Filmmaking as Rebellion:

 An Interview with Nahid Hassanzadeh

Another Time (2016), Directed by Nahid Hassanzadeh. Image courtesy of Visions of Iran: Iranian Film Festival in Cologne.

by Abhimanyu Bandyopadhyay, Zamaneh Media

In the Islamic Republic of Iran where the state has waged a relentless war on women for decades, artists like Nahid Hassanzadeh becomes an act of defiance. A midwife-turned-filmmaker, she is part of a growing wave of Iranian artists using cinema as resistance—unflinching, poetic, and dangerous. From Tehran’s hospitals to international film festivals, Hassanzadeh’s journey is a testament to the unwavering spirit of Iranian women in their fight against the Islamic Republic’s iron grip.

Between 2001 and 2012, Hassanzadeh made five documentaries and short films while working as a midwife in Tehran. Her debut feature film, Another Time (2016), won the Best Film Award at the 22nd Kolkata International Film Festival and has been screened at several international events, including the São Paulo International Film Festival in Brazil, the Raindance Film Festival in the United Kingdom, the Exground Film Festival in Germany, the Seoul International Agape Film Festival in South Korea, and Ohio’s Athens International Film and Video Festival (AIFVF) in the United States. Nahid was recently invited to serve as a jury member at the 30th Kolkata International Film Festival, where she discussed her own journey, the significant challenges faced by women filmmakers in Iran, the prevalence of male dominance in the Iranian film industry, and the unstoppable “Women, Life, Freedom” movement.

The Regime’s War on Women

Before the camera, there was the hospital. Before the scripts, there were whispered confessions in the maternity wards of Southern Tehran. 

Hassanzadeh spent years working as a midwife in Tehran. During her internship in the underprivileged areas of Southern Tehran, Nahid witnessed how the regime has criminally weaponized women’s access to basic reproductive healthcare. In Iran, abortion is classified as “corruption on earth,” a crime strictly punishable by death. “Iranian women’s bodies have become a battleground for the regime,” she tells me in a somber tone.

The regime has set up anti-abortion centers in over 200 cities across the country to prevent women from terminating their pregnancies. These government-allied agencies aim to intimidate medical and healthcare workers, preventing them from assisting women, particularly those in marginalized communities.

In this way, the Islamic Republic has continued to exploit women’s bodies as a mere tool to advance its repressive political agenda.

While working as a midwife in the hospitals, Nahid had the opportunity to interact closely with her female patients, many of whom were suffering from severe gynecological problems. In most cases, the primary cause of such deterioration was the utter ignorance and sexual unawareness among their partners. These experiences throughout Hassanzadeh’s life have naturally found their way into her films. The idea for Another Time was born from those hospital corridors. Observing the lives and hardships of these women became the main source of inspiration for developing the characters and storyline of her films. The film, like much of her work, captures the quiet resilience of Iranian women trapped between oppressive laws and societal expectations.

Finding Tarkovsky in Tehran

After earning her midwifery degree, Hassanzadeh went on to study at the Iranian Young Cinema Society in Tehran, where she was introduced to Japanese, Russian, and European cinema. However, it was one name that changed everything: Andrei Tarkovsky.

“Tarkovsky’s films taught me how to find poetry in everyday life and profoundly shaped my artistic inner eye,” she says.

His impact goes beyond filmmaking, as his teachings have pushed me to reflect deeply, both within myself and in relation to my surroundings. From Tarkovsky, I’ve learned the art of connecting with the present moment and contemplating the mysterious secrets hidden within fleeting moments.

But for Nahid, cinema wasn’t simply an artistic pursuit; it was also a medium of resistance. While reflecting on her college days, she speaks of Forough Farrokhzad, the legendary Iranian poet and filmmaker whose work has been largely suppressed by the Islamic Republic since the 1979 revolution. Farrokhzad’s poetry and films left an indelible mark on her life.

“Forough’s poetry whispered the truths that no one dared to speak,” she says.

Perhaps, in a way, she saw herself in Forough.

