THE METICULOUS EMPATHY OF ASGHAR FARHADI

BRAD S.

4 MONTHS AGO

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about why we’re collectively drawn to film and my own preference for strong characterization over technical mastery (which is not to say, I don’t sometimes react in the opposite way, but usually this is the case.) I wonder if fermenting empathy isn’t among the noblest goals film can strive for.

When began this train of thought is reviewing the three remarkably excellent films from Iranian director, Asghar Farhadi. Fireworks Wednesday, A Separation and The Past are all very human looks at what it means to hold a family together (or not.) Each has its own tone as Fireworks Wednesday veers towards comedy and The Past towards melodrama, while I believe the realism and truthfulness of A Separation makes it the best film of this decade.

In the audio commentary for A Separation, Farhadi talks about his refusal to judge his characters and, in the case of the most recent two, this empathy is very much on display. Of course, many films deal with truly hateful characters that do not appear in works like these. Empathy for a serial killer would less a good thing, but when the subject is everyday people, it can be very powerful.

A Separation deals with a marriage falling apart and a legal conflict between the husband and the housekeeper. In The Past, various family secrets are revealed. In neither case are these small things and there is much cause for anger, but at no time does Farhadi fall back on simple answers. We may relate to or agree more with one character or another, but all believe they are making the best choice under a set of stressful circumstances.

By maintaining directorial distance and not condemning anyone, Farhadi draws us in and allows the audience more intimate access to these family dramas. It seems he built up to this strategy as Fireworks Wednesday’s characters are portrayed more negatively (yet still compellingly.)

I wonder what other directors may have also embraced this strategy, but I’d also like to hear more thoughts on Asghar Farhadi who’s filmography I now consider essential viewing (which is problematic since a number of his other films are difficult to find.)

MISCHA

4 MONTHS AGO

Wouldn’t the excellent crafting of the characterisation be a “technical” mastery to some degree?

I’d say that it’s kind of a “technique” for one to not judge one’s characters in a story, at least to some degree. Perhaps it’s like an artist chiseling away at a sculpture – drawing off superfluous detail until what is left is finely-tuned and elegant i.e. enabling a more intimate “access” to the characters’ inherent moral attributes or ambiguities.

I wouldn’t underestimate just how very tempting for an artist it can be to cram in every detail they can think of when crafting characterisations.

Btw I haven’t seen any Farhadi though have been meaning to.

BRAD S.

4 MONTHS AGO

You’re absolutely correct, Mischa. While making a distinction, I don’t want make it a dichotomy. Characterization and a strong sense of (let’s call it) visual style are more often complimentary and both the result of skilled filmmaking. I’m trying to verbalized certain aspects of filmmaking that I highly value right now and are embodied in Farhadi’s work.

JAZZALO​HA

3 MONTHS AGO

@Brad

The Past, various family secrets are revealed. In neither case are these small things and there is much cause for anger, but at no time does Farhadi fall back on simple answers. We may relate to or agree more with one character or another, but all believe they are making the best choice under a set of stressful circumstances.

I just saw The Past, and I’m not sure you want to discuss the specific film in this thread, but I’m going to make a few comments. (spoilers)

I don’t know if I completely agree with your comments, particularly if I speculate about the way a more conservative audience (particularly in Iran) would react to this film. Specifically, the film doesn’t seem entirely sympathetic to the mother—or at least I can see viewers blaming her the most. I must say that I sort of felt that way myself, having trouble sympathizing or empathizing with her. Her treatment of Ahmad does seem to stem from an excessive desire for revenge, and the film did little to make me feel empathy or sympathy for her. (What I gather is that Ahmad left her and her children, but it seems he has done this because of depression. Her anger and need for revenge is understandable, but I don’t really think the film establishes this.)

On another note, as in A Separation (which I liked quite a bit), provides twist after twist, and I found it a bit tiresome (unlike in the A Separation), and at some point I’m not sure it really contributed much to the film.

What did you make of the significance of the ending?

I wonder if fermenting empathy isn’t among the noblest goals film can strive for.

By “fermenting empathy,” do you mean developing a deeper understanding of characters—particularly if they may behave in ways would be easy for us to condemn? I do think this is a very noble goal, especially in narrative-based films. I think doing so often adds important nuance and complexity in situations that are easy to see in simplistic terms. Speaking of this, I actually think that Paul Haggis’ Crash does a good job of this, despite some of its flaws.

Another film, and filmmaker, that came to mind when I read the OP were Tokyo Story and Ozu respectively. That film certainly could have cast some of the characters in a much less sympathetic light—which is something I suspect some viewers would have preferred. But to the film’s credit, it doesn’t do that.

BRAD S.

