The fourth Nordic conference on Middle Eastern Studies:
The Middle East in globalizing world
Oslo, 13-16 August 1998

Under wraps on the stage: women in the performing arts in post-revolutionary Iran

Maryam Habibian
Humanities High School of New York

Since the 1979 Revolution in Iran, women have been key contributors to contemporary Iranian cinema, and to a lesser extent theatre and music. Contrary to the Western belief that the veil and other aspects of male dominance completely imprison women, my research demonstrates that they have fought against it and found their footing in cinema and theatre. This paper attempts to trace the efforts these women have made. It outlines a frame of reference for the study of Iranian women artists and reveals the contradictory circumstances of life for women under the Islamic Republic. Despite sometimes severe censorship, Iranian women's roles in the performing arts have been remarkably diverse in approach and style, and have represented extraordinarily powerful and unexpected visions of contemporary life.

Unfortunately, it has been impossible to see most of these movies and plays outside Iran. Therefore, among the films I discuss I would like to include some that I have seen, and some that I have learned about from primary and secondary sources in books and magazines. Some of the women's plays have been inaccessible in print, so my information has come primarily from articles about them.

Ironically, the post-revolutionary film industry has restored an Iranian tradition of strong female characters that had been lost in most pre-revolutionary films. Female roles have changed drastically from the pre-revolutionary era, both behind and in front of the camera. In many pre-revolutionary movies, women were seen as sex objects, cheap belly dancers, prostitutes, maids, wives of wealthy men, or weak creatures who easily could be raped by any man. Shala Lahigi decries this image of women on the screen, while in Persian classical literature there are so many strong heroines, such as Samanbar, Gordafarid, Rudabeh, Harireh, Tahmineh and Farangis, who literally governed men and fought on horses for their rights. [1] Lahigi wonders why no critic ever questioned these filmmakers about where their own wives were, and if they were marginalized and unimportant, too. [2]

The Iranian Revolution of 1979 banned both Hollywood movies and pre-revolutionary Iranian films. Yet eighteen years later Iranian films have captured major prizes at the world's prestigious festivals. The famous Fajr festival, Iran's annual showcase for both film and local theatre, which has been praised and encouraged by both male and female audiences alike, recognizes the work of women directors and actresses. Additionally, there are at least ten magazines devoted to Iranian film.

In 1983, the Ministry of Culture and Islamic Guidance established the Farabi Cinema Foundation to 'supervise, guide and support' new films with financial investments and equipment. [3] New directors, writers, actors, and technicians were recruited to learn the craft of filmmaking, while many popular pre-revolutionary stars, directors and writers who were identified with the Shah's era saw their careers destroyed.

Over fifty movies are made per year in Iran. Most are contemporary melodramas, light comedies, historical epics and moral tales for children. In recent years, there have also been some love stories. According to Sabereh Mohammad-Kashi, some male directors, as well as the renowned woman director Rakhshan Bani-Etemad, are creating powerful female roles. Recent themes include relationships between older women and younger men who feel comfortable loving intellectual women. [4]

Thus in some ways the Islamic Republic has been successful in fostering a thriving film industry with strong roles for women. Since the revolution eleven women have directed feature films. The most well known works have come from writer-directors Rakhshan Bani-Etemad, Tahmineh Milani, Pooran Derakhshandeh and Samira Makhmalbaf.

These facts are important indications of progress. But we must also mention the post-revolutionary law for film and stage actresses. The 1982 post-revolutionary law required that women be shown as modest and chaste characters with important roles in society--such as good mothers who could raise 'God fearing and responsible children.' [5] The law also reinforced the idea that women should not be treated as commodities, considered as sexual objects, or arouse any sexual desires. [6] Women are never supposed to sing or dance on the screen or stage. Physical contact with any man is totally forbidden; if women and men absolutely have to touch each other, they are supposed to keep an object such as a piece of cloth between them. (Of course, in other ways women are treated like commodities, especially in marriage exchanges and other limitations on their rights.) Costumes should be modest, preferably a long raincoat, the 'manteau,' with trousers and head scarf, usually black. (However, it was allowed that actresses could wear wigs or hats on some occasions.) Nevertheless, costume designers have been creative within these limitations.

Before examining films made by women, I'd like to look at the role of women in the films of three well-known male directors. Bahram Beiza'i, a renowned playwright, scholar, scriptwriter and filmmaker, is apparently one of the rare filmmakers whose films have always depicted a wide range of women who are both real and dignified--urban, rural and tribal women who have their own voices as intellectuals and housewives. While such sensitive portrayals of women on his part date back to the Shah's era, Beiza'i's women have become even more mature in his post-revolutionary films.

