What a director frames out of his film often illuminates the reasons for what is included. This Iranian documentary about a gang of young thieves is a primary case in point.
Director Hesam Eslami traces six years in the collective life of the thieves he met when they stole his car. Instead of turning them in he befriended them, won their confidence then turned them into the subject of his film.
We come to it with a firm set of expectations of “Iran.” You know Iran. It’s the corrupt, renegade theocracy that funds international terrorism, plots to become a nuclear threat to the world, vows to destroy Little Satan Israel and Great Satan America, oppresses its citizens, persecutes women and gays, and suppresses any independence.
Nothing of any of that appears in this film. There is no reference to religion, to theocratic or misogynous oppression, to sharia law, to anything specifically “Iran.”
Instead, the story of life on those streets ignores that national context entirely. The gang-life in this Iran could be set anywhere in the world. This film averts the clash of cultures in which Iran is usually viewed and instead discovers the universality of the street-level life.
Eslami confirms what I overheard an American tourist in Spain (around 1970) observe to her husband: “I tell you Sam, wherever you go, anywhere in the world, people are people.” Easy to say that, somewhat harder always to feel.
The film’s driving thesis is what the director does. Instead of punishing his offenders he wants to investigate their humanity. Instead of packing them off to jail he gets to know them. He keeps in touch with the ones who do get jailed. He follows the gang’s attempts to spring those. And in the case of Ehsan, Eslami gently promotes the young gangster’s shift into honest citizenship.
If there is any religion in this film it’s the Muslim director’s implicitly espousing the Judeo-Christian ethic of self-sacrifice, forgiveness and generosity towards the afflicted. The scarcity of this value in current American Christianity only amplifies the power of this director’s choice.
Of course we can’t ignore the forceful context of the film, even if it’s not cited. Eslami’s example — its character and its albeit limited success — is an instructive alternative to our customary response to “Iran.” Whatever the rhetoric and plotting conducted by our respective governments, their people are not just our enemies but part of our common brotherhood of mankind. This is a counter to our bellicose governments but also a corrective to the citizenry perhaps too eager to buy into their leaders’ prejudices.
In this light the film’s details resonate meaning. The music embodies the interface between traditional Iranian and global pop. So too the premium placed on stolen car stereos confirms the society’s sire for cultural outreach.
The film opens and closes on Ehsan’s new job, cutting and securing strips of veneer in construction. What’s the veneer here and what the substance? Is Eslami’s reminder of our brotherhood with Iranian gangsters a deceptive cover over our political gap, or is our leaders’ antagonism the disguise of our shared humanity? The film’s sentimental power supports the latter.
When Ehsan’s wife gives birth to a son she is surprised that Eslami would visit her. In her life, her husband’s friend is still an outsider, a social superior, and she is surprised and flattered by his attention. Perhaps that catches the Iranian citizen’s feeling of isolation from the populations their governments have forced upon them. As Willy Loman’s wife reminded us, too late, “Attention must be paid.”
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