Scott Marks
SDUN Film Critic

If there is such a thing as a bad movie to come out of Iran I have yet to see it and Bahman Ghobadi’s “No One Knows About Persian Cats,” which opens Friday, May 7, at the Reading Cinemas Gaslamp 15 does not break the cycle.

Ghobadi follows Negar Shaghaghi and Ashkan Koshanejad, a pair of young musicians recently released from prison and eager to put a band together in a land where rock ‘n’ roll is forbidden. The film originally had a 19-day shooting schedule. Filming without permits, Ghobadi and his crew lost a couple of days because the police arrested them twice. Conditions for the musicians weren’t much better – they had to travel miles outside of town and rehearse in a cowshed.

Born in Baneh, a northwestern province of Iranian Kurdistan, the 41-year-old Ghobadi’s first feature, “A Time for Drunken Horses” (2000), was also the first Kurd film in Iran’s history. “Persian Cats” chronicles the great effort musicians must face to combat censorship. It is a subject that is close to Ghobadi’s heart. Not one of his films has ever been legally shown in his native land.

Scott Marks: “No One Knows about Persian Cats” is being called a “semi-documentary.” I have trouble with that term. It’s like semi-pregnant, you either are or you aren’t. I’m from the old school. For me it’s a genre film, a musical shot in documentary style.

Bahman Ghobadi: I agree with what you are saying and I would like to add this. This film was supposed to be a complete documentary. All the locations, all the characters were substituting for what went on in real life. But in another sense this really is a documentary. Making underground music in Iran is very different from making underground music in the West. Everything is so controlled and many things are not allowed. When I met Ashkan and Negar they had just gotten out of prison. They had planned to leave Iran in 18 days. I had to follow them around Tehran on a motorcycle in order to shoot these scenes because it was their story that I was following.

Marks: So even though this film is narrative in spirit, due to the conditions in Iran and the way they shun independent music you would still consider this a documentary because of the outlaw manner in which the film was shot.

Ghobadi: That’s exactly what I am saying and in that sense it is right to call it a documentary. I didn’t want to sit in a studio and interview them in a traditional documentary manner like many other movies. I love Michael Moore, but I said to myself that I am not going to find 3,000 cinemas that will show my film. I had to find some way of bringing the voices of these young performers to the world. I used about 20 percent of my own familiarity with cinema to bring their story to the screen.

Marks: You directed your first feature film a decade ago and have subsequently made five films, yet your movies do not play in your native country. Considering the vast critical acclaim and the number of awards your movies have garnered, has this helped to gain an underground following for your films or are they still banned in Iran?

Ghobadi: They will not allow my films to be screened in Iran. If any of the media reports on me in Iran today, the journalists who do the reporting will be thrown in jail. The newspapers have apologized, but they cannot publish any stories about me because they have been told not to. That is why I gave my movie gratis to Iran. They can distribute it for free. I am not really thinking of my awards right now. I have not yet achieved the things I had hoped to achieve. I hope to find a larger audience for the issues that I address with my films. When you build a wall and install a window in it you want a large group of people to look through it. I want a larger part of the world to see the things I’ve done.

Marks: Ashkan and Negar want to form a rock band – he’s an organist and she’s a vocalist – yet we barely hear either perform. Why is that?

Ghobadi: You see three or four pieces of their music in the movie. Throughout the years they have been making music they have had maybe one concert and even then the authorities came in and broke it up. You see this in the movie. There is one concert they are planning to have and it ends with Ashkan falling from the window. So it is a reality. Even though you hear 40 minutes of music in the movie I didn’t want to have the camera in the studio showing you performers playing music. I wanted you to see Tehran and the world these characters inhabit. I wanted to make a visual picture of the poetry that these kids were creating. I wanted to show you the tension and unease that is Tehran. It is as if there is a bomb under the city waiting to go off.

Marks: Your film comes complete with several built-in music videos, for lack of a better term, that simultaneously advance and darken the plot as the movie progresses. Can you talk about the planning that went into these musical segments?

Ghobadi: In following these guys and working with them I was beginning to understand the darkness, the bitterness that lurks underneath. If you listen to the music, that is the direction the lyrics will take you in. Don’t forget in 106 minutes I was trying to give you 103 minutes of music and also show you satire, to make you laugh. I didn’t want to convey complete darkness and suffering to Western audiences. As a viewer, you are not at fault here. You’re a guest coming into my house to watch my film. And I’m even charging you for it! But they are not really music videos because my intent is to show you the reality in the situations.

Marks: I only used that term because if removed from the basic structure of the film, the musical numbers would stand on their own and still be able to get their points across.

Ghobadi: Others have actually said the same thing. They tell me that I have given them a new idea about how to film video clips, how to take the camera out of the studio and into real life. I am actually very pleased to hear this. Most of the music videos that you see today are some representation of virtual reality. It is possible to use them to show a more real side of life.

Marks: Why did the police officer take Ashkan and Negar’s dog away and how is that scene a clue to the meaning of the film’s title?

Ghobadi: I have a friend in L.A. who came to visit me in Iran and he brought his dog, Rover. He was riding a taxi through Tehran when a couple of (police officers) stopped the car. He was in the back seat smoking a cigar with the dog in his lap. They broke his cigar and he told the officers that the dog was his son. They grabbed the dog by the throat and were about to suffocate to death. My friend tried to open the door to reach for the dog, but they wouldn’t let him. Finally they threw the dog back in his lap and told him that this will be the last time he brings his dog to Iran. In the West you see people walking their dogs and cats all over the place, but in small towns in Iran you never see people walking outside with their pets. Even in Tehran you will very seldom see people walking their pets. This is something that I wanted to show. Persian cats are very valuable and I wanted to show that these musicians are no less valuable, but like the cats they are supposed to be kept inside. I wanted to show them to the world.

Marks: This is the second film you shot in Panavision. Come to think of it, you are the only Iranian filmmaker who, to the best of my knowledge, shoots in Panavision. What was it about the anamorphic lens that seemed appropriate for your current movie?

Ghobadi: We had to shoot it very quickly and I chose to use the bigger lens in order to be more faithful to reality. I feel that this is the best kind of lens to use to film music. I always base the choice of lenses on my feelings. Just as when you see somebody on the street and you are drawn to them. You suddenly change your eye’s lens and zoom in on this person. It’s your feeling that tells you to go closer. My feeling about this lens was good.