3 MONTHS AGO

@Jazz

>>if I speculate about the way a more conservative audience (particularly in Iran) would react to this film.<<

Farhadi could not have made The Past in Iran. The frankness with which it deals with infidelity (which would be considered tame in the West) would have run afoul of Iranian censors. The institutional sexism in those conservative circles would likely have insisted that Marie be condemned outright, but that’s not Farhadi’s agenda and may be another reason this had to be filmed in France.

>>the film doesn’t seem entirely sympathetic to the mother<<

All the characters are flawed and very human. As you mentioned, it’s established that Ahmad was fighting demons that destroyed their marriage. I disagree that it wasn’t established. We are seeing the aftermath that provides context for Marie’s actions. Each character has discernible motivations, which doesn’t mean they are correct, but does make them relatable. We may reasonably come to the conclusion that Marie is more at fault than Ahmad, but Farhadi doesn’t force us to choose sides (same as in A Separation.)

>>twist after twist, and I found it a bit tiresome<<

Yes, the two films are tonally different. A Separation’s twists are grounded in realism, while The Past does veer into melodrama. The thing is I’m not opposed to melodrama if its well done and, for me, it succeeds on that level.

>>What did you make of the significance of the ending?<<

It was kind of beautiful. I’d like to be a bit vague about it, but I do think it captures the struggle to be good to one another under harrowing circumstances.

>>By “fermenting empathy,” do you mean developing a deeper understanding of characters—particularly if they may behave in ways would be easy for us to condemn?<<

Yes. That’s a good way to put it.

>>I actually think that Paul Haggis’ Crash does a good job of this, despite some of its flaws.<<

I’ll disagree with you there. I do think that’s what Haggis was going for, but did he earn empathy through his filmmaking or did he just tell us that’s what we were supposed to feel? Ozu, on the other hand, handled these issues wonderfully and I’d be surprised if Farhadi wasn’t an admirer.

JAZZALO​HA

3 MONTHS AGO

@Brad

Farhadi could not have made The Past in Iran. The frankness with which it deals with infidelity (which would be considered tame in the West) would have run afoul of Iranian censors. The institutional sexism in those conservative circles would likely have insisted that Marie be condemned outright, but that’s not Farhadi’s agenda and may be another reason this had to be filmed in France.

A part of me feels like the film leans toward condemning Marie (Ahamad’s ex-wife)—and maybe even Samir (her fiancee). I haven’t thought deeply about the meaning of the film, but my initial feeling is that the film is about how we can’t escape from the past—and even more specifically, the way adultery ruins the lives of those around them. Perhaps, this is a narrow reading, but I can see many people coming to this conclusion, especially those from a more conservative bent.

I disagree that it wasn’t established. We are seeing the aftermath that provides context for Marie’s actions. Each character has discernible motivations, which doesn’t mean they are correct, but does make them relatable. We may reasonably come to the conclusion that Marie is more at fault than Ahmad, but Farhadi doesn’t force us to choose sides (same as in A Separation.)

I feel like the film is skewed against Marie and Samir, though. To make Marie more sympathetic, the film could have gave a stronger indication or depiction of the way Ahmad’s leaving justified Marie’s resentment and need for revenge. I’m not sure how or if the film could do that, but there’s also other factors. First, Marie seems to have been with several different men. (I think Lucie might have mentioned that she was married three times? Lucie and Lea are only half-sisters, I believe.) So this sort of paints Marie in a negative light. Next, Ahmad’s reasons for leaving are unclear, but I get the feeling that Marie contributed to this in some way. I say this because Ahmad does try to explain the reason he left, but Marie refuses to listen. Of course, this isn’t definitive, and we know that Ahmad experienced depression. (I’m sure if it was because Ahmad struggled with living in Paris or if he had problems with Lucie. Ahmad’s talk with his friend, Shahryar, the restaurant owner, suggested one or the other.)

Yes, the two films are tonally different. A Separation’s twists are grounded in realism, while The Past does veer into melodrama. The thing is I’m not opposed to melodrama if its well done and, for me, it succeeds on that level.

If by “tonally,” you’re also referring to the objective or purpose of the twists, then I agree. In A Separation, I feel like the twists served the film better because it showed the complexity of the situation—that there were no clear cut villains or “good guys.” But in The Past, the twists just seemed more contrived—and more for suspense or entertainment. Then again, maybe I felt that way because The Past was the second Farhadi film I watched. (If Farhadi has a lot of twists in the next film I see, I might have an even more negative reaction.)

It was kind of beautiful. I’d like to be a bit vague about it, but I do think it captures the struggle to be good to one another under harrowing circumstances.

Hmm, how do you arrive at that? My first reaction upon seeing Samir’s wife’s hand clutching his was that it was about the way we can never escape the past.

I’ll disagree with you there. I do think that’s what Haggis was going for, but did he earn empathy through his filmmaking or did he just tell us that’s what we were supposed to feel? Ozu, on the other hand, handled these issues wonderfully and I’d be surprised if Farhadi wasn’t an admirer.

