn’t go around banning film directors from trying to make films, or putting them under house arrest. I have alluded to the various travails of Iranian director Jafar Panahi before when the cinema of Iran has crossed our path – a longtime critic of the regime, Panahi ended up being slapped with just such a ban over a decade ago. Since then he has been the auteur pioneer of the new wave of back-of-a-moving-car Iranian cinema, a torch which his own son picked up for his own recent film Hit the Road.

The ban is still in place, by the way, but is probably not Panahi’s biggest problem at the moment: he was imprisoned by the Iranian government for persistently being a thorn in their side earlier this year, and – given what’s happening in the country at the moment – one can’t help but be a little concerned for the welbeing of such a prominent critic. Needless to say, No Bears was made before his arrest, but post-ban; the fact of the ban is intrinsic to the plot of the film.

The film is quite like the last Jafar Panahi film we discussed, 3 Faces, in that it features the director Jafar Panahi himself playing a film director called Jafar Panahi. (Strap in.) As the film opens, Panahi is hiding out in a small village not far from the Turkish border, attempting to direct his new film over Skype, or Zoom, or something similar: suffice to say the lack of a reliable broadband connection is a problem, and he keeps having to climb onto the roof of his guesthouse to get a signal (rather to the consternation of his host).

Everyone assumes that Panahi’s ultimate goal is to have himself smuggled over the border and out of Iran – why else would he have come here in the first place? His intentions remain ambiguous, however – but he does occasionally drive out close to the border of an evening, not least because the wifi is better out there.

The villagers are initially welcoming, but it slowly seems that Panahi has outstayed his welcome, especially when he takes some photos and footage of a village wedding. The village elders approach him, and reveal that there is trouble afoot – one of the main participants in a long-standing arranged marriage seems to be rather lukewarm about going through with it, and is suspected of being involved with another man. It seems that Panahi may have inadvertently taken a photo of one of these assignations. For the sake of peace and quiet in the village, could he possibly hand the incriminating picture over?

What ensues is a bit Kafkaesque, to say the least: Panahi insists that the photo in question doesn’t exist, but nobody believes him; village superstitions and traditions seem to be on the verge of engulfing him, there is the threat of violence hanging in the air. It seems like the villagers, who make a large chunk of their living by smuggling contraband over the border from Turkey, are worried about the scrutiny that will descend on their home if Panahi uses it as the launch-pad for his own break for freedom, and are using this as a pretext to drive him out of the village. Certainly it feels like there is an element of social tension in what’s going on – the villagers are happy to take Panahi’s money, but seem to be looking for an excuse to get chippy with him.

Happening in parallel with this are some equally convoluted events concerning the film that the fictional version of Panahi is attempting to direct. It, too, is a love story, about a couple who are seeking to flee to the heart of Europe using stolen tourist passports. The problem – and there’s a whiff of Casablanca here that Panahi doesn’t quite acknowledge – is that it’s very difficult to procure passports for both of them at the same time, and both refuse to leave the other one behind. The actors find themselves in the same situation as their characters – there’s a whole second front of metaness opening up here – and their loyalties to the film and each other likewise come under strain.

I went to see 3 Faces with my Anglo-Iranian affairs advisor, and it’s fair to say we were less impressed by it than the average film festival jury. ‘Nice to see a film where they didn’t worry too much about the plot,’ was his verdict, roughly speaking; my thought concerning No Bears was that it might prove to be more of the same sort of thing – some sort of metafictional social commentary with the actual story being so oblique and understated as to be almost imperceptible. Well, No Bears does have more of an obvious plot (as well as fewer scenes set in Panahi’s car); it is also quite an honest film, in that it definitely doesn’t have any bears in it.

Mind you, there are lots of other things that don’t appear in the film – bird-tables, electromagnets, karaoke machines – so why be particularly concerned about the absence (or otherwise) of our ursine friends? Well, there’s a scene in which Panahi – who has previously been warned not to stray too far at night, for fear of being eaten by a bear – is told that (you guessed it) there are in truth no bears in the area. The bears are just a myth, intended to frighten people and keep them under control. It’s a relatively on-the-nose moment in a film which is otherwise very subtle in its themes and storytelling. You’re never in doubt that this is a film about Panahi’s own situation – and by extension that of many other people in Iran today – but this is not a film of loud or obvious protests.

Looking back I see I was very cruel about 3 Faces, perhaps unforgiveably cruel. This is a better film – by conventional standards – in every way, although the careful pace and lack of obvious incident may be an issue for many viewers. The two plots weave around and reflect each other very pleasingly, and afford Panahi at least one moment which is a brilliant coup de theatre. The acting is also very creditable. Again, I’m by no means sure I picked up on every subtlety embedded in the film, but it’s clearly been made with intelligence and conviction. One can only hope that circumstances allow Panahi to get back behind a camera before too long.