Bashu, Gharibehye Kuchak (Bashu, the Little Stranger, 1985) explores the role of a powerful mother hidden behind a veil. The striking Susan Taslimi as Na'i plays the role of the mother, housewife, caretaker and breadwinner for a family of three in a village in the North of Iran. While her husband is away 'looking for work,' Na'i gives a home to Bashu, a boy orphaned by the ravages of war. Although Na'i is completely covered up, close-up shots of her intense and dramatic gaze add to her strength as a peasant woman. Hamid Naficy draws attention to Beiza'i's powerful use of veiled vision, and direct gaze to free his films from years of entrapment by rules of modesty. [7]

Shayad Vaghti Digar (Maybe Some Other Time, 1988) is about Kian, her sister, and her mother, all of whom lead nightmarish lives. In one major plot strand, for example, Kian is a young mentally ill woman who is afraid of telling her husband that she sees a psychiatrist out of a fear of being stigmatized and mocked. Lahigi argues that Maybe Some Other Time is a legend of women's pain, whether they choose motherhood or childlessness. [8]

Dariush Mehrjui, who earned international recognition in the seventies with works such as The Cow, has produced a body of work on the issues of women and their personal relationships. In his recent films, Mehrjui presents contemporary women trapped between tradition and the modern world.

Hamoon (1990) deals with an unusual glimpse of psychological conflict in marital life. A woman who was once madly in love with her husband discovers that he really isn't her ideal man any more. [9] According to Philip Shenon, this movie deals directly with the oppression of women when Hamoon yells out, 'Why don't women have rights in this country?' [10] In Banoo (1991), a woman separated from her husband is so lonely that she will allow virtually anyone into her house in hopes that it will feel like the home of a family once again. Leila deals with a woman whose barrenness ruins her marital life. She approves of her husband's marriage to a second woman, one who should be able to bear him a child. Mehrjui, the director, claims that this film captures the complex worlds of modernity and tradition, and how these two worlds can unite with each other. [11] When questioned about Leila's problem living in a culture where her husband can have another wife, he says he does not think that he can solve these problems. He is only interested in presenting them. [12] He does not try to make statements about what an Iranian woman is or could be, how she has been misrepresented or unrecognized in patriarchy, her absence from history or her being silenced. Rather, he seeks to provide the spectator with an experience that will allow her to discover on her own something about herself, the society she moves in and the oppressions she confronts daily.

Mohsen Makhmalbaf, one of the most popular and controversial directors in Iran, is a product of the revolution itself. His output as a writer-director is immense: fourteen features and two shorts between 1982 and 1996. [13] Makhmalbaf's most recent movie, Gabbeh (1996), filled with gold-flecked costumes for its women and little girls, tells of the love and loss of a young woman named Gabbeh. Makhmalbaf's treatment of the women in this film is impressive. He shows them in 'the brightest of nomadic colors, [gives] their faces ample closeups, and [narrates] this story of romantic desire from a female perspective.' [14]

The movie opens with a shot of an old couple's gabbeh, a Persian tribal carpet, being washed beneath the clear waters of a creek. The carpet depicts a man and a woman on a white horse. Suddenly a young woman named Gabbeh appears, dressed identically to the older woman, and narrates the story of herself and the carpet. Gabbeh longed to elope with a mysterious horseman who loved her and followed her from a distance like a shadow and howled for her in the night like a wolf. He had proposed, and she had returned his love, but her father kept making up excuses to postpone the marriage. In Gabbeh, Makhmalbaf highlights the tragic condition of tribal women oppressed by their patriarchal society.

Because it deals with the theme of love, it was hard for Makhmalbaf to get permission to make this movie. At the American premier in 1996 at the New York Film Festival at Lincoln Center, Makhmalbaf said he basically tricked the authorities by pretending to shoot a documentary about the gabbeh-weaving nomads of Iran. [15] According to Godfrey Cheshire, 'To grasp the profound political resonance of Gabbeh is to glimpse the expressive power that movies retain in Iran, one reason why the nation's filmmaking has been so vital in recent years.' [16] Furthermore, it is amusing to know that Makhmalbaf was not allowed to use a woman for an outdoor scene of childbirth, so he put on skirts and played the role himself, in a discreet and disguising longshot. [17]

It is hard to imagine, given such cultural oppression, how women directors such as Rakhshan Bani-Etemad, Tahmineh Milani, Pooran Derakhshandeh and Samira Makhmalbaf have emerged. Politically speaking, it seems that:

...veiling has functioned more like a code that allowed anyone and everyone to vent their private aspirations, fears, dreams, and nightmares. An emblem now of progress, then of backwardness, a badge now of nationalism, then of domination, a symbol of purity, then of corruption, the veil has accommodated itself to a puzzling diversity of personal and political ideologies. [18]

Rakhshan Bani-Etemad, who began her career making television documentaries, received the honorary title of the 'Lady of Iranian Cinema' in 1998, at the sixteenth Fajr Festival, Iran's annual showcase for local production, for her film Banooye Ordibehesht (The Lady of Ordibehesht, 1997). At the 1992 Fajr Film Festival, she also became the first woman to win first prize for her film Nargess. [19] Bani-Etemad's protagonists, unlike those of directors such as Abbas Kiarostami and Bahram Beiza'i, do not come from the villages. They are often from Tehran and its suburbs. She attempts to show their daily struggle and misery. [20] In an interview she says, 'I don't claim to be the judge of all women, that is too big of a responsibility. I can only illustrate some of the problems facing women as I have experienced them.' [21]

Bani-Etemad's female characters range from ordinary to extraordinary. In her first movie, kharej az Mahdoodeh (Off the Limit, 1987), a housewife's life is restricted to the extent that her husband does the shopping for their daily needs. [22] In her next movie, Zarde Ghanari (Canary Yellow, 1989), the women of the family are stronger than the naive and silent men. [23]

Nargess (1991), the story of a love triangle, depicts two women's profoundly complex circumstances. 'Afagh, a magnificently dignified thief, is in danger of losing her young lover Adel to the much younger and more virtuous Nargess.' [24] In their struggle against poverty, both women become victims of an immature man. Bani-Etemad's social satire is well depicted in the veils of the women laborers. She even looked for these characters in real life. She says, 'I even traced somebody like Afagh, the thief, in the Ghasr prison and in the old-age homes.' [25]

Rousari-abi (The Blue-Veiled, 1995) actually unveils a romance, which is almost unbelievable in the Islamic Republic. Rasool, a sixty-year old factory owner and widower, falls in love with one of his workers, Nobar, who is thirty years younger. His daughters and in-laws are furious because of class differences, forcing the old man to choose between them and her. This movie depicts a deep story of an unconventional love between two people from different classes who are trapped between tradition, logic and emotion. This romance is perhaps more intense than a Western romantic film because of the obvious limitations the director and actors had to overcome. The facial expressions and the language, combined with the superb acting of Ezatollah Entezami and Fatemeh Motamed-Aria, add to its quality.

It is amazing, in fact, that the controversial elements in this film did not land Bani-Etemad in prison. The Blue-Veiled includes a hard working woman willing to support her drug-addict mother and siblings. It also examines the hardship of the under class, and the comfortable lifestyles of wasted Tehrani upper- middle-class women. Bani-Etemad explains that she has always been interested in depicting the lives of young girls who become adults too fast without experiencing childhood, grow too old without experiencing their youth, and die too early without experiencing womanhood. These types of women are clearly seen in both Nargess and The Blue-Veiled. [26] As in Nargess, Bani-Etemad testifies that 'none of the characters in The Blue-Veiled were imaginary. I met them while working on my documentaries on the outskirts of Tehran. I formed the storyline from those real people and their experiences.' [27] In fact, she claims that she can only develop a character from someone she knows. [28]

Bani-Etemad's latest movie, The Lady of Ordibehesht, received seven prizes at the sixteenth Fajr film festival, where it was also chosen as the third best movie. Ordibehesht is the second month of Spring. It is about a middle-aged filmmaker and her son. According to Safiyeh Ruhi, two stories take place simultaneously. One is a documentary that the protagonist of the movie is making, and the other is the real story of her own life and the conflicts of bringing up her young son in the modern world while at the same time trying to hold on to tradition. [29] She feels confused about accepting the love of a certain man who is, interestingly, absent from the screen. One might wonder if he really exists. [30] In a letter to Rakhshan Bani-Etemad, Ahmadreza Ahmadi, the prominent contemporary poet, writes:

In The Lady of Ordibehesht, you speak of our women, to whom many husbands owe a great deal...this reminds me of a scene I once observed on a Friday afternoon as women were bidding their husbands farewell as they headed off to the Iran-Iraq war. The sunset that Friday was awash in their tears, but those were tears which seemed to last an eternity for a human being. I read somewhere that at their burial the martyrs of the Constitutional Revolution were discovered to actually be women disguised in men's clothing. As with those martyrs, Ms. Etemad, your women embody both glory and sadness. [31]