Crash is more melodramatic and contrived, but the similarity I see is in the way both films show the complexity of the human beings and the situations—complexity that is often overlooked.

BRAD S.

3 MONTHS AGO

Jazz, you’re right that the idea of not being able to escape the past is a major theme of the film. I’ve been focusing on other elements, but as the title suggests, this idea can’t be ignored. What I like about the film is that it applies to all the characters and we can extrapolate that will also apply to the children as they grow up as well. The last scene with Samir and his wife is bittersweet and I found his committment and connection to be beautifully portrayed in the final close up. That doesn’t make the situation any less tragic.

JAZZALO​HA

3 MONTHS AGO

How do you think Ahmad and Marie’s past relates to the more recent past of Marie and Samir’s affair? My feeling is that Marie and Samir’s act is the key action, almost to the point where I feel like the film’s title refers to that event. However, I feel like whatever happened between Ahmad and Marie must be somewhat important as well. What that significance is and how it relates to Marie and Samir’s affair, I’m not sure.

The last scene with Samir and his wife is bittersweet and I found his committment and connection to be beautifully portrayed in the final close up. That doesn’t make the situation any less tragic.

Except for maybe Ahmad, everyone else seems screwed. Marie and Samir’s future seems bleak, and I can’t really imagine a plausible, positive outcome. Ditto their children.

BRAD S.

3 MONTHS AGO

It’s noted a couple times that Samir looks like Ahmad and the an inference that Marie may have been attracted to that similarity (through the two men could not have more different maturity levels. If Marie is not “over” Ahmad, that affects just about every action in the film, including her decision to invite her ex into her home.

Another aspect of the film I love is how Ahmad relates to the children. With all these reveals, it must be tempting to display some August, Osage County level Histrionics, yet when there are kids around (which is just about always) Ahmad makes a point to try to frame the situation in ways the would be least traumatic. Of course, the kids are smart and the damage has already been done.

JAZZALO​HA

3 MONTHS AGO

(through the two men could not have more different maturity levels.

You think Ahmad was significantly more mature than Samir? How so?

If Marie is not “over” Ahmad, that affects just about every action in the film, including her decision to invite her ex into her home.

Right. The problem is that Marie’s feelings—as well as what happened to her and Ahmad—are all so murky. Does Marie still love Ahmad or is she out for revenge as Ahmad suggests at one point? And does she have an affair with Samir, simply because he looks like Ahmad—that is, she really still does love Ahmad (or at least has some feelings for him). The situation is tragic, but if this line of thinking is correct, it’s hard not to see Marie in more sympathetic light. (I don’t know, maybe you disagree with that.)

With all these reveals, it must be tempting to display some August, Osage County level Histrionics, yet when there are kids around (which is just about always) Ahmad makes a point to try to frame the situation in ways the would be least traumatic.

And this makes Ahmad seem a really decent guy. But where’s the equivalent type of scene for Marie? I’m not saying the film has to show this—but without scenes like this, it makes the film seem less balanced.

PEPO, A SHY THIEF

3 MONTHS AGO

“It seems he built up to this strategy as Fireworks Wednesday’s characters are portrayed more negatively (yet still compellingly.)”

That might be the view you take away from Firework’s Wednesday, but be aware, Farhadi knew exactly what he was doing from the beginning. I haven’t had the pleasure of seeing The Past or About Elly, yet, but the astounding brilliance of Beautiful City cannot be topped. An ex-con pleads with a family who’s oldest daughter was murdered to forgive the teenager (now legal adult) that killed their daughter, so his life may be spared (and dealing with what you may have mentioned in the OP about empathizing with a killer, the killer has little to no screen time, memory serves (maybe a few minutes in the very earliest part of the film, but he is not characterized or outrightly explored)). This ex-con falls defiantly in love with his friend’s sister, who hopes her brother may be spared a capital execution (one can imagine the kind of life a woman like her would lead, in this sadly oppressive state). Just Farhadi’s sight for young love is almost enough to rupture one’s heart, just for the beauty alone, he almost makes that sense that you had with that person come alive again, so forcefully you’d never guess it comes from one of the most socially restrictive places on earth (which in part if the point of every one of the master’s son’s films). And the family won’t forgive. Not a murderer. Not a man who killed their darling daughter. Not the man that took all their hope and dreams of the future away from them. Never. Ever. A killer should pay with his life… Unless this reformed young ex-con agrees to marry the disabled younger daughter of the victim’s family. The absurd genius is in the fact that you can see love, see hatred, see chance, see pity, redemption, loss, suffering, see all the disappointing things life has to offer and feel every one of them and it still remains a Beautiful City he creates.

And remember what I said about the greatness of this film being unable to be topped? Dancing in the Dust is better, in nearly every regard. Farhadi is, maybe to me, the greatest of filmmakers and carrying the torch from Naruse’s grave.

