A Coup of Creativity Amid Restrictions
When Iranian auteur Mohsen Amiryousefi unveiled his latest feature, *The Banning Curse*, it was less a ghost story and more a seat‑of‑the‑pants recap of the modern filmmaker’s struggle against a regime that loves sweeping its critics away. The 70th BFI London Film Festival announced the film’s world premiere, but a bureaucratic snag—denied U.K. visa applications—kept the director and his editor from watching the premiere unfold in person. Ironically, the very cleary obstacles that fan out their plots show how Amiryousefi’s art thrives on adversity.
A Mosaic of Life and Politics
This isn’t Amiryousefi’s first daring whistle‑blowing. After *Bitter Dream* captured a Golden Camera for a first‑feature at Cannes, the Iranian statesmen sent an angry notice to *The Banning Curse*. The new film, however, is less about a single protest and more about the entire arc of a country that has lived in a constant state of hiding, carefully sculpted to conceal its own excesses even as it pushes irony to the fore. The story unfolds as a self‑reflexive mix of biography, archive footage, and surreal moments that speak to a generation of filmmakers who have learned to shoot on borrowed lights and hushed whispers.
The movie is structured like a walk through a museum made of memory: each frame glows with text, a flicker of blue film stock, or a montage of faded photographs. By combining the blunt satire of *Bitter Dream* with the softer slapstick of *Fire Keeper*, Amiryousefi builds a personality that is both the director himself and his anonymous "angel of death."
The Angel of Death Reimagined
Perhaps the most grisly motif in Persian storytelling, the angel of death—traditionally a brief and unremarkable figure—takes on a much different role in this narrative. The film’s titular figure begins as a grappling shadow beside the director but, as the plot moves in, morphs into an uncanny double of Amiryousefi. The change is unspooling meaningfully: the angel isn’t a one‑dimensional tortoise, but a reminder that each creative act comes with a risk of being shut down, censored, or erased. The twin dialogues between the director and his spectral double quiz what it means to create in a climate where governments can literally blacklist you.
Different from other cyber‑war crime thrillers, Amiryousefi uses the angel like a mirror. Whenever the director steps into the camera for the first time, the angel's silhouette squeezes through the frame—an “angel acting” on his own ego and doubts. The bubbly part of the picture is a cultural reminder that in Turkey, Georgia, even West Asian autonomous regions each person lives with a “dead counterpart” lurking in their back of mind.
No Budget, Zero Permits: The Art of Working Under Pressure
It might surprise you that the technical production of the film is almost impossible for mainstream auteurs—there were no permits, no city‑wide rehearsals, and no budget. Yet for Amiryousefi, that is literally the pre‑expression of a personal ethic he has cultivated for years. The film’s production rhythm is realistic, when the crew cuts out of a raw yellow screen and starts rigging themselves in a private stairwell, swapping the lights themselves. But the standout difference lies in the unwillingness of self-imposed censorship: Amiryousefi is in front of the camera; he is the on‑screen representation of creative risk.
The lighting, the background, the broken window she says—a “Casper shift on the blue ceiling”—connects with audiences who understand that you can acetone a building with one lamp and a centuries‑old narrative in the corner. The film is full of references to other cinematic greats—Fellini, Nolan—like an homage that says “anyone can film a thing in a basement if they know a camera’s name." Remember – we are not rewriting our entire biography, simply making a story with minimal exposure.
A Cross‑Border Conversation
The film’s content—whether you like it or not, raw, vulnerable, and deliberate—demonstrates it won’t fit neatly into the categories of Iranian or European cinema. Amiryousefi breaks the mould. By drawing on colonial archives of film‑strip reviews, short film festivals in rural Iran, and a small set of International film critics, he offers a deep, honest glance at what it means to chase a dream in an environment that constantly tries to keep the creative centre firm. Meanwhile, the anchor of the film is the angel of death as a subtle statement about how the face of power can deter people.
The message is plain: even in a climate where you are forced to look like a myth, the creative explorer can step out, look at the world, and claim that the only censorship that matters is the one that remains inside your own mind.
> To experiencing the film in person, you may watch its teaser via the BFI website (link).
> For background on Iranian filmmakers’ visas denied by the UK,
In short, *The Banning Curse* reminds us that the frontier where art meets terror isn’t an empty place. It’s a color rain‑shower that hides a secret field in eighth flooring. A friendly bully reminds us that the nastiest lines feel lighter behind a mask. And, surprisingly, the film invites us even if we cannot find a ticket to London.
Image Credit: hollywoodreporter.com
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