Rock I ran. Whoops, make that Rock Iran, as in the music of rebellion from the theocratically oppressed country threatening nuclear Armageddon. This revolutionary paradox makes Persian Cats the most important political movie of the year. A slice-of-life take on the underground rock music scene straight outta Tehran, its also got a good beat and you can dance to it, as they used to say on American Bandstand.
It’s a wonder that Persian Cats got made and that it’s not a cause célèbre in the West. If only the Leader of the Free World would deign to recognize it, it would be. Sadly that’s not President Obama’s MO. He instead kowtows to thugs by repetitively referring to Iran as the Islamic Republic, while offering no encouragement to the youthful protesters who look to him for hope. Morally shameful and strategically inept, he could instead use this movie to signal that rock-n-roll can help bring down another tyrannical regime, just as it did with the evil Soviet Empire a generation ago.
Not to put too fine a point on it, but rock and roll’s about sticking it to The Man, as Dewey Finn taught in School of Rock. Imagine if The Man in the White House helped these rockers stick it to The Men who are subjugating Iran.
Politics aside, Persian Cats has a “Hey kids, lets put on a show” naiveté to it, making it not the greatest movie, notwithstanding its great music and cultural transcendence. A Hard Day’s Night it’s not.
It’s musically closer to Street Fighting Man, except these rock and rollers aren’t mere poseurs like Western cats such as the Stones in the 60s or the Clash in the 80s.
Rock on Persian Cats. Some of us in the West see you, hear you and feel you.
Most of the actors are musicians portraying themselves, augmented by scenesters. Of the latter, Hamed Behdad stands out as an operator who knows every band and passport forger in Tehran. In America, he’d be the next Bill Graham. In Tehran, he barely avoids getting whipped by the mullahs.
Of the former, several have charisma to go with their chops. They could be rockstars given a chance.
Most notably, they all look like Western hipsters, indistinguishable from the cats in New York, London, Amsterdam and San Francisco.
The film takes the form of a rambling journey through Tehran’s underground music scene, as the heroes look for a drummer and guitarists to fill out their band, and travel documents so they can make their gig in London. This surveys the impressively rich variety of world music percolating in Iran.
Writer-director Bahman Ghobadi is a brave man. Roxana Saberi, his co-writer, proves the point: Imprisoned last year in Iran on trumped up espionage charges, she went on a hunger strike to get released. What courage. Compared to these freedom fighters, the rest of us are Cowardly Lions.
Political repression might appear tame, but its repercussions are anything but.
21st Century Islamic fascism gets exposed.
OTOH, the Persian Cats don’t seem to live in mortal fear of getting arrested. Rather it’s a mark of honor and bemusement with them. It almost seems like they’ve grown up with the tight-asses who now bedevil them, and so view them more as annoyances than as Gestapo-like killers.
Finally, this Rock of the East movie brings Pirate Radio to mind. Both are about real rockers sticking it to The Man.