BRAD S.

3 MONTHS AGO

@Jazz

>>You think Ahmad was significantly more mature than Samir? How so?<<

It seems to me that immaturity is actually Samir’s primary attribute. Note how Marie has him leave the room when a serious conversation needs to be had. He’s also, in an amusing scene, assumed to be the hired painter. He has trouble belonging in Marie’s world.

>>The problem is that Marie’s feelings—as well as what happened to her and Ahmad—are all so murky<<

I think you make some really good observations here, but I also sense that you want clear answers when the murkiness is one of the film’s great strengths. This ambiguity allows us to look deeper into the characters and draw our own conclusions.

>>Ahmad seem a really decent guy<<

Yes, during the course of the action in this film, but the past haunts Ahmad as well. It seems he was not always such a nice guy and much of Marie’s motivation has resulted from his past behavior. I’m not saying Marie is blameless. The thing is, this isn’t a movie like Doubt where the point is guilt or innocence. It’s a vicious circle of cause and effect that is looked at, I believe, with an impressive degree of compassion.

BRAD S.

3 MONTHS AGO

@ Hombre

I would love to hear you expound on the connection between Farhadi and Naruse.

I’m really glad to hear such accolades for Farhadi’s early work as it means I have more to look forward to on the level of these three wonderful films.

Yet where to find them? A number of you have my E-mail. If anyone has links to Beautiful City or Dancing in the Dust, I’d be grateful if you sent them my way.

JAZZALO​HA

3 MONTHS AGO

@Brad

It seems to me that immaturity is actually Samir’s primary attribute. Note how Marie has him leave the room when a serious conversation needs to be had. He’s also, in an amusing scene, assumed to be the hired painter. He has trouble belonging in Marie’s world.

He might seem to have trouble belonging in Marie’s world because he’s in an awkward situation (i.e., Marie invites her ex-husband to stay with them). Then he suspects—and maybe starts feeling insecure (perhaps with justification)—that there’s still something between the two of them.

My impression of Samir is that he’s a pretty sensitive person. He runs his own business, and he seems to be a responsible and caring parent. That takes quite a bit of maturity, don’t you think?

I think you make some really good observations here, but I also sense that you want clear answers when the murkiness is one of the films great strengths.

Well, the murky history between Ahmad and Marie make it hard to sympathize with Marie. Add to what we see on the screen, and I think the film doesn’t give us much to sympathize with Marie. I forgot to mention that Lucie doesn’t want Marie to marry Samir because she will just chase him off again—did I remember that right? This creates the impression that she’s not really stable or responsible.

And all the things she does to Ahmad—failing to book a hotel so he has to stay; surprising him with her upcoming marriage and soon to be baby—that seems pretty uncool. Is there anything in the film that helps us see Marie in a more favorable/sympathetic light?

Yes, during the course of the action in this film, but the past haunts Ahmad as well. It seems he was not always such a nice guy and much of Marie’s motivation has resulted from his past behavior. I’m not saying Marie is blameless.

He wasn’t always a nice guy, but based on what we see in the film, it seems like this was the case because of depression—something he can’t really control—or maybe something Marie did.

BRAD S.

3 MONTHS AGO

>>Is there anything in the film that helps us see Marie in a more favorable/sympathetic light?<<

Its not necessary that we view her favorably. I’d agree that she’s creating more turmoil through her actions. But empathy and sympathy are not the same. All I’m claiming is that Marie’s motivations are understandable, especially in light of feelings she may still have for Ahmad. That I feel I can empathize with her motivations does not mean that I don’t recognize that she often shows a lack of good judgment. In a different sort of film, I might be tempted to dismiss such a character as an antagonist, yet that doesn’t happen for me here.

JAZZALO​HA

3 MONTHS AGO

@Brad

Empathy and sympathy are not the same, but within the context of the thread, I think they’re very closely related—or at least that’s the impression I got from the OP. The empathy leads to sympathy or at least slows down our impulse to condemn a character(s). Is that not what you meant?

All I’m claiming is that Marie’s motivations are understandable, especially in light of feelings she may still have for Ahmad. That I feel I can empathize with her motivations does not mean that I don’t recognize that she often shows a lack of good judgment. In a different sort of film, I might be tempted to dismiss such a character as an antagonist, yet that doesn’t happen for me here.

“Understandable” in the sense that her actions are believable or that you find them justified in some way? A parent might take revenge on the person who murdered his/her child. That may not be good judgment, but we can feel the act is justified to some degree. I don’t really get that with Marie.

