Kianoush Ayari, Re-reading a Cinematic Case File

Kianoush Ayari
Director

Kianoush Ayari
Re-reading a Cinematic Case File;
How Kianoush Ayari Created Enduring Frames for Iranian Cinema
Life in a 35mm Geography
 

Behnaz Shirbani:
Kianoush Ayari will turn 71 on the 23rd of Ordibehesht[13 May].
A filmmaker who, always with a proper understanding of the social issues surrounding him, has created characters and situations that few filmmakers have approached.
A conscientious filmmaker who, mainly due to his point of view, became one of the less prolific directors—and the main reason for this low productivity has been the censorship and banning of his films.
Kianoush Ayari is undoubtedly one of the most important post-revolution directors whose films were not appreciated as they should have been.
“Sofa”, his last feature film, remains banned after six years; and during this period, he returned to television, and after making the enduring series “Roozegare Gharib (Gharib's Story)”, he made “87 Meters”, which is awaiting broadcast.
On the occasion of his birthday, we took a look at his career and invite you to read it.

 

The Sole Measure (Ayar Tanha)
Javad Toosi (Critic):
Two characteristics of Kianoush Ayari have always been attractive and significant to me: one, his sense and experimental vision; and the other, the unique and distinctive definition he offers of realism in his works.
Since the days of Azad Cinema in the first half of the 1350s [1970s], when I was merely an ordinary and instinctive viewer of such films, I had kept a separate account for Ayari’s works—such as “Reflection”, “Soil Rain”, “Beyond the Fire”, and “The River of Poison”.
There was something “Ani” in his films that distinguished them from other experimental works of Azad Cinema.
Ayari’s way of confronting characters in a harsh nature and a predominantly primitive setting unfolded in a mixture of naturalism and realism.
His lonely, isolated, and troubled characters were not talkative, nor did they engage in melodramatic self-pity or play the victim; and it seemed they had no escape from their bitter and ill-fated destinies.
At the same time, Ayari’s experimental understanding in the body of work from that era in the Ahvaz Azad Cinema never turned into a pretentious or amateurish form or execution.
Perhaps one could say that in the same experimental world—which was the model and central focus of Azad Cinema productions under the management of Basir Nasibi—he maintained a professional and credible outlook.
For instance, if only it were possible to screen “The River of Poison” on some occasion, we could realize how far the technique, structure, and performative aspects of that film went beyond the productions of Azad Cinema in those days.

Ayari’s entrance into the realm of professional feature filmmaking in the 1360s [1980s], backed by this rich background, was highly intelligent, calculated, and still creative.

It is enough to see that in his two early feature films—Dust Devil (Tanoure-ye Div) and Beyond the Fire—he presents a different and distinctive interpretation of concepts such as tradition and modernity, primitivism, determinism and free will, love and violence, and... the carnal instincts of human beings, all within his unique narrative framework.

I mentioned the element of “narrative”—I should note that Ayari, in principle, has little affinity for classical and well-rounded storytelling.

Accordingly, we see that he does not place his characters in dramatic situations, and instead prefers the backdrop of his faint narrative to carry a documentary-like tone and form.

One might say that the logic of this controlled approach lies in preventing any disruption to the realism Ayari seeks; a realism in which acting should not draw attention, nor should the dramatic situations become exaggerated.

Beyond these traits, what gives most of Ayari’s films their artistic identity and distinction is his attention to mise-en-scène, the spatial layout of the scene, the freedom of movement and range of the camera, and the well-considered use of space and characters (in close coordination with one another).

For example, consider the entrance of Mohammad Ali (Jahangir Almasi) into his hometown in a rural desert region in Dust Devil, and how the station chief and officers interact with him along the way; the scenes showing his efforts to clear the blocked qanat and his final death at that site; the moment when Baba Aghil’s wife sews a button onto his shirt and the camera slowly pulls back from them; and the closing sequence, where (through a measured parallel montage) the contrast between tradition and technology is conveyed via the flowing qanat springs and the activation of the drilling rig.

