Sometimes the text of life takes second seat to subtexts. The text is enigmatic. It is easier not to deal with the main plot and give priority to the subplots, which will not lead to a definitive conclusion. Sometimes, too, the margins loom larger than the center and steal the limelight. One of the reasons for this is that it is always safer to deal in marginal issues; for example, what we have gone through in the past year as a nation is a complicated text that cannot be easily deciphered. It may even pose some danger to us or at least give us headache. We are unable to decipher the text because it is multifaceted and confusing.

The events of the past twelve months have bred a plethora of subtexts. Some have gained so much attention that they preoccupied our thoughts for some time, like the internet campaign to show solidarity with a political prisoner who had been ridiculed by the authorities for having tried to escape the university campus to avoid arrest wearing women's dress. Iranian men started to post their photographs wearing women's headdress. The episode was rife with symbolic significance though in essence it was a political act.

There were other subtexts that are not as rich but that do not leave us alone, like {Bahman Ghobadi}'s letters, films and his own personality. The triad of Bahman Ghobadi+[Roxana Saberi}, Bahman Ghobadi+{Abbas Kiarostami}, and finally Bahman Ghobadi+the unofficial music of Iran made him forever the man of margins and subtexts.

Of course, we cannot fully appreciate "the importance of being Bahman Ghobadi." He can only do this. Ghobadis of the world are not few. He is the embodiment of an ambitious and desiring human being who is willing to step on any principles to become what he likes to be seen as.

I want to talk about the adventures of Ghobadi not as a filmmaker but as a human being, although most of his films are named after animals.

The Cat's Horn

Before 2009, like any other social group or community, artists were trying to claim their rights within the framework of various societies and associations. Few people outside their guilds would hear about their predicaments.

Starting in December 2008, however, many artists belonging to various fields pushed timidity aside and chose not to be afraid of the "cat's horn". They joined the people who, regardless of their numbers, had civic demands, which could potentially open the door to easier artistic activities.

Come 2009 and artists were no longer only artists, they were mediums for presidential candidates, each of whom had followings proportionate to their popularity. A two-way relationship had formed between the public and the famous. Artists ceased to be "celebrities". They became accessible. They were part of the society at large and alongside people on the streets. They did not cringe from those who rushed to them. The public was immersed in a larger excitement and they had set celebrity concerns for later.

In those days, no one had heard much of Ghobadi. As the country became entrenched in the race for the sensitive presidential election starting in January 2009, a name clinched the headlined -- Roxana Saberi. Three months into her arrest on charges of espionage, Bahman Ghobadi announced his engagement to the journalist/correspondence in marked celebrity pomp. He wrote a heart-wrenching letter in which he proclaimed his intimacy and affection for the Japanese-American-Iranian. All eyes turned to Ghobadi despite Roxana's father's denial of any such engagement.

The event was discussed for some time on the sidelines of the election fervor and tumult. The director's name was dropped with frequency. Many said that his letter was a justified attempt by a celebrity to help out an individual in the throes of the state's ruthless security apparatus. Others accused him of wanting to use the Saberi connection to gain more attention. To this group, Ghobadi was nothing but a carpetbagger.

The mawkish letter of this forlorn lover, which came only a day after Cannes accepted his film, No One Knows About Persian Cats, on 21 April didn't change the fate of Saberi. Ghobadi always thought highly of himself. He was a key shaker and mover capable to draw the world's attention to Saberi, while the world was already more focused on Saberi's fate than on that of a nation.

If the Saberi episode wasn't a misunderstanding, it was certainly a headline catcher and also an embarrassing foul up by the security apparatus. This episode ended with the release of Saberi in May. She didn't do interviews for a while and later just thanked his (simple) friend, Bahman Ghobadi, for his support. She didn't even bother to approve or disapprove this man's claim. The lover must have suffered tremendously at this lackluster reception of his emotional magnanimity.

Roxanna Saberi has now a book, Between Two Worlds, but her escapade is like a stain on Ghobadi's shirt. Listening on the rumors surrounding Ghobadi, we realize that he has always been a romantic lover (his one-way engagement to {Samira Makhmalbaf} a few years back).

The Saberi episode was still hot when Ghobadi decided to take on his role model of the globalized film industry, Abbas Kiarostami, the godfather of Iranian cinema in various film festivals, a director that tries not to involve himself in cheap, marginal issues, nor does he meddle with politicians. Kiarostami never answered Ghobadi's February letter but controversy surrounded this correspondence. Ghobadi used the effective technique of attacking big names to be in the news. Meanwhile, he was never out on the streets with people.

Ghobadi is fainthearted. Had he been brave, he could've become the champion of the Kurdish plight. But it seems that he never appreciated the power to use his talents for a meaningful cause. He is a one-night-stander. Now his Persian Cats… are as cuddly and beautiful as they are ready to claw at his face. Overtaken by fame, he takes his film to various festivals around the world, is interviewed left and right, but undoubtedly this film will be a black hole for his reputation as an artist.

The Persian cats of his story are neither the "horses" nor the "turtles" of Kurdistan. These cats have access to the wires and know the reality that Ghobadi has tried to play up, although Ghobadi's film is intended not for them but for the jury of international festivals and their audiences.

Ghobadi shows us that he is not even an ocean a few inches deep. He is a puddle about to go dry. He has exchanged other values for fame and success and when these values expire they take everything down with them, including fame and success. Ghobadi has forgotten professional ethics and rules of friendship. His film has little benefit to the unofficial music of Iran or for young Iranian musicians. He never drew a faithful picture of a reality that has had many actors. Let us not forget {Hana Makhmalbaf} with that botched up film that had nothing to say except "See Me."

Final Word

Bahman Ghobadi is the epitome of an attitude that is seeping into our culture. We want to sell ourselves to the highest bidder. This doesn't mean that we are selling our bodies but we are selling humility and honesty. And this is not limited only to artists. It is a problem that we all have to grapple with. There is a huge race going on for being seen and becoming successful.

Expensive cars, fanciful dress, space-age hairdo, ornate apartments and large mansions, travel to different parts of the world, plastic surgery, expensive restaurants, high-brow coffee shops, intellectual showiness and big lies, are all taken to be markers of happiness and success. But we are not happy nor are we successful. We don't even seem happy or successful.