Let’s suppose that Ahmad, in his depression, had an affair with another woman. And we saw scenes showing Marie’s devastation; maybe we see her humiliated at work or among her friends. And then suppose Ahmad’s departure leaves Marie and her children in a really bad situation, making her desperate and lonely. Enter Samir—who is financially stable and caring. Marie knows that Samir’s married, but she’s so desperate and lonely that she has an affair with Samir. This would definitely cast Marie in a different light. We may not view her favorably, but I don’t think we would view her actions as critically without this information. See what I’m saying?

https://mubi.com/topics/the-meticulous-empathy-of-asghar-farhadi

Christopher de Bellaigue on 'The Past'

No One Is Blameless

Christopher de Bellaigue

Sony Classics

Tahar Rahim, Bérénice Béjo, and Ali Mosaffa in Asghar Farhadi’s The Past

Why would anyone want to go to the cinema to watch the frail outgrowth of the future suffocated under the weight of the past, and finally to be reminded, because the characters cannot be dismissed as bad or even unsympathetic, that there is something in them of ourselves? In his last film, A Separation, the intensity of Asghar Farhadi’s regard and the fineness of the performances made a small tale of family conflict and suspicion set in a few indoor locations in the Islamic Republic of Iran seem vitally important to audiences around the world. In 2012 it won the Oscar for best foreign language film. The Iranian director’s new film, The Past, has similar qualities, and ensemble acting of such a high standard that one quite forgets that Farhadi, like the characters he writes, is manipulating us, pulling us toward his recumbent pole.

Around the middle of The Past, a scene of moral instruction plays out in a tumbledown home in a Paris suburb. A house guest, Ahmad, has bought presents for the two small children living there, Fouad and Léa, but the man of the house, Samir, has caught Léa going into Ahmad’s suitcase to open the gifts, and insists that they apologize. Samir’s partner, Marie, looks on as Samir explains to Fouad that not to have instigated the theft is no excuse; Fouad was there when Léa went into the suitcase, and therefore shares the blame. Fouad, a curly-haired little imp for whom the word tetu, or headstrong, might have been invented, flashes defiance, but his longing to open the brightly wrapped parcel proves all-conquering. At length he follows Léa’s lead and mutters an apology.

It’s the kind of satisfying event that happens a million times a day in homes around the world, as parents impart notions of decency to their children, and yet, watchingThe Past, we are uncomfortably aware that the moral pulpit occupied by Samir, Marie, and Ahmad is so rickety as to turn their efforts to parody. Fouad (Elyes Aguis) and Léa (Jeanne Jestin), alert beyond their years—as the children in Farhadi’s films generally are—seem to realize this too. Back in the bedroom they share, Léa upbraids Fouad for not owning up to the fact that it was he who told her that the suitcase was open in the first place. “I know why you’re upset,” she adds slyly. “It’s because you didn’t get a helicopter. You got coloring pencils.”

The three adults, Ahmad (Ali Mosaffa), Marie (Bérénice Béjo, of The Artist), and Samir (Tahar Rahim), have come together with the aim of rearranging their relations and making a better future for all. Ahmad is Marie’s estranged husband, returned after four years in order to complete their divorce, but, finding himself usurped by Samir, Marie’s new love, his every action and word convey opposing desires: to facilitate Marie’s new life, and to sabotage it. Marie also betrays confusion. She could have booked Ahmad into a hotel, protecting the home she now shares with Samir, but instead she has invited him to stay with them, as if willing him to make mischief with her feelings, jumpy and uncertain, toward her new man.

And this is what Ahmad does, as he flaunts his past mastery of the place, fixing the sink and encouraging the affection that Marie’s children, Léa and her older sister, Lucie (Fouad is Samir’s son), still feel toward him. The trio spar awkwardly through the house’s poky rooms, probing almost involuntarily at each other’s frailties. The old color of this room was better, was it not? Ahmad observes with calculated tactlessness. In the morning Marie asks Ahmad if he has had breakfast; Samir thinks she is addressing him, and replies, “Not yet.”

Not that this is an orthodox ménage a trois; there is a fourth, a pole in whose invisible field all the characters are somehow aligned. This is Samir’s wife Celine, who has been lying in a coma these past eight months after swallowing detergent. The possibility that Celine might have found out about Samir’s love for Marie, hardening an existing depression into suicidal resolution, weighs on the new couple as they prepare for life together, with Samir’s child growing in Marie’s belly. Later it emerges that both Marie’s elder daughter Lucie (Pauline Burlet), and Naima (Sabrina Ouazani), an employee of Samir at his dry-cleaning business (Sabrina Ouazani), may also have a share of responsibility for Celine’s current, life-supported limbo, through a combination of malice and misadventure. No one is blameless.

Sony Classics

Ali Mosaffa, with Elyes Aguis as Fouad and Jeanne Jestin as Léa in The Past

Farhadi seems to enjoy casting beautiful actresses—Leyla Hatami in A Separation, and now Béjo—and then making us forget their beauty, degrading them with their unhappiness and the ineptitude of their actions. Everyone becomes hypnotically normal under his gaze, and this is why one ends up feeling so intensely for his characters. And, for all the superb performances—at last year’s Cannes film festival Bejo deservedly won the award for Best Actress for her depiction of Marie—these are his characters, not only because Farhadi is a filmmaker in the most complete sense, in that he conceives his films, writes, and directs them, but also because his pitiless vision of humanity is one that we have come to recognize.

