Interview w/ Saadi Soudavar, Co-producer of Frontier Blues

This weekend the Museum of Fine Arts opens its annual Iranian Film Festival. Maybe you’ve heard of the greatness of Iranian cinema? The best contemporary films from Iran combine deceptively simple narratives with a sophisticated poetic sensibility. It’s a case of imposed limitations spurring creativity. As with the great Eastern European directors of the cold war era, state censorship has forced Iranian filmmakers to create complex movies full of metaphor, allusion, and whispers of hidden meaning in order to speak sincerely about the world they know. This year Houstonians will be treated to eight new Iranian films, five at the MFAH and three at the Rice Cinema. Cinnamon Oats spoke with our old friend Saadi Soudavar about the film he co-produced, Frontier Blues, which will play at the MFAH Friday, January 21st at 9:00 pm and Sunday, January 23rd at 7:00 pm.
Cinnamon Oats: How were you involved in Frontier Blues? How did you become interested in the project?

Saadi Soudavar: I met Babak Jalali, the writer and director of Frontier Blues, while he was studying at the London Film School with my friend and co-producer of the film, Ginevra Elkann. Babak's short film about a servant/master relationship Heydar, an Afghan in Teheran (which I highly recommend) was nominated for a BAFTA (British Academy of Film and Television Arts) award for best short in 2006. On the back of that, he got into the prestigious Cannes Cinefondation Residency Programme for first time directors. His work in the residency produced the script for Frontier Blues. When he had trouble securing the funding package and finding a production company to produce it, Ginevra and I decided to do it.

As I've learnt through this process - and also through my girlfriend Zeina Durra's process with her first film The Imperialists are Still Alive! which premiered at Sundance in 2010 - art house and indie films face enormous challenges to raise funding and even more challenges to get distribution.

Iranian indie films, as you can imagine, are even more challenging in that respect! In Europe, government subsidized funds take up a lot of the slack that private monies can't provide; and you have a great tradition of European art house film as a result. But films must have shooting or production in Europe to meet the criteria to get European funds.

Frontier Blues was to be shot in Iran, on the border of Turkmenistan, with local non-professionals; so we really had to raise the monies ourselves. Without any traditional film funding, we tapped art house enthusiasts and art patrons based in Europe. Luckily the budget was relatively cheap.

I was interested in the project because I liked Babak's style and vision. It reminded me a bit of the deadpan humour of Aki Kaurismäki and other European directors like Roy Andersson or Ulrich Seidl. And I liked his idea of applying that way of framing the scene and minimalist approach to Iran. It was a different take on Iran with a knowing wink at the cliches of the genre—the classic Iranian art house cinema tropes (little kid in a village loses his shoe, finds it) made for the foreign market. It was also a very personal film for Babak—and indeed myself—as we went back to Iran after a long time away in order to do this. Babak grew up in the Golestan province where this was shot. A lot of the feel, the characters, and stories are actually based on his memories of real characters and incidents in that region where he grew up.

I also liked the fact that this part of Iran, the Golestan province on the border of Turkmenistan, has rarely featured in Iranian film. Most Iranians don't visit this region and therefore have stereotypical presumptions about it. The local Turkmen are presumed to be nomadic, always on horseback, when in fact they live pretty much like everyone else now. It's similar to the trope of the American Wild West or foreigners' views of Texas. (“Do you ride a horse to school?”) Babak plays with these preconceptions in the form of the photographer from Teheran who goes to find the exotic in Golestan province. (Babak himself had gone there while at film school to do a documentary on the Turkmen. He found himself challenging his desire to find the stereotype rather than the reality.) The border of Turkmenistan with its forlorn, barren landscape; the ethnic mix of Persians, Turkmen, and Kazakhs; and the stories of melancholic longing Babak crafted were for me a powerful and poetic metaphor for the current condition of the Iranian people.

As someone born in Iran, it was also important for me to do my bit to help the Iranian arts, in particular the next generation of Iranian filmmakers.

CO: What was the production like? Were you filming under the aegis of the government or was it more of a guerrilla film making type situation?

SS: In Iran there is a local and vibrant film industry despite the enormous challenges and tribulations faced by filmmakers there. Productions may be funded privately or, less often, by the government. Some are shot officially, others unofficially. But the filmmaking community is a clique just like in the US or Europe, and in Iran it is quite hierarchical. So as a young, first-time director living in the UK and going back to Iran to film his first feature, Babak turned to us to help him produce the film.

