[Reza Kianian], whose “unique portrayal” in A Piece of Bread was repeatedly used as a selling point in commercial previews for the movie, wrote an article in the Shargh Newspaper in which he severely attacked certain aspects of Iranian cinema. To support his case, he points out that it remains a mystery as to why a large proportion of films produced yearly in Iran are made in the first place since they neither sell well, nor create even the slightest stir in local or international film festivals, and, worse of all, some are never seen at all since they don’t make it to the big screen. Of course, it would take an entirely separate article to discuss some of the arguments he makes. However, here I’d like to take the question “why were these films made in the first place?” and pose it for Mr. Tabrizi’s film, in which Mr. Kianian is such a “unique presence".

Two years ago, when Kamal Tabrizi’s previous film, Marmulak (The Lizard), took throne as one of the most important cinematic, social, and cultural events in Iran since the Revolution, and earned its place as the highest grossing film in Iranian cinema, Tabrizi was forced to point out countless times that it was in no way intended as a satirical critique of Islamic clerics; that, in actuality, it was a work in praise of spirituality. The jaded theme of The Lizard shimmered through in the film, but no one offered any statistical evidence (surveys or polls) as to what was behind the incredible popularity and record sales -- sales that were so successful that a certain group could no longer come to terms with the jaw-dropping numbers and used numerous excuses to ban the film from theaters -- of the movie? Could this success be owed to the brand of spirituality that Tabrizi and his team discussed in official media outlets or was it due to the other, more popular, appeal of the film’s notion of spirituality that the rest of the country seemed to constantly be talking about?

In the past two years, policymakers in the film industry have created and publicized a phrase whose meaning still seems relatively vague: “Spiritual Cinema”. [Safar Harandi], a former journalist for the hardline Keyhan Newspaper, and the current government’s Minister of Culture and Islamic Guidance, announced that the government will only support an artistic endeavor "with its head in the Heavens”. Financial or other kinds of support for this head-in-heavens realm of art have, up until now, created the same kind of damage for Iranian cinema as policies in defense of an art of "tolerance and moderation" did during the beginning of {Mohammad Khatami}’s administration. Consequently, these days we have our pick of filmmakers such as {Ali Reza Davudnezhad}, who continues to fill his pockets on profits made on garbage films like Hasht Pa (Octopus) and Havoo, and speaks of “fighting against immorality” and maintaining “spiritual significance”, which mean that even when you go to watch a family comedy like Zir e Derakhte Hooloo (Under the Peach Tree), the frantic efforts made by the filmmaker to include things that are “deep and meaningful” completely ruins the mood.

Of course, Tabrizi’s does have his own religious roots and tendencies, and even more justified is his freedom to express those ideas in any form he wishes, but when we expect people to pay attention to what we have to express, and spend money doing so no less, we should, at the very least, show a bit of respect for their rights. The rights of an audience, in addition to hearing our words (which shouldn’t be too preachy or moralizing), should also include being exposed to new ideas and pleasing aesthetics (“aesthetics”, by the way, does not include taking our camera into the middle of a forest or meadow somewhere and taking close up shots of trees). We Iranians have yet to discover a post-1920s style of religious belief or concept of “miracle” in our faith-based movies. In 1928, when Iranian audiences had yet to see Dokhtar e Lor (The Girl from Lorestan is credited with being Iran's first full length movie shown to the public) , Denmark’s {Karl Tudor  Dryer} made Joan of Arc, a film that even today still moves us; a film that’s left its mark on the study of visual arts (have you seen {Robert Rordiguez}’s Sin City?). Mr. Dryer, a devout Catholic, made a magnificent film called Ordet (The Word) during the sunny decade of the 1950s -- a period when Iran’s movie scene was about as classy and respectable as a greasy diner -- about an eccentric young Christian man who, at the end of the movie, performs the miraculous feat of bringing his widowed brother’s beautiful wife back to life. We can find many examples that trace back to this story. And now, years later, when it’s decided is time for spirituality to make its run in Iranian cinema, does it seem appropriate that we remember to make films like A Piece of Bread and neglect to consider whether such a film should add anything to ourselves or our audience, let alone the world of art?

A Piece of Bread is a story that revolves around an uneducated soldier (though it remains a mystery to the audience where exactly it is that he’s arrived from; the glimpses we are given of his birthplace remind us of a distant planet, and we’re confused as to how they were able to draft him in the first place). It’s obvious from the very beginning that he is socially inept in even the most simple things (which is surprising when we take into consideration the fact that the town he’s moved to is nothing close to being a big city, but is, in fact, a small, remote village whose residents are pretty simple-minded themselves). He spends hours at a time daydreaming while gazing at walls, his smile never fading from his face even while people ridicule him or take advantage of his child-like existence, and despite all this, rather than pitying our protagonist, we’re encouraged to learn from his behavior and view it as his salvation: for his heart is so pure that even a two-day old newborn might be more cynical. The pinnacle act we witness from our young soldier, if we move beyond his otherwise absentminded approach to life, is when he sees an old man with torn shoes and decides to wait until the old guy is asleep so he can leave him his army boots. And what’s the miraculous climax of the film? During his visit to a sacred tomb, he encounters a man who reads him a piece of scripture (verses from Chapter Maryam in Quran) and our hero is instantly able to memorize it.

