Iranian filmmaker Ali Asghari has long explored the quiet tensions and bureaucratic pressures of daily life in Iran, from acclaimed short films to film festival-acclaimed works such as “The Disappearance,” “Until Tomorrow,” and “Poetry on Earth.” He arrives in competition at the Doha Film Festival with his latest film, The Divine Comedy, which premiered in Venice’s Horizons sidebar earlier this year, pushing his familiar themes more explicitly into the realm of comedy.
Starring director Bahman Ark as Bahram, the story centers on a mid-career filmmaker whose entire Turkish-Azerbaijani work has never been shown in Iran. When his latest film is once again rejected by the cultural authorities, he decides to team up with resourceful producer Sadaf (Sadaf Asghari) to organize an underground guerrilla screening in Tehran. What begins as a simple act of rebellion turns into a dark and funny journey through bureaucracy, cultural gatekeeping, and the various anxieties faced by artists who decide to create freely.
The film is a multilateral co-production between Iran, Italy, France, Germany, and Turkey, with international sales handled by Goodfellas.
Asghari, whose passport is sometimes confiscated and who continues to work without formal permission, turns to satire as both a creative strategy and an act of resistance. His film Terrestrial Voices, which was screened at Cannes’ Un Certain Regard section in 2023, resulted in him being banned from leaving the country or directing further films for several months. In Doha, he spoke to Variety about the absurdity that shaped his latest act of defiance, “The Divine Comedy,” the risks of filming independently in Iran, and the surprising universality of his work.
You use humor in “Divine Comedy” to talk about a system that is just not funny. What were the challenges of balancing comedy with the reality of censorship?
The situations seen in this film are based on reality, what I have lived and what the main character Bahram, who works as a film director in Azerbaijan-Turkish, has lived. He constantly interacts with the authorities because of the language of his films. So it’s all based on reality, but it’s not 100% real. The events were made more fictionalized and more satirical in the film to show the absurdity of the way we live.
Given the constraints filmmakers face in Iran, what role do you think satire can play in pushing back against those limits?
For many years, even 10 or 15 years ago, Iranian cinema relied on metaphors. The directors wanted to talk about serious issues but were unable to do so in person. Part of it is due to culture, but a big part comes from fear, the fear of being accused of rebelling against the government, so they chose metaphor as their weapon.
Later, a new generation like Raslov and Panahi began to speak more directly. They became more political and bolder. I didn’t want to repeat those words. I felt that satire was a better way to express what we are living through. Because satire allows you to show how ridiculous and stupid the rules are. This will reduce the system’s performance.
And at the same time, satire also helps connect with audiences outside Iran, since many people don’t know what’s going on. If you take your message too seriously, they may not understand. Humor attracts them.
This movie was shot entirely in Iran. Were you concerned about the risks of doing it without permission?
Making this kind of film comes with risks. You have two choices. You can either make a movie with permission and take no risks, or you can make a movie without permission and accept the consequences. I chose the second one. I don’t make political films to provoke anyone, but I don’t like the idea of being censored. I believe that filmmakers should be free. If you go to the Ministry of Culture to apply for a permit, you are already giving up that freedom. That’s something I would never do.
Have you applied for a permit in the past?
Only once. It was a terrible experience. They required me to cut many scenes and add things that were not relevant to my story. And most of the people there are not filmmakers and some don’t even know about screenplays or movies. They are just there to check the religious element.
So I decided not to go back. If you want to be free, sometimes you need consequences.
I have had my passport confiscated many times. How did it affect you?
Yes, there have been a few times, but the last one was the longest and it was 8 months. For me, it’s no big deal. If you choose to be free, that is one of the consequences. As long as you’re alive, you’ll be fine. I said to another journalist yesterday, “If they kill me, I won’t make a movie.” I don’t want to sacrifice anything for the sake of the movie. But things like confiscating passports…that’s part of the job. That’s not scary to me.
Do you feel pressure, consciously or unconsciously, to self-censor?
There are two types of self-censorship. Things you notice, things I try not to do. Write your favorite lines and situations. However, there is another thing that is unconscious. It comes from the way you were raised and the society around you. Sometimes you realize later that you were avoiding something even though you didn’t mean to. That’s the subconscious part. As long as I am conscious of it, I will fight it.
In his films, Baharam continues to fight for audiences who may never be allowed to see his work. Are you thinking about who your movie is for?
To be honest, no. After a few years, you realize that you might not be the type of person to make movies for a mass audience. And I don’t think about nationality. Some Iranians have accused me of making films for Western audiences. That’s what social media says, but it’s not true. To be honest, I’ve never thought about whether I’m making a movie for this audience or that audience. There are things in this movie that only Iranians can understand, but I’m just trying to write something that I think is really interesting.
However, movies have no borders. I get messages from countries I’ve never heard of saying they have something to do with this movie. That’s the beauty of art. Success cannot be achieved by any one group alone. Just be successful.
How autobiographical is the character Bahram? Were there any scenes drawn directly from your life?
Some parts are mine, some parts are his. We wrote this movie together – Bahman Ark, his brother Baharam, another writer who lives in Canada, Alireza Khatami (The Things You Kill), and myself. We have all experienced similar limitations. It was born out of talking about our experiences.
The basic idea was born when my film “Terrestrial Verses” was banned in Iran. I always get criticized for not making films for Iranians, so I wanted to see how Iranians would react. So we secretly screened it at a cafe or a friend’s house, maybe 20 or 25 people. I carried around a projector and showed movies, experiencing all kinds of strange experiences and different reactions. That became the basis for this film.
The film was shown at Venice and other film festivals. What was the reaction like in Doha? Do you feel like it has a regional resonance?
Honestly, I was surprised. I didn’t expect the theater to be full. But the audience here connected a lot. There were moments during the screening that there was applause. Afterwards, many people remained outside the theater to ask questions. Thanks to the efforts of the Doha Film Institute over the past 10-15 years, audiences in Doha have become increasingly interested in cinema. The questions were very technical. I really enjoyed screening here.
