Filmmaker Ehasan Khoshbackht, in a sort of companion to his 2013 A Journey Through Iranian Cinema, narrates (in English) a docu-rediscovery and visual essay on the short-lived Iranian film industry that spanned the installation of the Shah's regime in 1954 to the Islamist revolution in 1979—upon which Muslim fanatics set numerous opulent theaters on fire with substantial loss of Iranian lives. Many pre-revolutionary Iranian films were also methodically destroyed in the purge. Images surviving here, we are told, come from scratchy, smudgy clips extant from VHS pirate copies.
What separates Filmfarsi from, say, a Martin Scorsese-like "personal" retrospective is that Khoshbakht does not come to praise "filmfarsi" (the term was coined by a critic in the manner of an insult) and often accords these productions—cheaply shot and numbering hundreds each year by the 1970s—as representations of modern Persian pathologies.
While their existence carried a mission by the Shah to reinforce a forward-looking and westernized Iran, the material often descended to lurid, lowest-common-denominator stuff: shamelessly pirated soundtrack music, copied plots of established hits, vacuous song/dance numbers, and much imagery of violence, sex, and voluptuous women (though one can hardly fault filmfarsi alone; neighboring cinema of Turkey and India bore such traits habitually). A stock character was the `Jahel,' a mustached tough from the streets of Tehran, often on a vendetta and romancing a prostitute. The Jahels amusingly resemble a chunkier version of Borat, in a fedora.
Still, amidst the pop-pablum, a few talented directors like Samuel Khachikian created worthwhile motion pictures, and future post-revolutionary master filmmaker Abbas Kierostami got his start (represented here by an intriguing glimpse of a gaudy 1966 007 parody, Diamond 33). A popular 1974 crime drama The Deer caught some of the native Iranian discontent and counterculture zeitgeist (think Easy Rider) to become a regional favorite; it was quickly remade in Turkey, quite a compliment.
Khoshbackht explains the social faultlines and dysfunctions in mid-20th-century Iran surface in these ignoble entertainments. But despite the aura of decadence, some viewers might actually be intrigued, perhaps, by the nerve, trick visuals and grit contained in rare footage from Dancer of the City (1970), Zafar (1972), Akbar the Interpreter (1974), Samad in Dragon's Way (1977) or Resurrection of Love (1973).
Recalling how Quentin Tarantino mined gold in vintage "grindhouse" fare, might there be some guilty pleasures to be had here? Not on the mullah's watch, unfortunately. Khoshbackht's opinion seems to be that the violent repression of the 1979 revolution was tragic but also perhaps inevitable and, therefore, the Shah's fault (and the CIA and MI-6 who propped him up.).
International collections should not ignore this fragmentary relic from a cancel-culture of just a generation ago. Highly recommended. (Aud: C, P)