This weekend I attended Armidale’s inaugural Persian Arthouse Film Festival, held at the Armidale Playhouse, and hosted by the Armidale Persian Society. The films in this first festival have focused on childhood, and I saw two of them: Bashu the Little Stranger (Bahram Beizei, 1986) , and The Runner…. (Amir Naderi, 1985). Both are masterpieces: powerful films that show children surviving against the odds in a society at war–with others and with itself.
Bashu the Little Stranger features a boy from Iran’s South, whose parents are killed during a bombing raid, who escapes to the country’s North. There he finds refuge with Naii, a farmer whose husband is away seeking work. Naii cares for Bashu, who is traumatised by his experiences: though they do not speak the same language (Bashu speaks Arabic; Naii speaks Gilaki), and their skins are different colours (Bashu is Afro-Iranian; Naii is Gilak). They form a bond that Naii’s community has difficulty understanding (and actively criticises). Bashu helps Naii on the farm; Naii nurses him when he falls ill, and he reciprocates when she in turn falls ill. The film is closely observed, with exquisite cinematography, and tells a universal tale of suffering and recovery, and the power of love. I found it incredibly compelling, and very moving. The final scene, when Naii’s husband returns from seeking work, and we find out whether he will accept Bashu as Naii has done, was edge-of-the-seat stuff.
I was similarly on the edge of my seat in watching The Runner, the story of Amiro, an orphaned child who lives in an abandoned boat and makes ends meet through sheer energy and determination. From collecting bottles in shark-infested waters, to carrying buckets of ice-water through the streets of his port city, Amiro keeps heroically going (and read here for the inspiring story of Madjid Niroumand, the actor who inhabits this role). . Not only that, but he goes fast: he chases trains with his street-kid friends, chases down adults who steal from him. In his down-time, he hangs out near an airport, leaping and calling to the planes as they take off. Amiro longs to get out of town, by plane or boat, but while he grows and learns (and a key moment in the film sees him seeking out schooling so he can learn to read), he is continually on the move. It’s a jewel of a film: fraught with danger, yet curiously serene, showing the innocence and danger of childhood in a character with extraordinary energy. The final scenes, in which Amiro races his friends towards a block of ice, melting on a pole near flames from an oil refinery, are a case in point: the boys tumble over one another to reach the prize, in an allegory of the struggles of life. When Amiro wins, as we know he must, he holds the ice above his head, but then makes an unexpected move–sharing the ice with his thirsty rivals–a move that celebrates friendship and endorses community.
Sisyphus, Inspiration, Conversation and Hope
In the panel discussions after each film, moderated by my colleague Dr Sanaz Alian, and in company with several colleagues from the School of Humanities Arts and Social Sciences at UNE, we discussed how these films are both tightly contained and universal, focalised through child figures whose innocence and perserverance come together. We are asked to think about big questions in these films: to think about how indifference and cruelty might be overcome, and how generosity can overcome selfish competition. Amiro and Bashu are generous characters–despite (or perhaps because of) the hardships they face–this is what makes them heroic characters.
As well as being an expert cardiologist, Dr Hadi Nojoumian, who organised the festival with Sanaz, is an expert in Iranian film, and he summed things up beautifully in referring to the ‘Sisyphean’ qualities of these characters: the endless struggle that the boys face in a hard life–and life can be hard for all of us. He spoke evocatively about the films’ message: that positive actions of individuals–kindness, caring, sharing, and love–can make a difference. Indeed, in Bashu, Naii is just as heroic as Bashu: acting out of a conviction that she must care for this lone, isolated boy. Those who care must toil endlessly to see their actions through–and perhaps this is what makes them noble and heroic figures. In contrast with the original Sisyphus, who tried to cheat Death and was thus doomed to an eternal punishment, these characters face the darkness squarely and with conviction–and in this we can find hope.
This is what art (be it film, or literature, or music…) gives us. I’m reminded of what my Warsaw colleague Prof. Katarzyna Marciniak says in her introduction to Our Mythical Hope…. The Ancient Myths as Medicine for the Hardships of Life in Children’s and Young Adults’ Culture: ‘Let the one among us who was never moved by.a book or a movie scene, who never laughed with their friends during a comedy show, who never shed a tear at the sound of music, be the first to place Hope back into the jar.’ (36.)
It was a wonderful weekend of art and thought and sharing, and I am very grateful to Hadi and Sanaz for organising this event, and the Armidale Persian Association and the Armidale Playhouse for supporting it. (And I am also grateful to the wonderful bakers who made the traditional Iranian snacks served at the event! Wow!). I hope this will be only the first of many such forays into the world of international film.
–Elizabeth Hale
Antipodean Odyssey 