THE STORY – In Tehran’s underground art scene, two young women build a blissful world of freedom and sisterhood. But when their creative circle is exposed, they must fight to save each other.
THE CAST – Mahshad Bahram, Hana Mana, Farzad Karen & Zohreh Pirnia
THE TEAM – Hossein Keshavarz & Maryam Ataei (Directors/Writers)
THE RUNNING TIME – 97 Minutes
The world is struggling. Here in America, everyday citizens find themselves on the wrong end of governmental fury with seemingly constant ICE raids, subsequently leading to bold, resistant action. And in Iran, protests have turned deadly as the government brutally cracks down on those who oppose it, even taking such authoritarian measures as shutting down Internet and phone services to prevent mass communication. Regardless of where these fights for freedom may be occurring, one thing is consistently clear: the will of a unified people cannot and will not be deterred, even if severely outmatched in power and ability, not to mention in literal ammunition. “The Friend’s House is Here,” the bold new film from directors Hossein Keshavarz and Maryam Ataei, subtly captures that exciting, dangerous feeling of community pushing back against unfair authority, told through a straightforward story of friendship.
Before anything else, this is a platonic love story. Most of the film depicts two best friends interacting in their home city of Tehran in ways that don’t drive the plot in a typical way, but instead infuse the story with a relatable, sympathetic energy. It’s impossible to watch them and not feel endeared by their connection. The two friends are Pari (Mahshad Bahram) and Hanna (Hana Mana). They’re both artistic individuals: Pari creates and performs in avant-garde (and notably, illegal) plays, and Hanna is a dancer. Their art intersects in interesting ways, such as Hanna’s filmed dances being used in Pari’s plays. They represent the more progressive, youthful contingent of modern-day Iran, and thus, the practice of their artistic abilities is seen as subversive. This defiant creative spirit proves to be dangerous when the powers that be get in the way of their ability to express themselves.
The two lead actresses bring a necessary, exciting energy to their characters, and brilliantly, the film doesn’t imbue them with identical defiant spirits. Hanna, perhaps unsurprisingly given that she’s a dancer, moves through Tehran with exuberance, not caring who sees her and disproves, often confrontationally, of her liberative ways. Pari, on the other hand, chooses to show her resistance less ostentatiously with her underground plays. One conversational scene perfectly encapsulates their differing perspectives: Pari discusses political matters, while Hanna focuses on the movements of celestial bodies as explanations for earthly events. But despite their opposing mindsets, they find solidarity and companionship in each other. Their bond is clear from the film’s start, thanks in large part to the excellent work by both actresses. Bahram has an appropriate grounded energy, choosing to let her emotions loose, most notably in the repeated scenes that show her highly dramatic performance in her Brechtian plays. And Mana’s Hanna leaps through life seemingly without a care in the world. Watching her vivacious manner of living and moving, it’s easy to occasionally forget that her lifestyle choices are seen as oppositional to those in power in her country; it’s often not until a stranger chastises her for making a public scene or not wearing a hijab that the audience, and the character, are snapped back to reality.
Similarly, the world they live in has a level of casual danger to it that the characters are clearly used to. Explosions and war are discussed with flippancy, showing how these young folk who have always lived in a post-revolutionary Iran have come to expect strife as a regular factor of life. This mindset is reflected in the filmmaking, which revels in long takes that are impressive artistically but, as the filmmakers discussed at the Sundance premiere, were also a product of necessity. It was easier for them to film with minimal camera setups because, like Pari’s plays, the creation of this movie was an underground, illegal act itself. This makes director of photography Ali Ehsani’s effective camerawork even more impressive. Ehsani’s use of lighting is especially stunning, with several compositions featuring huge swaths of light that cut through the frame with such power that they feel weaponized.
The film drops viewers directly into its world with little explanation, giving the feeling of being organically enveloped in the artist’s community, around which the film centers. Relevant information is doled out slowly, requiring the audience to pick up on context clues. This trust in the audience is refreshing, given how many films overly explain things, oftentimes out of fear that at-home viewers will be distracted by a multitude of other screens. Admittedly, outside the instant when the drama kicks in, it’s sometimes plotless to the point that it can be hard to tell where the film is going and why. But the build-up to what could be classified as the structurally typical inciting incident is so well-crafted and performed that just living in the world of these creative people is captivating enough.
And it’s exactly this world that gives the film a quiet feeling of hope. “The Friend’s House is Here” highlights the power of community, both artistic and otherwise. In the face of oppressive authority, even the seemingly simple act of creation can be a powerful act of resistance. It’s a way to express dissatisfaction in an uncompromised way, turning a personal experience into one that can be shared and spread. In both the story the film tells and its very existence, “The Friend’s House is Here” represents an act of beautifully constructed and inspiring defiance.
