The French film critic-turned-filmmaker Jacques Rivette once said that “every film is a documentary of its own making.” In the case of the Iranian film “Bidad,” or “Outcry,” it’s a work as much about a young woman named Seti (Sarvin Zabetian) who is trying to sing as it is about its creator Soheil Beiraghi as he tries to hold onto his own voice when the world around him would rather he be silenced.
Written, directed, produced and co-edited by Beiraghi, who shared that his go-to karaoke song is Amy Winehouse’s “Back to Black,” the film premiered as part of the 59th Karlovy Vary International Film Festival this week. However, its inclusion was kept a secret by the organizers until right before the festival in order to “protect the safety of the film’s delegation” while they traveled out of the country due to fears of retaliation over its depiction of the Iranian government.
Speaking about the movie through an interpreter, Beiraghi discussed the importance of art, his connection with the character and government repression.
I’ve talked with lots of filmmakers and many of them have told me that every film is a miracle — that the amount of work to get a film off the ground can often seem impossible. What was Day 1 on this production like for you as not just the creative mind, but also the film’s producer?
It actually took a few months to start the project because I waited for the people I wanted to be able to join. I also wanted those working on the film to actually want to work on a project like this. That took some time. Projects like this, it’s not really about finding a co-worker, but a co-fighter. It’s more than just work, it’s a fight.
What is it that you are fighting for?
The thing that we’re fighting for is freedom. The freedom of a human, a woman, to be able to sing, which sounds very basic, very fundamental. But not all basic and fundamental things are easy to achieve. It was a fight to gain that fundamental right back. When someone sings, they are saying something, but there is a person underneath. When you take the singing away, the voice away, then they’re not able to express themselves. That person is not coming out. It’s a fight to get that person out.
Is making films your version of singing? Do you see yourself in this character and how she’s striving to express herself?
Yes, exactly. It’s interesting that everything that happened in the movie, step by step, happened to me in real life and in real time too. I made three films under the government’s approval, just like Seti in the film where she tries to first sing legally and go through the legal process. Then I decided to make a film without the approval, just like Seti when she decides to sing freely without all the processes that need to be gone through. She sang on her own, just herself, and I finished a film on my own as well. She got in a fight and I got in a fight with the system. She got hurt in an unjust war and I am getting hurt in an unjust war. Through the love that she received, she recovered and found herself again. It’s the same for me. I’m receiving a lot of love and appreciation.
This whole process made me a stronger person and I really found myself. I found myself because, for the first time, I made a film that was as clear as things could be. Everything was as direct and as clear as the story could be told. To me, it’s rewarding.
Midway through the film, after Seti has found her voice and continues this fight, she pays a heavy cost for her art. How do you, on a personal level, deal with the potential of your fight costing you very dearly?
It’s the totalitarian systems that do this. That’s their trick. What they do is that they make you weak, they make you lose everything. One by one, there’s nothing left and you’re alone. This is what they do, they try to take away. They take your confidence away, they take everything away and you’re not able to perform. You have to be really careful to not let them succeed. You have to not let this mind control affect you because you lose your sanity. If there’s nothing left of your sanity, there’s not much you can do.
During this whole process of getting confiscated, getting questioned, my materials taken away, all these things that happened, the only thing that kept me sane and allowed me to maintain my integrity is the belief that this is a process of losing my skin and gaining a new one and toughening up. It’s a very unjust war to fight. You’re just a single person against a system, so it’s really easy for them to take away everything with a stroke of a pen. You have to use that sadness to create something.
When Seti meets a charismatic stranger early on, his energy changes the dynamic of the film and helps channel her sadness. Is the film about finding community as a way to fight back?
When you’re going through hardship like this, nobody really wants to be in your place. They either turn their back on you and walk away or they try their best to show as much compassion as they can. The character that you mention, Hey You, is one of those latter people. He really tries because he’s lost everything and he doesn’t think he has anything to offer any more. He’s all gone and all burned. It’s done for him. But he shows as much compassion, as much love, as he can to protect her, to be there for her. That’s the story of those people.
You mentioned the idea of shedding skin, which made me think of the caterpillar Seti has. Was that something you always had as a core visual motif?
Sometimes your subconsciousness surpasses you, in a way. Sometimes you write something and then that thing impacts what is going to happen. You write about a cocoon that will become a butterfly some day just as the same thing is happening to you.
I know you want to go back to Iran and make more films. What will be going through your mind when you return home?
I’ve already experienced a level of fear that I don’t think anything would top. Imagine it’s 9 a.m., you’re in your office, you’re editing your film, it’s just you and your assistant. You’re editing the product of two years of thinking and shooting and work. A gentleman in a very nice suit says that he has an interview with me. He comes up and just looks very nice. You don’t even suspect anything. You open the door, this small little door, and nine people force their way inside your office.
When you were upstairs editing your film, you never thought there would be nine people raiding your office just because you made a film about a girl singing. Imagine this image, they’re going through every nook and cranny. All the cabinets, all the files, even under the toilets. They’re looking for this film that you’re editing. They took all of your phones, your computers, all the hard drives and the material with the film on them. They took every one with them and there was a GoPro recording everything in this enclosed space. When you lose everything and you have to go to prison where you’re in a room full of people that are probably there for the same reason as you, when you go through an invasion as big as that, there is nothing worse that could happen.
How do you then find the courage to still make films?
That’s why I’m alive. There is nothing else that I want to do.
