For these Iranian filmmakers, the road to Sundance was long and risky : NPR

A feature film shot secretly in Iran won the Jury Prize for Artists at this year’s Sundance Film Festival. Between the war and recent street protests, filmmakers faced many challenges friend’s house is here Ended at the time of its premiere.

Set just after last summer’s Iran-Israel war, the film is a portrait of Tehran’s vibrant underground culture. Despite increasing government strictures, street concerts, art galleries, avant-garde theater performances and after-parties continue. They are places where artists celebrate, flirt and discuss life and art.

The story – entirely in Persian – focuses on two roommates and friends who are part of the scene. Like the actresses who portray them, one performs with an underground theater troupe, and another makes social media videos of herself dancing in front of historical monuments – which is illegal under Iranian law.

When a woman on the street scolds Pari and Hana for not wearing hijab, they laugh. He and his creative friends refuse to be silenced by the regime, even as authorities begin targeting them.

“They just want to live a regular life, they want to be on Instagram, they want to dance. They want to be free,” says filmmaker Mariam Atai. “We wanted to tell a story of brotherhood and a wonderful community of people who help each other.”

Her co-director and husband, Hossein Keshavarz, who also co-wrote and co-produced the film, says he was inspired by young artists he knew in Tehran. He says, “We fell in love with them. They’re so nice. They’re so funny. They’re so charming.” “Resistance is an everyday task for them.”

Keshavarz says that same defiant generation is challenging the Iranian government in mass street protests. But as NPR has reported, security forces have arrested and even killed thousands of people since the beginning of the year.

“Even though the government may be cracking down violently, these young people don’t want to be told how to live,” he says. “Even though the government oppresses them, they still get their work done. Many of the people we’ve worked with have been arrested for such arbitrary reasons, but they keep going and are there for each other.”

Keshavarz says Iranian authorities are increasingly cracking down on filmmakers critical of the regime, such as Jafar Panahi, who has been nominated for an Academy Award for his film this year. it was just an accident. Panahi’s films are banned in Iran; He was repeatedly arrested and jailed in Iran for speaking out.

In December, Panahi was sentenced in his absence to another year in prison. And this week his co-screenwriter was arrested.

“Jafar Panahi actually said it was like psychological terrorism,” says Keshavarz. “Artists are being arrested a lot for doing their work. It’s kind of like a baseline of hardship and fear that we had to deal with.”

The filmmakers met with NPR during the Sundance Film Festival in Park City, Utah, to talk about what it took to get their film there.

they say they shot friend’s house is here Secretly, hiding your cameras and sound equipment. They could only fire one or two shots on the streets to avoid being noticed by the authorities. They worried that spies might tip them off, and could rely only on close friends and family to be backups.

They finished shooting the film in October and were still in post-production when massive street protests broke out. By January, the Iranian government responded by shutting down the country’s internet.

“We were very stressed,” says Atai. “We weren’t sure we’d make it to Sundance.”

Atayi and Keshavarz were already in the US, but two members of their crew made the risky decision to smuggle the film out of the country to Turkey. He hid the footage on a hard drive.

“He put it at the end of a religious movie so his drive wouldn’t be seized,” says Keshawarz.

They say the crew members passed through multiple checkpoints and drove for 12 hours non-stop to cross the border into Türkiye.

“Then finally we got the call: ‘I have the film! I’m going to upload the film right now,'” Atai recalls. “What he did was very heroic!”

But the drama did not end.

Last month, an actress of the film was injured during a protest in Iran. “She was hit in the face by pellet bullets. And she couldn’t go to the hospital because she would have been arrested or possibly killed,” says Keshavarj. “Hopefully so many people, nurses, doctors helped him save his vision.”

Meanwhile, the film’s two lead actresses were not allowed to attend the premiere due to US travel restrictions.

“It’s so crazy, having so many difficulties making a film in Iran and avoiding the authorities,” says Keshavarz. “And then now the film is at Sundance, but you can’t get a visa from the State Department.”

Along with his seven-year-old daughter, the filmmaker divides his time between the US and Iran. Atai, 45, says he spent his childhood escaping nearby explosions during the Iran-Iraq war in the 1980s. Keshavarz, 48, who grew up in New Jersey and New York, met Atai through his sister ten years ago. They soon started making indie films together.

“Also we worked on a Hollywood film for five years. We were consultants. But they canceled the film,” says Atai, who adds that it was heartbreaking.

But the filmmakers haven’t given up; They are now in Hollywood working on their next projects in LA, including an animated feature based on ancient Iran.