Without doubt the worst Iranian film I have seen, but an art house success here nevertheless, Baran was written and directed by Majid Majidi. This is distressing; I very much liked Majidi’s The Color of Paradise (Rang-e khoda, 1999), although that also was largely a storytelling film and, hence, of greatly limited interest when compared with recent Iranian masterworks by Abbas Kiarostami and others.
Distributed in the States by Buena Vista, Baran is, alas, a Disney film to its bone. It reeks of selfconscious sensitivity—rather like the later Afghan film Osama (Siddiq Barmak, 2003), another trier of intelligence and patience. And it’s just as cold and muted as Osama. Baran also wears its cornball quasi-humanistic message on its sleeve. Can’t we just all get along?
Those in conflict on this occasion, in Iran, are Kurds and Afghan refugees, the result of the Soviet Union’s war against Afghanistan. The premise of the film is that a young Kurd worker is replaced at his construction work site by a young, illegal Afghan, relegating him to being the “tea boy” who buys and brews tea and dispenses it to the laborers at the site. The Kurd, Lateef, is resentful, and he tries everything to ruin the Afghan’s work record, which is poor, in fact, even on its own account. Rahmat, this Afghan, isn’t strong enough to lug 50-pound bags of cement, as his job requires. In fact, Rahmat isn’t really Rahmat at all, but Baran, a girl disguised as a boy because the income from this job is necessary for her family’s survival. (Osama would also turn on a Yentl masquerade.) When Lateef learns from spying the truth about Rahmat, he falls in love with Baran, and this shifts his whole perspective. Instead of her scourge, he becomes the Afghan girl’s protector.
For me, the silent, anonymous romantic feelings that Lateef comes to harbor are absurd. One doesn’t fall in love with someone simply on the basis of the person’s gender. There has to be something in particular about Baran that draws Lateef’s heart to her. As it happens, we are left to conclude that Baran’s plight is the principal attraction—a possibility that numbs the whole idea of love. Wouldn’t it have been a more reasonable premise that Lateef fell in love with Baran while still believing she was Rahmat? This would not have been much better, but it would have admitted at least some basis in the reality of human emotions. “Oh, you’re a girl, I love you!” “Oh, you’re a suffering girl, I love you!” I cannot accept either of these possibilities.
There are informative long-shots of the building site as the laborers go about their work, but the central drama is specious. Let me make one more point: It’s impossible to believe that anyone in the film, much less everyone, was fooled into believing that Rahmat is a boy. The casting of a pretty boy in the role of Lateef isn’t the help that the filmmakers may have counted on, because the difference in appearance between a pretty boy and a pretty girl is vast and deep.
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BARAN (Majid Majidi, 2001)
By grunesWithout doubt the worst Iranian film I have seen, but an art house success here nevertheless, Baran was written and directed by Majid Majidi. This is distressing; I very much liked Majidi’s The Color of Paradise (Rang-e khoda, 1999), although that also was largely a storytelling film and, hence, of greatly limited interest when compared with recent Iranian masterworks by Abbas Kiarostami and others.
Distributed in the States by Buena Vista, Baran is, alas, a Disney film to its bone. It reeks of selfconscious sensitivity—rather like the later Afghan film Osama (Siddiq Barmak, 2003), another trier of intelligence and patience. And it’s just as cold and muted as Osama. Baran also wears its cornball quasi-humanistic message on its sleeve. Can’t we just all get along?
Those in conflict on this occasion, in Iran, are Kurds and Afghan refugees, the result of the Soviet Union’s war against Afghanistan. The premise of the film is that a young Kurd worker is replaced at his construction work site by a young, illegal Afghan, relegating him to being the “tea boy” who buys and brews tea and dispenses it to the laborers at the site. The Kurd, Lateef, is resentful, and he tries everything to ruin the Afghan’s work record, which is poor, in fact, even on its own account. Rahmat, this Afghan, isn’t strong enough to lug 50-pound bags of cement, as his job requires. In fact, Rahmat isn’t really Rahmat at all, but Baran, a girl disguised as a boy because the income from this job is necessary for her family’s survival. (Osama would also turn on a Yentl masquerade.) When Lateef learns from spying the truth about Rahmat, he falls in love with Baran, and this shifts his whole perspective. Instead of her scourge, he becomes the Afghan girl’s protector.
For me, the silent, anonymous romantic feelings that Lateef comes to harbor are absurd. One doesn’t fall in love with someone simply on the basis of the person’s gender. There has to be something in particular about Baran that draws Lateef’s heart to her. As it happens, we are left to conclude that Baran’s plight is the principal attraction—a possibility that numbs the whole idea of love. Wouldn’t it have been a more reasonable premise that Lateef fell in love with Baran while still believing she was Rahmat? This would not have been much better, but it would have admitted at least some basis in the reality of human emotions. “Oh, you’re a girl, I love you!” “Oh, you’re a suffering girl, I love you!” I cannot accept either of these possibilities.
There are informative long-shots of the building site as the laborers go about their work, but the central drama is specious. Let me make one more point: It’s impossible to believe that anyone in the film, much less everyone, was fooled into believing that Rahmat is a boy. The casting of a pretty boy in the role of Lateef isn’t the help that the filmmakers may have counted on, because the difference in appearance between a pretty boy and a pretty girl is vast and deep.
Tags: Iranian cinema
This entry was posted on October 27, 2007 at 5:38 am and is filed under Informal Capsule Film Comments. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.