To make The Past, Farhadi spent two years in France, a country whose language he knows imperfectly, depending on translators throughout. The obvious explanation for this perverse course of action is that he wanted freedom from the Iranian censor—to set up his camera on any boulevard without fear of the police intervening or the Ministry of Culture revoking his permit. (Farhadi’s permit was revoked for a time during the shooting of A Separation, after he expressed his sympathy for Iranian actors and directors who had been banned from working for political reasons.) But as with Farhadi’s films, so with Farhadi: the pat answer doesn’t convince. The Pastdoes not revel in the physical freedoms of France; it takes place for the most part in a few rooms in two buildings, while the rain pounds down outside (a wry aside on European weather).

And yet, there are clearly some aspects of France that do not exist in Iran, and that appealed to Farhadi’s creativity. The first is the country’s multiethnic, multicultural character. Marie is a Frenchwoman of Catholic background, while Ahmad and Samir are Middle Eastern Muslims—the former, a recent arrival from Iran, the latter, an assimilated North African. Then there is the regulation of sexual and emotional relationships through the law and social censure; compared to Iran, there is none. Lucie, Marie’s teenage daughter, is fed up with her mother’s inability to settle down with a man and stick with him. Fouad and Léa squabble like siblings but in fact they are not even step-siblings, and there is no guarantee that their respective parents will stay together. Indeed, Marie could end up with either Samir or Ahmad, or neither.

In the chanciness of these relationships, and their transience, many Muslims may recognize the moral failings of the West—spurious freedoms that bring only unhappiness. For Farhadi, whatever his private thoughts, the West’s deregulation is instrumental, an opportunity to get into complicated emotional ambiguities, encroachments, and compounds. And, unlike in A Separation, God is entirely absent from The Past.

Typically, it’s the youngest—and, by implication, the least damaged—of the film’s characters that has the clearest and most optimistic grasp on events. Fouad is upset when his father takes him away from Marie’s house near the film’s end; Samir had promised that this would be his home forever. There is a powerful scene in a metro station, when Fouad asks why his mother is being kept alive in the hospital. Samir equivocates, “We don’t know if she wants to live like that or if she wants to die.” But Samir misses his wife; he is holding out for a miracle.

“She wanted to die,” Fouad says decisively. “It’s why she killed herself.” And to this bald statement of fact, Samir has no answer. A blonde woman’s motionless body in a sun-drenched hospital room; it’s the reason for all the misery. The little boy can see it. Why can nobody else?

http://www.nybooks.com/blogs/nyrblog/2014/feb/27/farhadi-the-past-no-one-blameless/

KRISTY PUCHKO's interview with Farhadi

My Nerve-Wracking And Extraordinary Conversation With Asghar Farhadi

BY KRISTY PUCHKO

It was 30 degrees outside, but my palms were slick with sweat as I cut through midtown New York, headed to a posh hotel for a meeting I was both elated about and dreading. There have been few moments in my life as nerve-racking as those leading up to my interview with Iranian writer-director Asghar Farhadi about his stunning new drama The Past. I've interviewed bigger "names" before, but I was about to sit down with the man who, by my count, is one of the greatest living filmmakers .

After a string of Iranian TV shows and films, Farhadi won the world's notice and an Academy Award in 2012 for his absolutely sensational ensemble drama A Separation. Catching it while covering NYFF in 2011, I was in utter awe, having never before seen a movie that put so much of its identity in the hands of its audience. It hid key moments, thereby forcing the viewer to take sides of characters without the omniscient view movies often offer. Afterwards I spent hours debating the meaning of the film's intentionally ambiguous scene with a colleague. More than two years later, I still tear up remembering that drama's poignant and provocative conclusion.

A Separation beat out The Artist for my Top 10 list that year. But to be clear, I don't just think it's one of the best films of 2011; I think it's one of the best films ever made. Which should explain my anxiety over meeting Farhadi, despite the fact that he seemed perfectly pleasant in other interviews I'd witnessed. What if I embarrassed myself? What if my questions didn't translate? What if he wasn't everything I hoped he'd be? They say you shouldn't meet your heroes, don't they?

My fears were allayed almost instantly when Farhadi, a small man with a contagious calm demeanor and neatly trimmed beard, entered the luxurious suite and offered his hand in way of introduction. In response, I blurted out my love of A Separation, and how thrilled I was to see The Past, a drama that stars The Artist's Oscar-nominated Bérénice Bejo as a woman who invites her estranged Iranian husband to return to France so they can finalize their divorce. He smiled and thanked me through his translator Sheida Dayani. And then began a conversation unlike any I've ever had before.