Tahmineh Milani, another prominent writer-director, has had difficulty receiving approval for her scripts for different reasons. For example, the High Council of the Ministry of Islamic Guidance took at least six months to approve her second film, Afsaneh-ye Ah (Legend of the Sigh, 1990). They believed that 'the characters of this film do not provide appropriate role models for our youth.' [33]

In Milani's third cinematic effort, Digeh Che Khabar (What Else is New? 1991), the film's producers declared that there was no clear story line and also reminded her that female characters are forbidden from playing comic roles. [34] They requested that she change the role intended for the actress Mahaya Petrousian to that of a male character, even suggesting that they would pay her more for doing so. [35] In the end, Milani won the fight. Milani's last film, Kakado (1993), a film based on the tainted environments unto which children are born, took a long time to get approval. It was criticized because of an eight-year-old girl character not being veiled and a script featuring a friendship between the girl and the son of a janitor. After Milani suggested that the girl was too young to be veiled, the script was finally attacked on the grounds that it describes the face of the earth as ugly, whereas the Koran considers the face of the earth to be beautiful. [36]

Apparently the Ministry of Islamic Guidance disapproved of Kakado because the little girl's four friends were not felt to be good role models. However, Milani's stated intention was to show how children are born impartial to race and class. Despite the tremendous obstacles she faced in attaining exhibition permits for her films, Milani has managed to make four successful feature films, two of which received praise at a film festival in Berlin.

Pooran Derakhshandeh's films often depict the tragic lives of the physically or mentally handicapped. [37] Although some of her women are professionally independent, they can be quite melancholic and bitter about the world around them. An infertile gynecologist in Lost Time comes to realize that 'her individuality, professionalism, and marital happiness depend less on her as a mother than on her as a human being.' [38]

The youngest woman director, Samira Makhmalbaf, made her directorial debut at the tender age of seventeen with the film, Sib (Apple, 1997). Some critics have expressed a belief that the film--which was well received at the sixteenth Fajr Festival--was perhaps actually directed by Samira's father, the noted Mohsen Makhmalbaf. [39] Such accusations are not without precedent. Thirty-five years earlier it was said that a film by the prominent poetess and film director Forough Farrokhzad, Khaneh Siah Ast (The House is Black, 1963), was actually directed by her male companion, the famous writer Ebrahim Golestan. [40] This only underlines how quickly some critics will attempt to discredit a female artist's work.

Apple, which is based on a true story, portrays the veiling and silencing of two young girls who have been imprisoned by their blind mother and elderly father in their home for eleven years. When neighbors finally notify the authorities about the situation, the girls can neither walk nor talk and are, in fact, functionally retarded. [41] In the following excerpt Makhmalbaf explains her interest in researching the film's theme:

The film Apple was originally supposed to be a documentary, therefore it was a good excuse for me to research the extent to which the streets and alleys--where girls are not allowed to play--are important to boys' social growth. I was also curious as to why the parents would imprison their own children and, finally, why the neighbors were either so oblivious or so careless about their own neighborhood... [42]

Women artists in post-revolutionary Iran are not as internationally well-known in theatre as in film. Unfortunately, many scripts written by women have either gone unpublished or are otherwise inaccessible. Consequently, most of my information on women playwrights, directors, and actresses comes from materials I have accumulated over recent years, as well as from research I did on Iranian theatre in Iran in 1992.

The practice of veiling in theatre seems to encompass even more symbolic and ritualistic meanings within the patriarchal structures because the interaction between audiences and actors is more immediate. That interaction reflects the ways in which people relate to each other; Farzaneh Milani suggests that veils are 'Like walls that enclose houses and separate inner and outer spaces,...a clear statement about the disjunction between the private and the public.' [44]

Fabric itself became a strong symbol when Roknoddin Khosravi used it to show how a young couple had to touch each other during the rehearsal of The Cherry Orchard. [45] In an interview with Khosravi, he emphasized that the use of material onstage to cover up women, and to a certain extent men, creates an element of mystery that he had not previously considered. He said most directors have used such obligatory materials creatively on the stage in recent years. [46]

Despite the strict limitations of veiling, the Women's Theatre Club, also known as The Unit of Theatre Arts for Sisterhood, opened under the guidance of Tehran's Center for Dramatic Arts in 1985, their goal being to encourage women artists. This organization initially offered classes on Islamic Arts, Playwriting, Acting, Stage Design, Music, Puppet Theatre, Speech, Philosophy of Art and Children's Literature. [47] Later classes such as Puppet Making, Research in Theatre, and Directing were added. They established a rule that the directors and playwrights should mostly be women, and that the focus should be on themes meaningful to women. [48] Subsequently, the first Women's Theatre Festival was held in Tehran in 1995. The style of most contemporary women playwrights may be called social and psychological realism. The themes include generation gaps, loneliness, lack of communication between men and women, and society's cruel negativity towards women.

