Pardeh

Like the other review on this film's page said, the first half is exquisite. In fact, it changed tones so much that at one point I had to check that I was actually seeing the same film. The performances are fine, no doubt, but there's really something to be said about how the script is structured and ultimately sort of collapses on itself. As seen by my rating here, I don't dislike the film completely. No, it has too much ambition for that, and the first half is fine, but it's extremely disappointing where it goes in its second half and instead just becomes a middling, ho-hum tale that seems to be stalled in no knowing where it really wants to go. What a shame indeed.

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Directed alongside fellow Iranian and the criminally underrated filmmaker Kambuzia Partovi, Panahi's latest manifests the same vehemence for the tyrannical Iranian government as in last year's deconstructionist documentary This Is Not A Film. His first full length feature film since 2006′s brilliant Offside, Closed Curtain is a more aggressively political comment on the creative restrictions he has bestowed on him, and his unrelenting perseverance to conquer them.

With the Iranian government banning citizens from owning dogs as domestic pets (harrowingly, a true sanction), an unnamed screen-writer (played expertly here by co-director Partovi) flees to a remote beachside villa with his furry best friend, a beautiful little dog called 'Boy'. In constant fear that he will be caught – with the dog left for dead – the erratic scribe quite literally shuns the outside world, barricading the doors and blacking out the windows. Stuck in their new, isolated sanctuary, the man and dog are paid an unexpected visit by two young Iranians (Maryam Moqadam and Hadi Saeedi). Like our hero, they too are on the run from corrupt state officials.

Forty-five minutes in, the austere, naturalistic situation is dispelled by an indulgent second half with many increasingly odd moments. These include the visionary's quintessential reflexive streams of consciousness moments; a break in the fourth wall with Panahi's jarring on-screen presence; and a discombobulating critique on the very unorthodox nature of filmmaking and hiding from the reality that lies beyond the camera lens. Some of these moments are unnerving in all the right, satirical ways, whereas some of these 'experiments' are so dispiritingly chaotic that one would think they were coming from filmmakers of far younger vintage.

In one particularly seething encounter, a friend of Panahi's suggests to the on-screen director that there is more to life than work; to which the candid director suggests that all other things are 'foreign' to him. After countless censorship cases and one two year long house arrest, it's perhaps unsurprising that Jafar Panahi is so entrenched in – and haunted by – his nefarious creations that he has become removed to the life outside. Stuck on a critical parapet, Closed Curtain takes a panoptic glance at silenced Iranian society, without ever feeling like he is gallantly speaking for it as he has done previously with Crimson Tide and The Circle. The result means that this clunky social commentary feels like it can only resonate in an audience of a similar distance – that of a Scandinavian film festival, perhaps – rather than the homegrown audience he has become the audacious patron of.

Despite an endearing first half, the drama wallows for too long in opaque political allegories and slight-of-hand trickery. Considering the limitations and policing these filmmakers encounter on a daily basis, it seems churlish to quarrel about the film's production values. Even still, it must be noted that Closed Curtain has some of the most horrendous sound recording and mixing I've witnessed in recent memory.

Forgetting these flaws, there is one half of an exceptional, poetic drama hiding behind the curtain here. An alienated chamber piece, Panahi and Partovi highlight the grave situation facing artists and freedom of expression in an otherwise oppressive Iranian regime. For, as long as they continue to fight the system from within and make films, I am happy to watch and recommend them.

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Closed Curtain ("The Movie") unrolls tactfully an intramingled flow of mind games and the real scenario of the director in an ingenious sense that the audience is highly confused to recognise this bilayer of plot line.

It surprisingly bundles the audience up with the feeling of being lost in a labyrinth within the overwhelming atmosphere of sanctions imposed by the oppressing political regime reigning in Persia. Walking hypnotizedly to the rough Caspian Sea may be a sarcastic symbol to yearn for salvation; the movie, however, leaves the audience with an open question of whether the events virtually happened when they watch the final scenes of the movie which are almost alike with the ones in the opening scene.

Pull the curtains, hide yourself, don't open the door, be afraid, you are being watched! A real portrail of a what it is like, when you are imprisoned. Panahi, wisely avoids making the movie overly political, thus letting all of us able to relate. No matter the issue in your life, fear locks you up. And it is fear to blame not the outside world. Sometimes we need an intruder to break us free, so that we can tear the curtains apart. Panahi, in line with the artistic tradition chooses a woman to be the bearer of liberty.

When the world's most famous banned-from-work film-maker manages to defy the authorities which imposed the ban, and for the second time in the row, one cannot help but admire so much courage and the film in question automatically becomes an event. Unlike his previous documentary/essay 'This is not a film', which was smuggled out of Iran on a USB stick inside a cake, 'Pardé' lists actor/screenwriter Kambozia Partovi as co-director, so technically, Panahi didn't violate the ban; Partovi was, not surprisingly, awarded the Silver Bear for best screenplay.

Naturally there was a lot of anticipation at the Berlinale regarding 'Pardé', and just as naturally quite a few critics were disappointed with the result, which they described as being too cryptic. However, if you know Panahi's works, it will come as no surprise to you that 'Pardé' contains many symbols and metaphors which require much thinking, elaboration, and may be interpreted in contradicting, yet equally relevant ways.

As for the story: an elderly man arrives at a seaside villa and immediately proceeds to cover the windows with black cloth, so that no light can be seen from outside. He then releases a cute little dog from his sports bag... why did he keep it there? I'd humbly ask future reviewers from abstaining to describe the story much further, for this is one of those films which can only be enjoyed when you do not know too much about them.

'Pardé', filmed within three days, is a marvel of psychological film making and easily the most personal film Panahi has ever done. The only film I remember in which a film-maker conveys so much of his interior to the spectator would be Polanski's 'Le Locataire'. Of course, Panahi's film, shot on a shoestring budget inside his own holiday house, cannot compare in terms of visual opulence, but given the modest means at his disposal, it manages to share a surprisingly vast scope of ideas and emotions - if you are familiar with his situation and previous work. If you are not, there's a good chance that you will find this film too opaque.