It was a new experience for me to speak to someone through a translator. Dayani was a total pro, so it made for an easy exchange. But what shocked me was how much of Farhadi's communication I felt I understood without any knowledge of the Persian language. He also spoke no French and yet directed a French-language film with fluent actors who claimed the translators weren't always needed to know what he was saying to them. That seemed kind of heady artist-speak when I'd read it in the press kit. But through the intonation of his voice, the pauses in his speech and the way he spoke with his hands, it was uncanny to me how much of our conversation I felt needed no translation.

Here it is in full, fully translated:

So, I want to start by telling you that A Separation was at the top of my list in 2011. I completely adored it, and actually The Artist was number 2, so I was completed elated to see The Past. Actually, this is a really tricky interview, because I don’t want to ask you anything that’s going to give any kind of certainty to the film, because I really love the way your films create this ambiguity and uncertainness that forces the audience to make kind of character judgments on their own. I was hoping though that you could talk to me about that approach to storytelling.

Asghar Farhadi: Doing interviews about my films really bothers me sometimes, because I have to speak directly and clearly about things I’ve intended to keep ambiguous, and in a way I feel like I’m betraying my film. But ambiguity is important and valuable because it helps the audience to go think about the film after they’re done seeing it and the film doesn’t finish in the audience’s mind. They’re still thinking about it. People who ask me those kind of questions think that I know something about the characters that I’m hiding from the audience, but that’s not the case. Everything I knew about that characters I told the audience and as ambiguous as they are to the audience, they are to me.

That’s really interesting because your characters do feel like they have private lives, apart from us. It feels like they do have rich backstories that we’re not party to. But I’m curious if in the development and the rehearsal stage, if that’s something that you cement more with the actors.

Yes, most of the rehearsals go to this, and there are little signs of those private lives that you talked about in the film. For instance, there is a part where Marie tells Ahmad that for the first time she saw Samir’s wife in the pharmacy when she would come to get her medication. We practiced and rehearsed that scene in our rehearsals, even though it’s not in the film. We rehearsed this process of Samir coming to the pharmacy, explaining that his wife is sick, explaining that he needs certain medications, then coming back in a few days. We were trying to make the actors get to know the backgrounds of the characters and the relationships with each other before the film started.

That’s so cool. Another thing I’m really impressed by is that while father-son stories are kind of a dime a dozen, both The Past and A Separation focus very much on a father-daughter story. Why is that so appealing to you as a filmmaker?

Perhaps because I am in that situation myself. I have two daughters. My first daughter (Sarina Farhadi) was the one who played in A Separation. And the father-daughter relationship is a very strange relationship to me. It’s both a very close and a very far relationship. It’s one of those that I think I will work on in my other films.

Did you ever consider having your daughter for A Separation play Lucie (the teen daughter) in this?

No, I really didn’t think about it from the beginning. I didn’t want the audience to have the image they had of the character in A Separation to be broken by this new image, and I didn’t want the audience to mix these two characters.

What inspired you to go to France for this film instead of making another film in and about Iran specifically?

It was the story itself. A lot of people think that I went to make a film in another country because of the limitations and pressures in Iran, but that really wasn’t the case for me. I even thought about making the film in Iran because in a sense, it’s more comfortable for me. With all of the pressures and limitation there, it’s more comfortable for me to make films in Iran, but the story was a story of a man who traveled to another country and I couldn’t make that in Iran.

Now, I was actually curious about, how much you relate to Ahmad, because he is very much in love with his homeland, but then he also has this love in another nation with another family and he feels very divided by that.

Ahmad is one of the most difficult or complex characters in the film. A lot of people might think why wouldn’t he, as this kind of gentle soul, stay with this family and why would Marie not live with him, but they only look at his surface, but if we go a little bit deeper, we can see the black points of his character, but Marie also points to these black spots of his character. When she is fighting with him, she says to him once that it really makes me sick when you take this position of a teacher and you try to teach everybody. Ahmad is one of those characters who considers himself above everybody and he’s constantly wanting to teach people something. And this is something that bothers Marie. He left his family four years ago without telling them that he’s never going to return, and Marie, that’s why she’s suffering. I think Ahmad has a dual character, and living with these type of people is very difficult. On one hand, you fall in love with their kindness. On another hand those black spots really bother you.

You spoke about the limitations of shooting in Iran. Frankly, as an American we don’t have that same kind of thing. So I was wondering if you could talk a little bit about what those limitations are and how you feel like they actually have encouraged your creativity.

