Mothers and daughters, families and secrets.
The seemingly impossible divide between cultural tradition and liberated self-expression.
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| To her considerable surprise, Leila (Layla Mohammadi, left) discovers that her (apparently) uptight mother, Shireen (Niousha Noor) is quite capable of busting a move during a celebratory dance. |
Storytellers are best when they write what they know, and the result here is a crowd-pleaser with several underlying morals that are even more relevant in today’s hyper-partisan society. No surprise, Keshavarz won the Waldo Salt Screenwriting Award, and her film took the Audience Award, at this year’s Sundance Film Festival.
At first blush, the story seems to focus on rebellious, late-twenty-something Iranian-American Leila (Layla Mohammadi), introduced rushing through New York’s streets wearing a burka-tini — which must be seen to be believed — en route to a rowdy Halloween party. She concludes the evening by impulsively throwing herself into a one-nighter with Maximillian (Tom Byrne), garbed as the cross-dressing Hedwig, from the 1998’s gender-queer stage musical (and later film), “Hedwig and the Angry Inch.”
We learn that this impulsive act is in response to a catastrophic break-up with her wife, Elena (Mia Foo), who apparently bailed because Leila is, well, difficult to be around. All of this is thrown at us in an explosive burst of exposition, some of it explained to us viewers directly, when Leila breaks the fourth wall and chats as though we’re in the same room.
That gimmick is disorienting the first time, but it totally works, particularly when — upon meeting her large and boisterous clan — we begin to understand why Leila has embarked on a personal campaign to become the official family screw-up.
And, no question, she’s a mess. But Mohammadi plays the role with such conviction, sincerity and breathtaking candor, that we can’t help adoring her. Leila unashamedly makes and owns every embarrassing personal mistake possible, and honestly believes that she’s doing a good job at living beyond the reach of her family.
Until her father, Ali (Bijan Daneshmand), suddenly needs a heart transplant.
This brings the entire family to New York: her eight (!) brothers; her beloved grandmother Mamanjoon (Bella Warda); and her mother Shireen (Niousha Noor), the one person who can punch all of Leila’s buttons, and always has disapproved of everything she does. Indeed, this reunion is so brittle that Shireen waspishly orders Leila to stay with Mamanjoon, while everybody else visits Ali in the hospital.
But this proves helpful, because Mamanjoon wisely counsels that if Leila is to learn why she and her mother so frequently lock horns, it’s necessary to learn more about Shireen.
At which point, Keshavarz’s film focuses almost exclusively on Shireen, during a lengthy second act. Details emerge out of sequence — as they always do, in real life — and it initially appears merely prudent that Ali and Shireen move their family to America before Iran’s shah is deposed. (Even that piece of the story ultimately proves more complicated.)
The younger Leila is played, in these flashbacks, by cute-as-a-button Chiara Stella; she also breaks the fourth wall, sometimes referencing stuff concerning her older self. During subsequent reunion trips to Ayatollah Khomeini’s Iran, the little girl becomes the perfect “mule” for smuggling illicit American pop music into the country. (Cue a lively dance sequence set to Cyndi Lauper’s “Girls Just Want to Have Fun.”)
But here’s the thing: This obviously is done with Shireen’s knowledge and approval, which is precisely the sort of rebellious act that later puts her at odds with her grown daughter.
Flashbacks even further into the past gradually reveal the details of how young Shireen (Kamand Shafieisabet), looking all of 12, came to be married to the somewhat older Ali (Shervin Alenabi). The more Leila learns — the more we learn — the more admirable Shireen becomes: an Iranian woman eventually dumped into the reflexively racist United States, lacking an education, but determined to carve out a life and career, while caring for her husband and nine children.
The older Shireen’s features and appearance visibly soften, as Leila’s awareness grows: less a strident authoritarian, more a survivor frustrated by a daughter who seems unwilling to recognize how good she’s got it.
But Leila is conflicted by more than just her mother. Her Iranian homeland has branded her new home The Great Satan of America, while — being an American citizen — she’s expected to condemn The Axis of Evil of Iran. And of course that’s impossible; she has deep affection for both countries.
(It’s no surprise to learn, from her personal statement in the production notes, that Keshavarz began writing this film after President Trump initiated the “Muslim Ban” and fomented so much still-blossoming anti-Muslim sentiment.)
Mohammadi is a captivating lead, her restless energy, frustration and cheeky defiance wholly at odds with the dignity and disapproval that Noor’s Shireen radiates. Warda’s Mamanjoon is the calm, wise and doting grandmother we’d all wish to have. And although Leila’s eight brothers are largely indistinguishable — basically just a rowdy bunch — Byrne’s Balthazar reveals warm and unexpected depths.
The Persian Version is an effervescent joy: a cleverly mounted study of how hard it can be to become one’s better self ... particularly when we keep getting in our own way.
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