It Was Just An Accident

GoMovieReviews Rating: ★★★1/2

Rated: M

Directed and Written by: Jafar Panahi

Produced by: Jafar Panahi, Philippe Martin

Starring: Vahid Mobasseri, Maryam Afshari, Ebrahim Azizi, Hadis Pakbaten, Majid Panahi, Mohamad Ali Elyasmehr, Georges Hashemzadeh, Delmaz Najafi, Afssaneh Najmabadi.

Viewed in Persian with English subtitles.

‘What did I do to deserve this?’

Set in Iran, there’s restraint shown in the filming of, It Was Just An Accident.

There’s no soundtrack, no stylised effects.  Just the dialogue of people trying to solve the mystery: is the person Vahid (Vahid Mobasseri) captured the torturer who traumatised them while in prison?

It’s an opening of two faces in the dark interior of a car.

There’s no street lights and wild dogs chase cars.

There’s a young child (Delmaz Najafi) in the back seat, jumping with excitement to music.

The husband (Ebrahim Azizi) and wife (Afssaneh Najmabadi) chat.  Glad to be blessed.

Bump.

‘It was just an accident,’ his wife tells him.  And when their car breaks down, she explains it’s a sign from God.

The family receive assistance from a stranger, and this is a detail shown throughout the film; the people willing to help, to push a broken-down car.  To help a stranger identify their abuser, even if it means the risk of being taken back to prison.

Because it’s him.  The Gimp.  The Peg Leg.  Isn’t it?

The film follows the abused: the photographer (Mariam Afshari), the bride (Hadis Pakbaten) and groom (Vahid Mobasseri) to be, and the maniac (Mohamad Ali Elyasmehr).

The story reveals more as each character is collected along the way as they try to figure out who this guy is, leaving the audience wondering why Vahid is suddenly agitated circling the husband, this father with the broken-down car?

Each character has a story to tell.  A dark story of a country with divided politics.

There’s no violence shown in the film, the camera looks away; instead depicting a violence with a reflection of brake lights washing a face with red.

There’s some lightness with clever cuts in the editing and moments where bribes are so commonplace it doesn’t matter if you don’t have cash, the security guards have gone digital: they carry EFTPOS machines along with their badges.

I wouldn’t say this is an enjoyable film, it’s more a thought-provoking insight into the human side of politics.

The characters are likeable, human, making the point through recognition, relating to the weighting up of revenge versus humanity.

It’s a put-yourself-in-their-shoes to see a world that’s usually closed, to see the normality of everyday life, the busker playing, the children laughing in their innocence, to the legality of a husband needing to be present for a woman to receive treatment in a hospital.

Director Jafar Panahi explains that the characters are fictional, ‘but the stories they tell are based on real events experienced by actual prisoners. What’s also real is the diversity of these characters and their reactions.’

The more I write and think, the more I’m seeing the point that people are the same, but it’s the politics that differ, the guilt that becomes a normal to then fade, because if the abused is innocent, they will go to heaven.  They will be looked after, later.  The torturer can wash their hands in the name of God.  Then die a martyr.

The cause terrifying.  The people broken.

But the question of the film is if people can retain their humanity in the face of an abuser and at what cost.

Watching the film feels like a door opening into a hidden world and that’s what makes the film for me.  Seeing the normality of the regime and the effect on everyday people locked away because they just wanted to be paid for their work to feed their families.

And there’s a broader insight into the basic human drive of survival.

It’s a risky film to make, director and writer, Jafar Panahi states,

‘Iranian films that openly criticize the regime usually omit the names of cast and crew from the credits. But not this time. If anyone had asked for their name to be left out, I would have done so. But they all wanted their name to appear. And most are coming with me to Cannes.’

‘So you’re going to Cannes. But isn’t there a risk you won’t be able to return to Iran afterward?’

‘That hasn’t even occurred to me. I can’t live anywhere else. Many of my fellow Iranians have chosen – or have been forced – to emigrate. But I can’t do that. I don’t have the courage! I’m unfit to live outside Iran. We’ll see what happens. In any case, this film had to be made. I made it, and I’ll accept whatever consequences may follow.’