Holy books and the scriptures within them have earned the respect of ordinary people all over the world. But what good does it do, really, for the protagonist to be memorizing the scripture? The most obvious analogy underlying this story is to that of Islam’s prophet, Mohammad, who was also uneducated and experienced his revelation in the form of the Quran; But the reason Prophet’s name has secured its place in history is because of his role as an effective peacemaker in his society -- not because he was a simple man who received big words from a holy presence. 

The divine character in Mr. Tabrizi’s film would need a crew of people just to blow his nose for him. What difference does it make for anyone if he is able to instantly memorize a few verses from the Quran, or even the entire book for that matter? In an anxious society with so many of its own feverish concerns, what purpose do films like A Piece of Bread serve? (I hope my question isn’t interpreted as being spiritually metaphorical -- I’m looking for a straight answer).

In the world of the film, who cares about or is truly moved by this miracle that the soldier experiences? Can this young man do something so that the owner of the butcher shop/restaurant/internet café who also gives rides on his motorcycle to supplement his income and who could very well be the “bad guy” in the film, is motivated enough to stop for a moment and reflect on his own life? The only person who pays any attention to the miracle in the film is a grumpy and cynical old man who carries his funeral shroud under his arm and is in search of a miracle worker to sign his cloth so that he can be granted access to heaven after his burial. When he finds out that the soldier has done exactly this behind his back, he becomes infuriated; I’ll digress by saying that this is a door into the dangerous world of superstition which we’d better avoid opening for now. The reality is that the relationship between seasonal movies like this with “spirituality” (if this term is worthy of any honor), is the same as taking, for instance, a flock of superstitious people who’ve gathered behind the mosque to receive divine blessings. They are each there with their own wants and wishes, munching on cooked beans and barbequed meat until it’s their turn to go inside and experience a “miracle” so that they can return home and wait until it’s time for the next visit.

The “holy” figures with minor roles in the film are all portrayed by {Reza Kianian} in “unique” ways: and old man with a somewhat idiotic expressions on his face, who mostly spew out nonsense phrases. And while we “see” that this character(s) is taking advantage of the young soldier, we “feel” -- or, perhaps, are supposed to feel -- that the old guy is opening unknown doors of wisdom for him. But, unfortunately, to understand such deep insights, we’d need to spend an entire lifetime watching films like this -- if, mind you, we don’t get incredibly unlucky and the government stays intact and spiritual films continue to be churned out one after another.

Try this exchange of dialogue on for size:

Old miller: “Close your eyes . . . now what do you see?”
Soldier: “Nothing!”
Miller: “Well, that’s it! Nothing means everything!”

A goofy smile appears on the young protagonist’s face and the miller proceeds to roar in laughter. Here’s what I don’t understand: why is it that in the story of “Pinocchio”, when the “alley cat” tells Pinocchio that he can grow a coin tree by planting his coins in the ground, we assume that the poor fellow is a swindler, but when the story ends we feel as if we’ve learned a thing or two from Pinocchio’s adventures, matured a bit, and even to this day we’ll sometimes recall the important lessons we gained from the movie when we want to make certain decisions. Maybe the reason is that during the time of {Carlo Clodi}, the guidelines for “spiritual fiction” weren’t so straight, proper, and narrow….

Three last words:

1/ The most enjoyable part of A Piece of Bread are the opening credits of the film, before we enter into the annoying world of the actual film; it consists of attractive, pop-art inspired graphics that, thankfully, have nothing in common with the otherwise exceedingly consecrated film itself.

2/ At one point, a few young girls in the town start joking with and making fun of the young soldier who, naturally, keeps his head down and looks at the ground. Finally, though, he’s tempted enough to look up and glance at the girls, at which point the exceptionally bright sunlight glares in his eyes and he cannot see them (surely, this is a metaphorical miracle that prevents him from committing a sin). Can a reliable, trustworthy source please explain to me why it is that in these spiritual concoctions, the opposite sex, or namely women, are always the ones represented as barriers at the threshold of enlightenment and purity that the hero must face during his ascent? Or, at least, can someone help clear my confusion by proving that the historically documented and acknowledged role of female as “saintly mother”, “holy goddess”, “peacekeeper”, and “soul mate” are just fake nametags?

3/ I also didn’t understand the supposedly “unique portrayals” given by Reza Kianian and {Roya Nonahali}, the female protagonist. This is neither the first nor the best example of an actor who plays two or more parts in a movie. This is neither the first nor the most impressive case in which Nonahali has thrown on a chador and played a religious role. Nonahali began her career with a part in {Mohsen Makhmalbaf}’s Arusie-ye Khuban and continued with a second, somewhat archaic film entitled Ab Ra Ghel Nakonim (Let’s Not Muddy the Water), in which she played a similarly pious role. It also neither the first nor the most paramount instance of a hook-nosed character, such as that portrayed by Mr. Kianian in A Piece of Bread, who shows us a unique personality that becomes more profound during the movie; this nose, whose presence can be dated back to Cleopatra, was also recently planted on the face of {Nicole Kidman} so that she might experience something different and give us a “unique portrayal” in her role as {Virginia Wolf} in The Hours. Surely, Miss Kidman can point out to Mr. Kianian that for a “unique portrayal”, one which might even earn an Oscar, a garishly prominent nose alone won’t cut it, that other important things, which can only be achieved from the script, directing, quality of the role, and strength of an actor, are also needed.

Translated from Farsi by {Kianoush Naficy}