Nadia Mohammadieh, an actress, playwright, and the director of the puppet play Kamande Khaterat (The Lasso of Memories, 1995), believes that women playwrights are much better able than men to touch upon women's problems and conflicts. [49] Naghmeh Samini's play Vasiyat Nameh (The Will, 1995) is about an elderly woman, Sara, and a young boy, Gogo, who sells Pepsi on the street. Sara runs away from her old age home and ends up living on the street. She tries to get Gogo to write a will for her, not knowing that the boy is illiterate and unconcerned about her welfare. Finally, she dies on a bench on the street. [50] The great lack of communication between the two characters is somber symbolism for the death of tradition. The play Ghorbatat Ra Hich Sheri Nasorud (Your Homesickness Was Not Recited In Any Poetry, 1995), written by a man named Masood Soheili and directed by Zahra Attari, deals with the lonely life of a broken-hearted, middle-aged woman who cannot go back to her abusive husband. [51] The director shows how some men believe their wives will never leave them, despite their cruelty. [52]

These plays can often be deeply disturbing. For instance, Chista Yasrebi's Dokhtarake Shabe Tulani (The Long Night's Little Girl, 1997) reveals the struggles of a Middle Eastern woman imprisoned in a harem. [53] A man trying to cheer up an unhappy little girl tells her three stories, each of which includes a woman being forced into a king's harem. Afterwards the little girl cries, upon which the man moralizes, 'if she can learn how to cry, she can also learn how to laugh.' [54] This type of theatre attempts to transform stories into feminist questions that will raise the consciousness of men and women. According to Samini, women's theatre should present characters with which women can identify, and make them aware of their historical position in culture and the family. [55]

While the position of women in Iranian cinema and theatre has improved substantially during the past decade of the post-revolutionary era, progress in music has been less impressive. At the beginning of the revolution Persian pop music of the Pahlavi era was banned, and Persian classical music was also prohibited as sinful. Thanks to the efforts of a number of masters, classical Persian music, with its long history of profound spirituality, eventually returned with some restrictions: only men were allowed to perform, and they were not allowed to teach female students. This was a heavy blow to several accomplished, classically trained female musicians and singers, such as Parisa, Sima Bina, and Ghashang Kamkar, whose music became imprisoned inside the walls of their homes.

After much struggle in recent years such women have regained the right to perform for female audiences. Although their concerts have never been publicly announced, they have typically sold out. These women have also been able to conduct classes for female students in private homes.

The prominent classical singer Fatemeh Vaezi, who goes by the name Parisa, has given four-nights of concerts accompanied by a female orchestra. She has also performed widely in Europe and the United States. Parisa, whose unique singing style is deeply rooted in Persian classical music, studied with Ustad Mahmoud Karimi at Iran's National College of Music, after which she continued her classical training with the eminent Ustad Davami and Dr. Dariush Safvat at the Centre for the Preservation and Propagation of Persian Music. Her ability to improvise while also respecting the rules of the radif (the traditional Persian repertory) has earned her a following among professionals and the general public alike. Parisa has also assembled a five-piece female orchestra. [56] The well-known classical and folk singer Sima Bina, who is also a visual artist, has been teaching singing to many female students. She has also been able to give concerts for women in Iran and has widely performed abroad.

It is impressive to see a picture of Ghashang Kamkar, a female musician, holding a sehtar on the cover of Zanan. This is the first time such a depiction has occurred since the revolution. Kamkar, who comes from a family of musicians, is widely recognized both in Iran and abroad for playing mostly Kurdish music with an ensemble called, simply, Kamkar. This ensemble includes her seven brothers and her son. Apparently she teaches both male and female students, which is a hopeful development. Both Ghashang and Parisa have criticized the patriarchal power structure for its primitive treatment of women artists. [57]

On the cover of another issue of Zanan, there is also an encouraging photograph of a number of fully covered female singers. This choir for Iranian women, with fifty-eight members, was established under the Armenian male conductor Gorgin Mousissian. Mousissian's choir, with its repertoire of Islamic National songs and folk melodies, performed recently for a mixed male and female audience at Vahdat Hall in Tehran. [58] Now active again after several years of being denied permission to perform, they have been invited to perform in Russia and Armenia. [59]

Indeed, the laws of the Islamic regime have often been very complex, and the application thereof often contradictory. An optimistic view would be that women artists have been empowered in as many ways as they have been oppressed. In any case, it is a testament to the creativity and perseverance of Iranian women that they have found ways to reveal so much of who they truly are from behind the veil.