Or the scene where Abdolsamad (Siamak Atlasi) retreats into his guard post, and the final clash between him and his brother Nozar (Khosro Shoja’ Zadeh), with Asieh’s (Nozar’s beloved) bangles being thrown into a marsh set against burning oil flames, as Asieh stands watching the conflict in Beyond the Fire.

Also worth noting is the inventive use of the cable car setting in the conclusion of Spectre of Scorpion, and Ayari’s employment of staircases in To Be or Not to Be to authentically reflect the characters’ critical emotional states.

Another prominent and commendable feature of Kianoush Ayari is his anti-stereotypical use of certain concepts, conventions, signs, and cinematic genres.

In Spectre of Scorpion, we encounter a strange and unusual instance of cinema within cinema, which simultaneously overflows with the psychology of the contradictory Iranian society as a whole.

In The Abadanis, we arrive at a new definition of cinematic adaptation and social cinema (with themes of marginalization, poverty, and migration) that bears no trace of slogans or clichés.

In The Paternal House, a fixed location formed at the heart of tradition is placed in confrontation and tension with historical conflict, allowing the film to explore, beneath its surface narrative, the deeper pathologies of a society steeped in violence, blind prejudice, and repression.

Alongside this unique cinematic body of work, Kianoush Ayari’s valuable experiences in television series production also deserve independent discussion.

One need only compare Roozegare Gharib (Gharib's Story) and Thousands of Eyes with other TV productions in terms of tone and narrative style, performance quality, visual aesthetics, and social context to recognize the distinction.

Here, we are clearly confronted with a new form of realism within a widely consumed medium.

Unfortunately, Ayari’s curious, thoughtful, meticulous, and non-conformist approach has also come with damaging consequences.

The Paternal House faced rigid opposition and was released belatedly. Iranian Spread (produced in 2000) has yet to be publicly screened. Sofa, five years after completion, remains banned, and the broadcast of the series 87 Meters has been repeatedly postponed over the past year.

It seems that cultural policymakers and managers, through deliberate indifference and irrationality, are determined to ignore the true value of an artist like Kianoush Ayari.

Indeed, the persistence of such restrictive, arbitrary, and culturally regressive treatment reveals a bitter truth: in a suspicious society that continues to define and implement politics, ideology, and cultural production solely from its own perspective, independence is impossible.

Steadfast
Abolhassan Davoodi – director, screenwriter, and producer:

Kianoush Ayari is one of those filmmakers whose acquaintance I trace back to the pre-revolution era, when he was active in the Youth Cinema of the time.

However, our friendship and professional collaboration took a more direct form when we worked together on the film The Grand Day.

The screenplay, co-written by me and Farid Mostafavi, created the initial connection between us. That said, our collaboration was limited to that one project.

You could talk about Kianoush Ayari for hours.

But I can say that in these four decades of Iranian cinema, during which we have, after all, seen various different groups, Kianoush Ayari has perhaps been one of the few individuals who has been far less appreciated than the potential of the position he has occupied and the work he has done.

Perhaps if anyone else had been in Ayari's place, with the kind of reactions his works have faced or the kinds of incidents that happened to him, and considering the way he works, which I think makes him a very talented filmmaker—like many other filmmakers who have this not-so-positive ability to turn their difficulties and problems into strengths—if they had films banned or were trapped in certain situations, they would have turned them into strengths and used the benefits from it.

Ayari did not do that.

Kianoush was one of those whose difficulties and challenges in his career were perhaps far greater than they should have been, and despite the works he has done, he did not receive the recognition or value he deserved.

Major problems arose in the production and release of his films, and they continue to this day.

Still, when I think of him, I can say he is one of the most steadfast people who acted according to his own ideas, his own interpretation, and understanding, which, in my opinion, is truly a correct perspective in cinema.

Without having the policy of turning them into a gift for himself.

This is also the reason why you see Kianoush Ayari, despite knowing more and having produced more valuable works than many of his contemporaries, has been less appreciated than them.

In my opinion, Kianoush Ayari, despite the different conditions that have existed and still exist in our society, has had the least change in terms of his intellectual position, his type of cinema, and his understanding of how cinema should be used throughout these years.

Shargh Newspaper, May 10, 2022, Year 19, No. 4274, Page 11