Le jour où je suis devenue femme

I felt the need to defend this film as I don't believe it deserves the above rant. It is true that we are not given many details about the three characters whose stories are presented. But we are given enough to feel sympathy for the girl whose childhood is over, the woman who just wants to be allowed to ride her bike, and the woman who was finally able to buy the things she's always wanted. The English title evokes an expectation that each of these stories represents a transition.

As a woman, it sometimes occurs to me to wonder what that means exactly. This film explores the fact of being a woman and what it means to become one. Was Hoora not a woman before today? We are left to imagine what her life was like before and what brought her to this circumstance, but clearly these details are not so important.

This film is an exploration, not a documentary. It is beautiful and bittersweet (and personally I liked the music) It is not Hollywood by any standard but it is not complicated and even to a Westerner like me it held a lot of truth. It's purpose can be as much to explore one's own views as those of the Iranian filmmaker, and should be viewed as a piece of art rather than a mainstream American movie. Give it a chance, it's only 74 minutes.

This is a beautifully shot, richly textured film. Its decidedly surrealist elements do not detract from its poignant central message: that the arbitrary social conventions which govern womens' lives in Iran are inherently absurd. What is so striking about this film is the way in which the director brings out this element of absurdity by transplanting an Iranian narrative onto the bizarre setting of Kish Island, a free trade zone and resort off the coast of Iran. The women in the film are all forced to play out the roles assigned for them by Iranian society, despite the virtual absence of the state, which is so often demonized in treatments of Iranian women's lives.

On the surface this film tells three simple stories, but its simplicity is deceiving. Each story tells an episode in the life of a woman but as the woman ages the stories become more and more surreal. In so doing Marzieh Meshkini is making a parallel with the life of Iranian women.

Having followed Iranian cinema for a while I didn't think I was in for a surprise but Meshkini (director) managed to blow me away with the minimalist approach to depicting the fundamental issues of Iranian society. The elegance, minimalism and eloquence of this picture manage to depict the role of a woman in Iran with painful clarity.

"Roozi khe zan shodam" is an essential and defining piece of cinema.

I saw this gem of a film a few months ago and it has lived with me ever since. There are lots of great things to talk about but I will only mention a few. I liked the striking images of the sea and the shore and the manner in which they are imbued with great meaning. The sea - which represents adventure, sensuality, fluidity, freedom and sex - is a constant motif throughout the film and is a joy to look at. I also liked the structure - reminiscent of Hemingway's short stories - where characters from one story seem to reappear in others.

But though connected through theme and also through the plot, the individual films retain a great level of distinctiveness. For instance, the second film remains unresolved at the end and the discussion of the two fellow riders in the third movie only have the effect of heightening that suspense. On the other hand, the third film has the effect of satisfactorily and unexpectedly wrapping up the first film: whereas the girl in the first film was denied the chance to enjoy the sea (and everything it represents), the old woman in the third film takes her revenge by completely inverting tradition. The image of the old woman and those motifs of domesticity being carried away on the sea is unusual but also funny. In putting not only herself but also her whole house on the sea, the old woman has inverted tradition and has the ultimate revenge.