Hey, everyone. "Moriarty" here with some Rumblings From The Lab.
Stop snickering. I meant, do you want to know about a new Iranian film that Shooting Gallery is distributing around the country right now? Because it sounds like a real winner. I know Harry saw it just the other night, but hasn't had a chance to write about it yet. His praise matched the reviewer below in enthusiasm, though, so I'll definitely be seeking this out as soon as I can. I certainly hope we hear more from our new reviewer, especially about films like this one that are in danger of flying under the radar.
Harry & Moriarty,
I've never written a movie review before. A week ago, I saw an incredibly cool movie. I came home and wrote a review. I don't know why really, but the movie made me do it.
It was "The Day I Became A Woman," the new Iranian film by Makhmalbaf's wife. It's part of Shooting Gallery's series. I've been a fan of AICN for years and noticed you hadn't reviewed it, hence this pitch.
I've written for online mags (bike.com, wired, wirednews) but movies are new. I hope it's something you can use.
I'll be attending the world premiere of "Ghost World" and "Jackpot" as well, in case your interested in reviews of either, or both.
Sometimes the best films confound us, not only because of their internal mysteries, but because they go about their business with quietude. Marzieh Meshkini's shimmering new film, "The Day I Became A Woman" will not end up in your local video store under Small Allegorical Movies That Made It Big, or Movies That Brilliantly Use Bicycles As A Metaphor, but it should. Although there's not one gun shot, bomb blast or breast bounce, there's more action and life in it's short length than in movies with budgets twice as wide, soundtracks twice as thick, or huge, marquee stars. As they say about size; it's what you do with it.
In 78 minutes, the film's linked narrative charts the lives of three women. The first, a wide-eyed nine-year old named Hava (Hassan Nebhan), is told on her birthday that she's now a woman and can no longer play with her boy friend. It's not the family's whim, it's Muslim law. This is no typical coming of age story, with fast cars and kisses at the drive-in, this is Iran.
The girl's last hour before womanhood lacks frenzy; she slowly shares an erotic lollipop with her friend, she plays in the sea with a wind-up fish, the stick she uses for a sundial casts a lessening shadow, as noon (her bewomaning hour) arrives. Like the films of Tacita Dean, who's current exhibit at the Tate Britain in London has the fingerprints of a young master, Meshkini's film slows time.
What's truly eyecatching is the second story, in which Ahoo (Shabnam Toloui) attempts to outrace not only her female competitors, but her doomed marriage. Bicycles are made for many things; Seurat-lit Sundays in the park, the rickshaw frenzy of Asia, the speedfreak strongmen of the Tour de France. But there's never been a movie in which the bicycle and rider unite with an inseparable will, strong enough to outlast life's drudgeries; a bad marriage, town politics. It's not that Ahoo's motion can't be stopped, it's that her choice to ride cannot be undone. Head down, she determinedly pedals past her horsebound husband and the town's frowning, disapproving elders.
In the bike race (as in all bike races) the elements are constant. There's the sun, wind, a flat seaside road, and competition. Equalized, the women pedal wearing traditional muslim garb, and they all ride the same model of bicycle. A passing sign perfunctorily says, "You Are Here" and although Ahoo's struggle may be enacted across the road (which appears to be an endless circle with no finishline) her predicament is as internal as it gets.
All three stories revolve around moments of transformation. In the first, the girl, like the shadow of her stick, lives in direct relation to her approaching womanhood. Her life isn't just dictated by time, it *is* time. When noon hits, as morning becomes afternoon, she'll be made anew. In the last, an old woman with a new inheritance visits the city to buy everything she's always dreamed of. It's her last chance to be the kind of woman she's imagined; it's shop-till-you-drop, but with mortal stakes.
Just as a great meal is half food, half ambience, Meshkini's movie feels like film as much as it feels like life. It's as if it were shot through thin lenses. The stark landscape, the dust on the Hava's face, even the actor's voices feels closer to the celluloid through which they're projected. It's this thinness that allows life to seep through.
Will, want, freedom and transformation aren't measures of insecure art, and incredibly, Meshkini's first film is filled with all four. Her husband, legendary filmmaker Mohsen Makhmalbaf contributed the script, and will doubtlessly be credited with her development. Seeing "The Day I Became A Woman" may not earn you a water cooler stripe, but you will leave the theater changed. Regardless of the multitude of reasons we give for watching films, to be sent out into the street feeling as if you've been touched by a steady, sure hand, is a good enough reason to return.
