Doch das Böse gibt es nicht
The Berlinale 2020 winning movie by Mohammad Rasoulof or as we call it “your personal guide into terrors of regime”. Death penalty, the power of “no”, Bella ciao and SFX included. Doch das Böse gibt es nicht im Stadtkino.
Doch das Böse gibt es nicht (There is no evil) is a philosophical essay in four parts on the origins of terror and the power of human will. The director Mohammad Rasoulof has a long going history of resistance against the Iranian regime, and in his last glorious film he draws the attention to the topic of the death penalty. Capital punishment in Iran is used in hundreds of cases every year, working as an instrument of an infernal machine of regime. Yet the focus of the movie is shifted to the regular people who are drawn towards the inhumanity by the above-mentioned governmental force.
Every part of the movie is cinematically and narrative wise unique, which shows different colours of Rasoulof’s talent and open curious mind. The camera is somewhat detached to the extent of realism – no trickery or subjective character experiences. Impressive Steadicam used when required by a real-life situation showed on the screen. The common trickery of the unexpected endings in each story is merely a mirror of the reality, where life and death go side by side. We see the normal lives of the characters go by, but the shocking endings bring us back to harsh reality and its terrors.
Una mattina mi son’ svegliato e ho trovato l'invasor
The first part called There is no evil shows us the story of Heshmat (Ehsan Mirhosseini), a devoted family man. His silent life is shown through routines: pick up the wife and daughter from work and school, do groceries, feed the old mother, and help her with cleaning the apartment, go to sleep, wake up for work at 3 am. He is certainly a good man, yet somewhat withdrawn. His gaze keeps wondering and stops at traffic lights, pharmacy’s red and green neon signboard, his wife’s green gown. Early in the morning, he is at work: a small room with red lights on, that at 4 am turn green. He pushes the button. And we see the feet of the condemned, losing the stools under them - with a press of a button. A simple shot: just feet and pee pouring from dying bodies.
Mohammad Rasoulof was jailed for a year and now is not allowed to leave Iran due to his political beliefs. In his Berlinale interview, he shared a real-life story of a man he saw on the street. This man was interrogating Rasoulof in jail. The director followed a man and “realized how normal he was and how much he resembled all other people”. Rasoulof says: “I realized that there was no monster involved, there was no evil in front of me, just a person who has not questioned his own actions”.
E se io muoio da partigiano, tu mi devi seppellir’
Second part Sie sagte “Du schaffst es” shows the resistance, accompanied by famous bella ciao song. Pouya (played filigree by Kaveh Ahangar), is the only one who can’t sleep in a small barrack of rookies. He desperately tries to reach his girlfriend Tahmineh (Darya Moghbeli) by the phone and wakes the others up. The discussion between the brilliantly and almost parable-like written characters reveals that as rookies, they have the task to take the stool from under the condemned. Today it's Pouya’s turn. The military service is obligatory in Iran and the refusal to go through it is punished with travel ban, passport loss, imprisonment, or prolongation of the service.
“Es gibt keine Unschuldigen unter uns” – says one of the rookies. They must do it. However, due to his beliefs, Pouya cannot do it and tries to escape his duty. This parable about those faithful, those broken, and those silent martyrs is packed in thriller suspense and claustrophobic mazes of the prison. Second part of the film prepares us for the third one and gives hope.
Seppellire lassù in montagna sotto l'ombra di un bel fior
Contrary to the second part, the next one, called Geburtstag, is set in idyllic landscapes, and has a poetic feeling of the famous Colour of the pomegranate. Geburtstag is its own form of art: from harmonious visuals with theatrical poses and painting-like nature, to the philosophical discussions and ephemeral poeticism of the language. Javad (Mohammad Valizadegan) gets his 3 days off of military service, to visit Nana (Mahtab Servati) on her birthday. He wants to ask her father’s permission to propose and instead gets to know that the family is grieving over a close friend of Nana. Javad confronts Nana, assuming she was involved in something inappropriate with the late friend. Later he finds out this man was her teacher and mentor, and that he was executed for his political position. When Javad sees his picture during the memorial, he runs away in panic. (This story is too interesting to watch, so we spare you from spoilers).
But one of the scenes absolutely worth mentioning, can be called a festival of absurd. The father approves the proposal during the supper, and young fiancé cries of sadness and pain while the family dances around a couple singing along with a badly recorded version of Happy Birthday song. Geburtstag might be the most vital in understanding the red thread of the movie: the question of power. Nana’s mother in a private conversation with Javad says that the power lies in a human’s ability to say “no”. Javad, as a part of the system, questions this. He only assumes that the law is the power, and that with a “no” one can destroy his/her/their life within an unescapable system. In this story, a powerful female character, Nana, finds her way of resistance.
Questo è il fiore del partigiano morto per la libertà
The fourth part – Küss mich, summarizes the second and third parts, and pays a tribute to those rejecting the state and paying their price for it. An adult couple, Zaman (Jila Shahi) and Bahram (Mohammad Seddighimehr), lives in isolation, with no internet or cell phone connection. When their niece Darya (Baran Rasoulof) comes to visit them, the family confronts the ghosts of the past and reveals secrets. In comparison to the most effective and powerful previous parts, Küss mich is more of an unfinished story. The final piece of a film canvas puts the audience itself in a position of making the moral judgement. A powerful duet of Seddighimehr and Shahi is supported by a debutant Baran, the director’s daughter. She certainly is less natural and shrill in her part, especially in comparison to Seddighimehr. This, as well as the SFX fox in the ending, makes the story fall out from a very fragile and powerful narrative of the whole movie.
There is no evil, a movie about humanity seizing to exist under the pressure of an inhumane system, is particularly impressive when one knows it was filmed in secret without the authority’s approval. Being extremely political, the film does not play a mediocre game of cheesy tropes and over-dramatic portrayals. Its power lies in guerilla grayscale. This not-in-your-face style was probably dictated by realities of Iran, where one can’t say some words loud and clear. But exactly this finesse made this film so especially honest and terrifying, at least for me.