Bibliography

Ahmadi, Ahmadreza. 'From a Personal Look: Two Letters from Ahmadreza Ahmadi to Rakhshan Bani-Etemad.' Film o Cinema, No. 1 (1998), pp. 30-31.

Bani-Etemad, Rakhshan. 'The First Step Is to See and See again: Rakhshan Bani-Etemad's Speech on Scriptwriting.' Film o Cinema, No. 13 (1995), pp. 42-44.

-- 'Recent Iranian Cinema.' Walter Reade Theatre at Lincoln Center, New York (April 26-May 23, 1996.)

-- . 'An Interview with Rakhshan Bani-Etemad.' Interview by Zavon Ghukasian. Film o Cinema, No. 1, pp. 28- 29.

Boal, Augusto. Theatre of the Oppressed. Translated by Charles A. & Maria-Odilia Leal McBride. New York: Urizen Books, 1979.

Buck, Caroline. 'The Existential Limits.' Translated by Shahla Rostamkhani. Film o Cinema, No. 1, pp. 41-42.

Cheshire, Godfrey. 'Makhmalbaf: The Figure In The Carpet.' Film Comment (July-August 1997), pp. 63-69.

Fatollah-Zadeh, Ali, Editor. 'Women's Theatre Club.' Nemayesh, No. 36 (1990), pp. 46-47.

Hart, Lynda & Peggy Phelan, eds. Acting Out: Feminist Performances. Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press, 1993.

-- 'Iranian Women and Cinema Administration.' Zanan, No. 24 (1993), pp. 48-52.

Javaheri, Fereshteh. 'With These Problems of Life, There Is No Time for Art.' Zanan, No. 36 (1997), pp. 22-25.

-- 'The Chorus of Life: An Interview with Some Women Members of Vahdat Hall's Chorus.' Zanan, No. 42 (1998), pp. 28-31.

Khaksar, Elham. 'The Women of Sixteenth Festival: Two Women with Continuous Remembrance of Forough.' Zanan, No. 41 (1997), pp. 22-26.

-- 'An Element Named Dignity: Some Thoughts on Rakhshan Bani-Etemad.' Film o Cinema, No. 1, pp. 40.

Rakhshan, Alireza. 'A Comment on the Film Apple.' Zanan, No. 43 (1998), pp. 50-52.

Khosravi, Roknoddin. An Interview by Maryam Habibian, summer of 1992, Tehran, Iran.

Lahigi, Shahla. The Image of Women in Bahram Beiza'i's Works: The Filmmaker and Scriptwriter. Tehran: Roshangaran Publishers, 1988.

Makhmalbaf, Mohsen in an Interview at New York Film Festival, 1996.

Makhmalbaf, Samira. 'Apple.' Film, No. 215 (1997), p. 46.

Mehrjui, Dariush. 'An Interview with Dariush Mehrjui.' Interviewed by Omid Rohani. Zanan, No. 40 (Tehran, 1997), pp. 22-26.

Milani, Farzaneh. Veils and Words: The Emerging Voices of Iranian Women Writers. New York: Syracuse University, 1992.

Milani, Tahmineh. 'I Cannot Tolerate the Injustice.' Zanan, No. 35 (1997), pp. 14-20.

Mohammadieh, Nadia. 'Women on the Theatre Stage.' Hamshahri (1995), p. 47.

Mohammad-Kashi, Sabereh. 'The Scarce Happiness: An Analysis of Love in the Post-revolutionary Cinema.' Zanan, No. 43 (1998), pp. 46-48.

Mokhtarian, Fereshteh. 'Parisa's Voice in the Autumn: An Interview with Ms. Fatemeh Vaezi (Parisa).' Donyayeh Sokhan, No. 45 (1991), pp. 20-25.

Naficy, Hamid. 'Veiled Vision/Powerful Presences: Women in Post-revolutionary Iran.' In the Eye of the Storm: Women in Post-revolutionary Iran. Edited by Mahnaz Afkhami and Erika Friedl. New York: Syracuse University Press, 1994, pp. 131- 150.

-- 'Cinema under the Islamic Republic.' Jusur, Vol. 6, (1990), pp. 77-94.