The most important characteristic about those limitations is that they’re not a fixed, they’re not anything fixed or they’re not going to always stay the same. This is both good and bad. It’s good because sometimes when they change, then you can pass around them, and it’s bad because you can’t predict how they’re going to turn out in a day or two. When you wake up in the morning, the limitations have one form and in the afternoon, their form is different. Part of these limitations are political, part of them are religious. What happened is that the filmmakers have been able to find a new language due to these limitations. I’m not saying this to encourage censorship, but I’m saying that the unintended consequence of it is creativity. I hope that the censors don’t hear this, because they’ll get encouraged, but the fact is it has turned into creativity.

It sounds like what you’re saying is that creativity can overcome that as an obstacle versus that barriers necessarily inspire creativity.

Yes, that’s true, and the point about it is that it’s only in a short period of time that censorship could create creativity. If they last and they survive for a long time, they will get rid of creativity.

So, your films have actually been opening the west up to the culture of Iran. Time Magazine called you a "de facto spokesman" for your country and named you one of the most influential people. Is that something that you consider now when you’re making films?

I really think of myself just as a filmmaker. It makes me happy to hear these things, but I don’t let them limit me.

So, after your Oscar win, it was announced you were working on a film with Marion Cotillard. Was it this film?

This one. I started this film before A Separation won the Oscar, and I had talked about Marion Cotillard playing in this film before the Oscar came, but I needed her to be present at the rehearsals for a few months. But she couldn’t; she didn’t have that time. I could’ve asked her to come (do the movie) without coming to the rehearsals, but I couldn’t accept that.

So, how did Bérénice come into it?

Bérénice was in the initial list that I had for considering the actresses, and I kept running into her in the trips that I came for promoting A Separation, and I got to know her more and I realized that she’s a really good choice. I’m very good friends with her husband (French filmmaker Michel Hazanavicius) as well and I’m close to them.

I was actually completely shocked to find out that you don’t speak fluent French, nor does Ali Mosaffa. How does that impact making the film?

Of course, Ali knew French before, but he hadn’t spoken it for a while in Iran and he had forgotten the language. He came to live in France with his family for a few months and then he remembered everything. I didn’t know any French and this was the biggest challenge to the film. A lot of people told me that this is dangerous, but something told me that, some sense told me that after the success of A Separation, I shouldn’t go risk-free. I should do a project that has some risks in it, and this was an appealing risk to me. I lived in Paris for two years with my family. I would roam the streets of Paris during the day for a few hours in the subway, on the streets, and I listened to the French language and I got a sense of the rhythm and the melody of the language. I also had a crew of translators. They weren’t just translating my information and my data. They were also transferring my feeling and emotions. Even their gestures and facial mimics, they were copying after me.

That actually makes sense to me, because I completely don’t speak your language but I can understand how that would work having this conversation (with the help of a translator).

We tend to think that human connections are only through language, but that’s not true. I’ll bring you an example. A few members of the Oscar Academy had came to Iran a few years ago, and one day they wanted to see my fourth movie About Elly. They were watching the (Persian-language) film with English subtitles. In the middle of the film, I left the room because I had something to do and then I came back. And I saw that due to some technical difficulty, what they were seeing had no subtitles. But then they were just watching the film, and in the end, I said to them, "I think you missed some parts of the movie because you didn’t have subtitles for 10 minutes." And they said to me, "We didn’t miss anything. We understood everything completely," and they had realized some stuff as if they knew the Persian language well.

So, that actually reminds me, in this movie, several times, we see the characters either interacting behind glass or interacting through glass where they can’t hear each other, but we don’t really lose anything in that. Is that partially inspired by that experience?

This using window panes was also present in my other films. Sometimes people are speaking a common language, but they don’t understand each other, and sometimes they don’t even have a common language, but they can understand each other.

So, there’s a real earnestness toward kind of a naturalism versus a glossy reflection of reality in your films. Is Italian neorealism something you’re inspired by?

Very much so. I think all of the Iranian filmmakers have been influenced by Italian cinema, because there is a realism in Italy’s neorealism cinema that is also present in Iranian cinema. At a stage, the conditions in my country were at the same as the conditions of Italy after the war and we had similar experiences. Perhaps this similarity has made the cinema and the films look familiar to each other.

Along those lines, the children in your films feel not precocious, but for lack of a better word, very real. Can you talk about how you direct performances for them?

It’s vey difficult for me to explain how I work with children. I never tell children directly what I want, because they won’t believe you. Even though they do a lot of childish acts themselves. But they don’t believe the plays and the games of the adults. So, I knew that if I told Elyes that he needs to be sad about the fact that his mother is in a coma in the hospital and look depressed, he’s going to laugh at me, because children don’t believe in the games of grown-ups. But what we can do is we can form the relationships with other characters gradually. I really tried to have the relationship between Fouad and Tahar, like a father-son relationship, and this took several months of rehearsals. They were always rehearsing together, and I wanted Tahar to get as close as possible to him.

Well, thank you. That was extraordinary.

http://www.cinemablend.com/new/My-Nerve-Wracking-Extraordinary-Conversation-With-Asghar-Farhadi-40792.html