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Iranian director Panah Panahi is the son of embattled auteur Jafar Panahi, who has been banned from making films by the Islamic theocracy since 2010. But for the young director, it was the heartache of being separated from his only sibling, along with the collective disappointment of his fellow countrymen, that drove his debut.
Wonderfully bittersweet”set off” follows the ordeal of a family who helps their eldest son secretly leave Iran. In the midst of the country’s economic and social hardships, as well as the grief underlying the impending separation, humor often offers comfort thanks to the lovable, evil little son played by the outstanding child actor, Rayan Sarlak.
Panahi, 38, discussed her initial anxiety in a video call from her home in Tehran, speaking through a translator. famous dadthe change in their communication since the project and the impact of the master director Abbas Kiarostami. Here are the experts edited without speaking.
Have you considered leaving Iran, like the young man in Hit the Road?
This is the general situation of all Iranians and especially Iranian youth. We are stuck in utter despair. No matter how hard you try to be positive and keep fighting, we feel completely trapped. The only possible option, this dream, sometimes reality, don’t run away. Many of my friends have come to this conclusion. I thought of course. The problem is that I can’t make a movie anywhere else because cinema is my passion and my only form of expression. I can only make films about people I know closely and whose relationships I know.
As the son of Cafer Panahi, did you hesitate to become a filmmaker?
This was my biggest challenge. It paralyzed me completely for years. Being compared to my father worried me. It took me a long time to overcome this hurdle. But when you have struggles like this, you reach a point where you either back off or eventually decide to dive in. Thanks to my girlfriend, I was finally able to be more lighthearted about it, seeing that the risks were not so tragic. In the end, this is how this movie was born.
Did you ask your father for any feedback while writing the script?
For years I thought being a filmmaker would be to enter his world, and I wanted to resist not mixing our identities as filmmakers, so I wouldn’t even share any of my movie ideas with him. We don’t have the kind of relationship where we talk about our views on things. We’re just talking about movies. But when the script was complete and I was showing it to people and asking for advice, I realized: “If all these young filmmakers come to him for advice and he’s always so generous, why don’t I see my dad? Why am I depriving myself of his help?” Thanks to this movie, a whole new facet of our relationship was opened.
He’s kind of like the dad in “Hit the Road” who sounds a little funny but has a hard time expressing his love.
Exactly. He recognized our relationship and finally the way we connected to each other.
The Iranian government has persecuted your father for years. How has this affected your work?
When he was arrested, we became different people. Even if it was just the four of us at home, if we wanted to say something a little critical about the regime, we would start whispering, thinking they might be listening. This paranoia has really become a part of our lives. The script writing process was like a therapy session for me. For example, the fact that they were driving and the mother suddenly thought she was being followed was something I wrote spontaneously without knowing why. But as I was revising my script, I realized that it was because we lived in fear of being under surveillance.
I understand that your sister Solmaz Panahi had to leave Iran because of this. How did his departure shape the creation of “Get On The Road”?
That was the emotional inspiration for the movie. My father decided to let my sister go. [who had acted in a film of his and was arrested at one point] He leaves the country because they will use him to threaten him. We invited our friends to share the moment before we left. I remember vividly, we were all trying to put on happy faces and listen to music so as not to tear it down, but sometimes I would see someone go into a corner to cry. The very mixed feelings of this evening stayed with me and probably fueled the project.
Some reviews state that you are the assistant of the famous director Abbas Kiarostami. How influential was it in your artistic development?
I was not an assistant in Kiarostami’s films. I was mostly an assistant in my father’s movies. But Kiarostami was a great figure in my life because my father was his assistant when I was a kid and they would travel a lot and look for places to watch movies together. During all these journeys, I was a child sitting in the back, listening and observing them. I learned a lot from Kiarostami both because of this privileged relationship and because he is one of the important artists of our country. Many of Kiarostami’s films are among my favourites. A mentor for anyone interested in filmmaking in Iran.
The characters traveling by car are a metaphor in Kiarostami’s films, at your father’s job, and in your first film. Why do you think this is so present in Iranian cinema?
There are some restrictions that are very specific to our cinema. For example, women cannot be shown with their heads uncovered in our films. However, women at home do not cover their heads because they are with their families. As soon as you show a scene with a woman indoors at home, it’s artificial. The intermediate space between indoor scenes and the streets where you are suppressed and watched is the car, in our movies as well as in our lives. When you’re in your car, you have a relatively private area where you can listen to the music you want, where they won’t arrest you if your scarf falls off. This area has been like a second home for us Iranians and this is reflected quite naturally in our films.
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