Filmmaking in Iran: A State of Survival

To be a filmmaker in Iran—especially a woman—is to exist in a constant state of battle.

“To be honest, being a woman in Iran and aspiring to make a film is a significant challenge in itself. Securing funding and finding a producer are both extremely difficult tasks; besides that, one has to constantly deal with threats and obstacles. This is where the real struggle begins,” she says.

It’s essential to clarify that not all women filmmakers are prohibited from making films, as some individuals are affiliated with the government, often referred to as puppet filmmakers. They receive substantial support and resources for their projects. However, in my case, I chose to work independently, without relying on any government grants or assistance, because it was more important for me to freely express my art and maintain my individuality.

As of now, I’ve managed to produce two films almost entirely on my own. I took on multiple roles, writing the screenplay, directing the film, creating the costumes, and even finding distributors, all without any external support. Budget constraints are also a major problem in this path, which is why maximum scenes in my films are shot in an indoor setup.

Despite all the struggles, the most disheartening part is that even after overcoming numerous obstacles, obtaining permission to screen my films becomes a further burden. The pain and frustration of such a situation are beyond imagination. I still remember my initial script for ‘Another Time’ didn’t get approval from the government. As a result, the lead actor and the producer backed out of the project, saying they were not convinced about my ability to make a film since it was my first one,” She further remarks.

Artists like Nahid are probably the last generation of post-revolutionary Iranians who have witnessed the country’s deterioration in front of their eyes. Since then they have been living with the sheer pain and trauma inside them.

She continues to expalin:

After the Islamic Revolution in 1979, things started changing rapidly, and the reign of political Islam began to demolish our culture, art, history, and, most importantly, the memories associated with them. As Milan Kundera once wrote, it’s the struggle of memory against forgetting. In the movie Silent Glory, one may notice the significant presence of a dog. In today’s Iran, having a dog is considered haram, and it’s not allowed to keep one in your house. However, before the Islamic Revolution, living with dogs was perfectly normal. I feel compelled to reassemble all these forbidden and forgotten images in my films—images that were once an integral part of our history. By doing so, I aim to preserve and reclaim the aspects of our culture that have been suppressed and overlooked. It’s important to remember our past and cherish our heritage, even in the face of adversity.

The Male Gaze in Iranian Cinema

In Iran, the male gaze has become so deeply ingrained in the laws and culture of the country that it often appears natural. However, the presence of patriarchal power and the suppression of femininity have led to the destruction of peace and diversity in Iran over the past 40 years. The prevailing misogyny and patriarchy have stifled creativity and innovation across all fields. When asked about male domination in the Iranian film industry, Nahid says:

If I talk about women filmmakers, it must be acknowledged that many of them rely on government financial aid or seek assistance from male consultants to fund their films. Unfortunately, these consultants often hold traditional patriarchal views and are anti-feminist. Consequently, a significant number of these films end up propagating patriarchal and anti-woman ideologies that serve the regime’s propaganda. In some cases, if a filmmaker attempts to challenge the norm, they may portray women as victims of circumstances who remain silent or sacrifice their desires for the sake of love and family, aligning with the government’s desires.

A truly rebellious female protagonist, she says, is a red line that few dare to cross:

In Iranian cinema, portraying a rebellious woman is considered a red line that many filmmakers are unwilling to cross. They’re afraid of breaking these forbidden boundaries and risking their personal interests and positions. As a result, the potential for showcasing more diverse and empowering portrayals of women in their films remains limited.

Creativity Under Surveillance

Much has been said about the artistic tension between censorship and creativity. Some argue that the intensification of surveillance and censorship creates new avenues for art and expression. But does extreme censorship truly foster artistic ingenuity? Hassanzadeh disagrees.