Ruhi, Safieh. 'Love Is Not A Lie.' Film o Cinema, No. 1, p. 35.

Samini, Naghmeh. 'Looking at the Roles of Women in the Production of Summer Theatre: Two Unhappy Masks.' Zanan, No. 37 (1997), pp. 64-65.

'Searing Visions: Recent Iranian Cinema.' Trailers: The Film Society of Lincoln Center (November 1992), p. 3.

Shenon, Philip. 'An Iranian Director Finds His Way Past A Double Censorship.' The New York Times (August 15, 1990), pp. C11- C13.

Shirazi, Fariba and Shahla Akhtari. 'A Report from the First Women Theatre Festival: Theatre and Acting on Life's Stage.' Peyame Zan (1995), pp. 45-47.

Simon, Alissa. 'After The Revolution: How Iran's Islamic Fundamentalist Regime Created A Movie Mecca.' Village Voice (May 27, 1997), pp. 13-14.

Van Gelder, Lawrence. 'Among Persian Nomads, A Tale Of Young Longing: Gabbeh.' The New York Times (October, 1996), p. C24.

Notes

2. Ibid., p. 14. [*]

3. Alissa Simon, 'After The Revolution: How Iran's Islamic Fundamentalist Regime Created A Movie Mecca,' Village Voice (May 27, 1997), p. 13. [*]

4. Sabereh Mohammad-Kashi, 'The Alchemy of Happiness: An Analysis of the Theme of Love in Post-Revolutionary Cinema,' trans. Maryam Habibian, Zanan, No.43 (1998), p. 47-48. [*]

5. Hamid Naficy, 'Veiled Vision/Powerful Presences: Women in Post-revolutionary Iranian Cinema,' eds. Mahnaz Afkhami and Erika Friedl, In The Eye Of The Storm: Women in Post-revolutionary Iran, (New York: Syracuse University Press, 1994), p. 138. [*]

6. Ibid. [*]

7. Hamid Naficy, 'Veiled Vision/Powerful Presences: Women in Post-revolutionary Iranian Cinema,' In The Eye Of The Storm: Women in Post-revolutionary Iran, p. 145. [*]

8. Shahla Lahigi, 'Maybe...Some Other Time,' trans. Maryam Habibian, The Image of Women in Bahram Beiza'i's Works: The Filmmaker and Scriptwriter, p. 66. [*]

9. Dariush Mehrjui, 'An Interview with Dariush Mehrjui,' interviewed by Omid Rohani, trans. Maryam Habibian, Zanan, No. 40 (Tehran, 1997), p. 24. [*]

10. Philip Shenon, 'An Iranian Director Finds His Way Past A Double Censorship,' The New York Times (August 15, 1990), p. C11. [*]

11. Dariush Mehrjui, 'An Interview with Dariush Mehrjui,' Zanan, p. 25. [*]

12. Ibid., p. 23. [*]

13. Godfrey Cheshire, 'Makhmalbaf: The Figure In The Carpet,' Film Comment (July-August 1997), p. 63. [*]

14. Ibid., p. 69. [*]

15. Mohsen Makhmalbaf in an interview at New York Film Festival, 1996. [*]

16. Godfrey Cheshire, 'Makhmalbaf: The Figure In The Carpet,' p. 69. [*]

17. Ibid., p. 63. [*]

18. Farzaneh Milani, 'The Concept of Veiling,' Veils and Words: The Emerging Voices of Iranian Women Writers (New York: Syracuse University, 1992), p. 19. [*]

19. Hamid Naficy, 'Veiled Vision/Powerful Presences: Women in Post-revolutionary Iranian Cinema,' In The Eye Of The Storm: Women in Post-revolutionary Iran, p. 134. [*]

20. Caroline Buck, 'The Existential Limits,' trans. Shahla Rostamkhani, Film o Cinema, No. 1 (1998), p. 41. [*]

21. Elham Khaksar, 'An Element Named Dignity: Some Thoughts on Rakhshan Bani-Etemad, ' trans. Maryam Habibian, Film o Cinema, No. 1, p. 40. [*]

22. Hamid Naficy, 'Veiled Vision/Powerful Presences: Women in Post-revolutionary Iranian Cinema,' In The Eye Of The Storm: Women in Post-revolutionary Iran, p. 134. [*]

23. Ibid. [*]

24. From 'Searing Visions: Recent Iranian Cinema,' Trailers: The Film Society of Lincoln Center (November 1992), p. 3. [*]

