Posted: 11/26/2002

Takhte Siah [Blackboards]

(2000)

by Parama Chaudhury

Incredible and true story of teachers who travel the Iran-Iraq border carrying blackboards on their backs as they try to educate the children, and adults, in that barren ‘no-man’s land.’

Samira Makhmalbaf had the good sense to be born into the Makhmalbaf House of Film. Her father, Mohsen, is of course, one of the standard-bearers of modern Iranian cinema. His films, from the early gem, The Bicycle, through that surreal wonder, Once Upon a Time Cinema, all the way to the recent topical feature, Kandahar, show the breadth as well as the depth of filmmaking in Iran. Training with such a director is a godsend, especially in Iran where it is difficult to pursue a career like creative filmmaking. Unfortunately for Samira, the influence of these films, especially the near-documentary character of both her father’s work and work of other Iranian mainstays like Abbas Kiarostami, is often misinterpreted as evidence that her work is essentially a knock-off, or that daddy did it for her. The choices she made in filming Takhte Siah—the use of locals in major roles, the framing of shots against the bleak sky over the Iran-Iraq border, the seemingly parallel monologues between characters—all provide evidence that daddy did not in fact, do it for Samira. These are the homages of a fledgling director to her intellectual forefathers, and there are enough of them in the film that it feels like the director is fresh out of film school. But the criticism of her films being derivative of other Iranian directors is probably right on target. Takhte Siah, in particular, could have been made by any of the luminaries coming out of Tehran. This is a compliment to Samira’s talent and training. However, there are few personal touches in the film, which is especially regrettable, since a woman’s perspective in a society such as Iran’s would add a veneer of richness to this genre of film and this will be the next step in the development of Iranian cinema. Nevertheless, Samira’s technical skills prove her to be a worthy successor to Makhmalbaf’s mantle.

Said and Reeboir are teachers armed only with their blackboards, who set out to find students in the barren no-man’s land on the Iran-Iraq border. The opening sequence shows them taking cover along with some other teachers, protecting themselves from the intermittent shelling with their blackboards. Since the shiny surfaces of the blackboards make them easy targets for bombers, the teachers rub the blackboards with the red mud they find on their path. There is very little color in these shots: only the muted browns and reds of the land around them. Even the sky above is a muddy grey, and the men’s outfits and their belongings are covered with a thin film of red dust. Yet, the devil-may-care tone of the men’s voices somehow prevents the atmosphere from being as bleak as could have been. Said and Reeboir soon separate, and while the former tries to find a village in need of schoolteachers, the latter climbs higher into the mountains in search of the shepherd boys tending their sheep.

Said eventually takes up with a group of old Kurdish men on their way to cross over to Iraqi Kurdistan, so that they can die in the land of their ancestors. True to her father’s habit of peppering a narrative with some elements of the absurd—the one-legged men scrambling for spare limbs after an air-drop in Kandahar is a case in point—Samira introduces us to an old man who cannot relieve himself. As we see Said interact with various members of the group, including the old man’s widowed daughter Halaleh, we catch glimpses of the old man’s friends trying to help him go: supporting him from either side as he tries, spraying him with cold water from a stream. In the meantime, Said agrees to marry Halaleh, and offers his only possession, his blackboard, as dowry. Said courts his new bride by trying to teach her to write, “I love you,” and when she doesn’t respond, he scolds her and threatens to fail her. Halaleh barely bats an eyelash. Reeboir, played by young Kurdish director Bahman Ghobadi, known stateside for his 1999 film A Time for Drunken Horses, doesn’t find the shepherds, but stumbles on a group of young “mules”, who smuggle contraband goods across the border. They ignore him for the most part, but finally a boy also named Reeboir is intrigued enough to try and write his own name. In between diving for cover when the shelling starts, Reeboir teaches his young namesake how to spell.

Except for Behnaz Jafari, who plays Halaleh, first-time actors play all of the other characters. Said Mohamadi was a consultant for the film initially, but ended up playing the role of Said the teacher. This technique works quite well because the actors do not have place themselves in the position of the old men, or the boys; they are those people. Jafari’s performance, juxtaposed against the locals in her group, seems a little melodramatic at times, but she speaks so rarely that you hardly notice. In fact, what you remember most about her is an unforgettable still of Said, Halaleh and an old man from the group with his staff held high, framed against the gloomy sky as they finalize the couple’s divorce. Mohammad Reza Dervishi, who also contributed to Kandahar, provides a haunting, sometimes raucous, original score that perfectly complements the framed shots like this. Lest they appear too staged, a shrill voice breaks the silence as soon as you have had your first glance at the shot, and against the backdrop of sunset, a chanting that alternates between melodious and grating, accompanies the old men as they perform the evening namaaz. The music also helps sell the central conceit of the film—the blackboard is used among other things, as a stretcher, as a splint, and as a door to a temporary home—without it appearing too contrived. The other feature of Takhte Siah which saves the film from the over-zealous display of a new director is the taut editing, one more tip of the hat to Mohsen Makhmalbaf.

Samira Makhmalbaf is only 22. She was 17 when she made The Apple, a provocative story about two young girls who are kept behind bars by their father. Takhte Siah was made when she was 20, and it won Samira the 2000 Grand Jury Prize at Cannes. Some of this attention is undoubtedly because of her famous father. Nevertheless, her choice of projects—imprisoned women and desperate teachers—suggests that Samira may be developing a unique sense of self and of her position in the hallowed halls of Iranian film-making. While Takhte Siah is visually striking, its soul betrays an underlying immaturity. But these may be the first steps of a great filmmaker about to join the likes of Jafar Panahi, Abbas Kiarostami and Mohsen Makhmalbaf.

Advice to all cineastes: keep your eyes peeled for this one.

Parama Chaudhury is a graduate student, an ex-writing instructor and a budding freelance writer based in New York City.

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