Thoughts on Closed Curtain

Jafar Panahi’s new film Closed Curtain, his second film since being banned from filmmaking, can be seen as a self-eulogy, starting with the title itself, signifying the end of the play, when the curtains close and the audience leaves. Panahi seems to have reached the realization that the end may be near and this idea pervades the entirety of the film, in a way that was not present in the spiritual prequel This is not a Film, made during a more idealistic time.

The film begins, inconspicuously enough, as a tale of a man hiding a dog to keep him from being killed, due to religious cleanliness laws. He becomes a well-known criminal, even making the front page of a national newspaper, because he dared to save an animal that is considered dirty due to some illogical laws. This is all indicative of Panahi himself, an artist whose creations are idiotically claimed to be dirty and, thus, somehow dangerous to the well-being of the country. As such, he is silenced and stopped from partaking in his livelihood. After all, if an artist is stopped from creating, what is he? The film also heavily focuses on this: once the most important part of your being is somehow made “illegal” and you are legally silenced, is that any different from death?

It is with the arrival of a supposedly suicidal woman that the film suddenly takes a turn into something very different. It is here that I will stop giving plot point, merely because the film will surprise from here on out. It is here where the film goes through a series of overlapping, sometimes contradictory realities, hyperrealities and filmic realities, forcing the viewer to question how it all fits together; occasionally, a symbol, clearly originating out of the film’s current reality, turns out to be part of the same reality, disorienting the viewer. Another interesting parallel here is to Michael Haneke, whose signature long takes have clearly influenced this film, and his idea that film is 24 lies every second. On a few occasions, the very lies of filmmaking itself invade the lies of life and death that are the most prevalent. A shot seemingly made with a single hand-made camera turns out to have been made by a full crew, because that is exactly how it works!

These contradictions appear all through the film. While the film uses a lot of symbolic imagery, everything has been subverted, turned upside down by the filmmaker’s madness, caused by his being silenced. Death is beautiful and inviting, while living is decrepit and pathetic. Darkness is safety, while light is danger. Depression is the last refuge of the living, because leaving behind depression leads to death. This is also the main concern of the film: the Sisyphean concern of life and death. Like Camus before him, Panahi, in this darkest moment of his life, is forced to ask the question of whether suicide is the correct response. By the end of the film, suicide is clearly and unambiguously portrayed and hinted at several times, showing exactly what is on the mind of the creator, using the film to clearly and bravely show the world his damaged psyche.

The film ends on a hint of hope, but, after all of this, it is quite difficult to take that as a consolation. With all the lies and trickery, it is impossible to make a sound judgement on what the ending signifies: whether Panahi has come to terms with his state or if he has just come one step closer to the edge.