25. Rakhshan Bani-Etemad, 'The First Step Is to See and See again: Rakhshan Bani-Etemad's Speech on Scriptwriting,' trans. Maryam Habibian, Film o Cinema, No. 13 (1995), p. 43. [*]

26. Rakhshan Bani-Etemad, 'An Interview with Rakhshan Bani-Etemad,' by Zavon Ghukasian, trans. Maryam Habibian, Film o Cinema, No. 1, p. 29. [*]

27. Rakhshan Bani-Etemad, 'Recent Iranian Cinema,' at Walter Reade Theatre at Lincoln Center (April 26-May 23, 1996.) [*]

28. Rakhshan Bani-Etemad, 'The First Step Is to See and See again: Rakhshan Bani-Etemad's Speech on Scriptwriting,' Film o Cinema, p. 43. [*]

29. Safieh Ruhi, 'Love Is Not A Lie,' trans. Maryam Habibian, Film o Cinema, No. 1, p. 35. [*]

30. Sabereh Mohammad-Kashi, 'The Scarce Happiness: An Analysis of Love in the Post-revolutionary Cinema,' trans. Maryam Habibian, Zanan, No. 43 (1998), p. 46. [*]

31. Ahmadreza Ahmadi, 'From a Personal Look: Two Letters from Ahmadreza Ahmadi to Rakhshan Bani-Etemad,' trans. Maryam Habibian, Film o Cinema, No. 1, p. 30. [*]

32. Rakhshan Bani-Etemad, 'The First Step Is to See and See again: Rakhshan Bani-Etemad's Speech on Scriptwriting,' p. 42. [*]

33. Hamid Naficy, 'Veiled Vision/Powerful Presences: Women in Post-revolutionary Iranian Cinema,' p. 135. [*]

34. Tahmineh Milani, 'I Cannot Tolerate the Injustice,' trans. Maryam Habibian, Zanan, No. 35 (1997), p. 17. [*]

35. Ibid. [*]

36. Ibid. [*]

37. Hamid Naficy, 'Veiled Vision/Powerful Presences: Women in Post-revolutionary Iranian Cinema,' p. 135. [*]

38. Ibid. [*]

39. Elham Khaksar, 'The Women of Sixteenth Festival: Two Women with Continuous Remembrance of Forough,' trans. Maryam Habibian, Zanan, No. 41 (1997), p. 22. [*]

40. Ibid. [*]

41. Samira Makhmalbaf, 'Sib,' trans. Maryam Habibian, Film, No. 215 (1997), p. 46. [*]

42. Ibid. [*]

43. Iranian Women and Cinema Administration,' trans. Maryam Habibian, Zanan, No. 24 (1993), p. 48-52. [*]

44. Farzaneh Milani, 'The Concept of Veiling,' Veils and Words, p. 23. [*]

45. Rehearsal of The Cherry Orchard, directed by Roknoddin Khosravi (Tehran, 1992.) [*]

46. Roknoddin Khosravi interviewed by Maryam Habibian, summer of 1992, Tehran. [*]

47. Ali Fatollah-Zadeh, ed., 'Women's Theatre Club,' trans. Maryam Habibian, Nemayesh, No. 36 (1990), p. 46. [*]

48. Ibid. [*]

49. Nadia Mohammadieh, 'Women on the Theatre Stage,' trans. Maryam Habibian, Hamshahri (1995), p. 47. [*]

50. Fariba Shirazi and Shahla Akhtari, 'A Report from the First Women's Theatre Festival: Theatre and Acting on Life's Stage,' trans. Maryam Habibian, Peyame Zan (1995), p. 45. [*]

51. Ibid., p. 47. [*]

52. Ibid., p. 48. [*]

53. Naghmeh Samini, 'Looking at the Roles of Women in the Production of Summer Theatre: Two Unhappy Masks,' trans. Maryam Habibian, Zanan, No. 37 (1997), p. 64. [*]

54. Ibid. [*]

55. Ibid., p. 65. [*]

56. Fereshteh Mokhtarian, 'Parisa's Voice in the Autumn: An Interview with Ms. Fatemeh Vaezi (Parisa),' trans. Maryam Habibian, Donyayeh Sokhan, No. 45 (1991), p. 23. [*]

57. Fereshteh Javaheri, 'With These Problems of Life, There Is No Time for Art,' trans. Maryam Habibian, Zanan, No. 36 (1997), p. 23. [*]

58. Fereshteh Javaheri, 'The Chorus of Life: An Interview with Some Women Members of Vahdat Hall's Chorus,' trans. Maryam Habibian, Zanan, No. 42 (1998), p. 30. [*]

59. Ibid., p. 28. [*]