We turned to a very respected local producer Homayoun Assadian to help us out: sort out our official permits and form the crew. (We were aiming to use local production teams, cast and crew.) We contacted Iranian cinematographers we liked. Sharyar Assadi, who shot Bahman Ghobadi's film Turtles can Fly amongst others, shot our film (beautifully I think).

It is important to note we shot the film in December 2008 and 2009 before the contested election of June 2010 and subsequent crackdown. We shot it officially with a permit from the Islamic Ministry of Culture and Guidance as we wanted to move freely, do things by the book, and not get anyone working with us in trouble—especially in Golestan province where we used non-professional actors. Our film wasn't political or and didn’t feature problematic topics for the Government like the underground music scene in Ghobadi's Nobody Knows About Persian Cats. It was a simple tale and we had nothing to fear from the censor. (Though I think some of our scenes might not have made it past the censor if he'd bothered to look carefully: the fondling of a mannequin breast, for instance, or the inclusion of a communist folk song which had been vilified in the past but was all but forgotten when we shot in 2008. Now it has become re-politicized as an opposition song of the 2010 election.)

The crews who work in the Iranian film industry are very professional and talented; it was a great experience. In particular it was interesting to use mostly non-professional actors in the Golestan province near Turkmenistan. They were fishermen, fishmongers, bakers, etc. Some of the actors' real lives were amazing and worthy of a film in themselves. Alam, for example, was an illegal fisherman on the Caspian Sea. He would disappear at times to fish for sturgeon. At times he had to evade police boats that were shooting at him. It was cool to check out Turkmen culture and while in the area I was also honored to meet Louise Firouz shortly before she died. Louise was a legendary American horsewoman, born in Virginia, who had lived in Iran since the 1950s. Despite harassment from the authorities after the Iranian revolution of 1979, she continued to breed Turkmen horses as well as Caspians (a breed she rediscovered in the nearby hills).

CO: How has Frontier Blues been received in Iran? Elsewhere?

SS: The film opened at the Locarno Film Festival in competition in 2009. It had a great reception there and on the festival circuit where we showed, notably in Stockholm, at New Directors/New Films in NYC, and in San Francisco where we won the FIPRESCHI critics award. We had a small release in cinemas in the UK, Switzerland, and Austria where we had a good turnout. We're still hoping for distribution in the US and France.

The film unfortunately has not been screened in Iran. Iranian art house cinema of this nature is rarely seen widely in Iran, if at all. It is ironic that Iranian auteur cinema is more appreciated abroad than at home.

CO: What did you hope to accomplish with this film? Do you feel like you succeeded?

SS: I personally hoped to learn more about film production as I've never been involved with one before. And to support a screenwriter and film director I believed in, allowing him the opportunity to express his vision which I think the team was successful in doing. I think Babak is very talented. This is his first film and hopefully he will be successful in furthering his career. I also wanted to do my bit to help Iranian art and to promote Iran's culture and artistic expression globally so as to provide a vision of Iran in tune with the reality of everyday life rather than the politicized headlines one sees in the media. Iranian artists, though often working in great danger, have received quite a lot of international recognition from galleries in Dubai, Paris, London, and NYC. It is important also to help the next generation of Iranian cinema, a task which is difficult given international sanctions, lack of funds, and the politicized nature of anything to do with Iran.

CO: What are the actors, crew, screenwriter/director doing now?

SS: Babak Jalali, the screenwriter and director, is looking at making a film in Armenia or the UK. The crew in Iran are busy no doubt on other Iranian films, and the cast are back to their lives in Golestan, which, as I mentioned, are worthy of their own wild frontier cinema. I think it's kind of crazy that folks in Houston will be seeing the locals we cast on the big screen—in a way, a cinematic fulfillment of the characters in the film's longing to break out of their routine.

CO: How does the future of Iranian cinema look from your vantage point?

SS: Encouraging and discouraging at the same time.

Films are still getting made, many officially, that you marvel were allowed by the Iranian government to be made. See The Hunter by Rafi Pitts which was shot in Teheran, seemingly officially, after the election crackdown to appreciate the ingenuity of Iranian film makers. On the other hand the authorities are jailing respected directors like Jafar Panahi. The latter is a great, great tragedy and needs urgent international attention.

I'm encouraged by the fact that places like Houston have had an Iranian cinema festival for eighteen years and that Iranian cinema is well known throughout the world. I'm also encouraged by the great wave of creativity that the young people of Iran have the potential to ride; but I'm saddened by the institutional, financial, and political constraints which it make it very difficult for Iranian filmmakers, especially the younger generation, to express themselves and find their audience. I hope that changes for the better.