Artists cannot be silenced. Although such manifestations of creative expression often depend on the prevailing circumstances of the artist themselves. For some, it may open up new paths, while for others, it can be nothing but torture. For example, let’s consider the portrayal of love in Iranian films. Even today, it is still quite problematic for actors to say ‘I love you’ on camera. This is why, every time we attempt to shoot or write a ‘love scene,’ we often end up killing the true essence of love itself. Since physical intimacy cannot be openly depicted, filmmakers in Iran are compelled to rely on surreal and rhetorical techniques, where everything is portrayed through dialogue and visual allegories. However, creative solutions like these have become repetitive and ineffective over the years, leading to self-censorship. I, personally, do not resort to them.

The War Over the Hijab

The compulsory hijab in Iran was legalized in 1983, marking the beginning of a series of oppressive laws that reduced women to second-class citizens. The current judicial system in Iran devalues a woman’s fundamental rights, treating them as half of a man’s, and exhibits a troubling disparity in the punishment for crimes against women compared to those against men. Furthermore, since the 1979 revolution, Iranian women have been barred from holding prominent positions, such as judgeships or high-ranking roles within the government, effectively marginalizing them. These are just a few examples of the many restrictive laws imposed by the Islamic regime to subjugate women.

The Islamic Republic seems to view women solely as instruments for childbearing and child-rearing. Such abhorrent ideology is even heavily promoted on national television, with substantial funding dedicated to its propagation. Over time, the hijab has tragically become a tool wielded by the regime to suppress women and crush any notions of defiance or independence among them. This is why the women of Iran have finally declared a counter-war against the regime by burning their headscarves and cutting off their hair.

According to Nahid:

Over the past 43 years, numerous protests have taken place in Iran, but the regime has never faced such a militant wave of rebellion as it has in recent times. The mullahs have now realized that their end is near, which is why they are making every effort to silence our voices. However, this will not succeed, as the rebellion has escalated beyond their control.

In 2022, the brutal death of Jina Mahsa Amini in police custody ignited global concerns, and women across the world took to the streets to demonstrate solidarity with Iran’s women’s liberation movement.

But inside Iran, the cost of rebellion remains terrifyingly high. Whether it’s Mahsa Amini or Ahoo Daryayei, executions and enforced disappearances are still ongoing. On average, more than two Iranians are executed or imprisoned each day by the Islamic Republic for defying the country’s forced dress code. Almost two years have passed, yet there have been no effective, impartial, or independent criminal investigations into the horrifying human rights violations committed by Iranian authorities during and after the nationwide anti-hijab protests from September to December 2022.

“Can you imagine living in a country where women aren’t even allowed to sing or dance outside their homes? Young girls are being brutally murdered in the streets simply for not wearing a hijab properly! The revolution had been burning inside us for a long time, but Mahsa’s death turned it into an unstoppable wildfire,” she says.

And yet, something fundamental has changed. “The morality police are no longer feared. They can arrest, they can kill—but the people are no longer afraid. The revolution has already begun.”

Her face lights up as she says this. It is the first time in our conversation that I see hope.

The wind of change

Renowned Indian journalist and Magsaysay awardee Ravish Kumar, who has been fighting against India’s fascist Hindutva regime for decades, once said, “Not all battles are fought for victory. Some are fought simply to tell the world that someone was there on the battlefield.” As our conversation drew to an end, I couldn’t help but recall Ravish’s words.

Hassanzadeh’s voice, like her films, carried that quiet but unbreakable conviction. Cinema may not overthrow a regime, but it can ensure the world never looks away.

We shook hands one last time before she disappeared into the shadowed depths of the long, gothic hallways, leaving behind the unwavering spirit of the Iranian women and their rebellious sisterhood within me.

“Oh, the wind, the wind is blowing, through the graves the wind is blowing; freedom soon will come, Then we’ll come from the shadows.” (La Partisan, Leonard Cohen)

The women of Iran will continue their cultivation of wildflowers in this guerrilla monsoon. Somewhere in Tehran, another young girl will refuse to cover her hair once again. Another rebellious woman will dare to pick up the camera, or start singing, or dancing—whatever she wants to do! They will speak so loudly that even the deaf will hear. They will write so clearly that even the blind will read. The revolution is inevitable.

Via Zamaneh Media