Ali Asgari, a leading voice in Iranian independent cinema, blends realism and irony to portray censorship and the contradictions of society. Between Tehran and nods to Italian comedies, the director turns restrictions and prohibitions into vivid, unexpected stories.
Ali Asgari (Tehran, 1982) is one of the most recognized directors of the Iranian independent cinema scene. After studying film in Rome, he made short films that were selected and awarded at numerous international festivals, including Cannes and Venice. In his films – from Nāpadid šodan to Disappearance and Kafka in Tehran – he depicts the condition of young people and women in Iran, often caught between personal aspirations and social constraints. His style is rooted in an essential realism, attentive to everyday detail and the subtle tensions of domestic life. With Komedie Elahi (Divine Comedy), presented in the Orizzonti section at Venice 82, Asgari blends fiction and reality to address censorship and bureaucracy in Iran, with an ironic gaze that turns resistance into storytelling.
Your films often mix reality and fiction. Is that an artistic or political choice?
When I make a film, I try to follow my vision, but in Iran one has to deal with permits and controls. That’s why I work with lesser-known actors or with people playing versions of themselves: it allows me to bypass certain restrictions and keep the story authentic. In the case of Komedie Elahi, the protagonist is played by a director who has actually faced censorship, and who therefore brings with him an experience that makes everything more real. The film was shot in Tehran almost clandestinely, requesting permits for things we didn’t actually want to film. So it’s an artistic choice, but also a necessity.
Will the film be seen in Iran?
No, and that’s part of its story. It’s about a director who cannot show his work in his own country. But today, digital distribution makes it impossible to completely block a film: we put it online, and one way or another it will reach Iranian viewers. I know that my work involves risks – sometimes I get stopped, or they confiscate my passport – but that’s part of my profession. And I keep going.
Bahram is an Iranian-Azeri filmmaker marked by years of censorship and frustration: his films, shot in the northwest of the country, have never been granted permission to be screened. After yet another rejection, he decides to hop on a Vespa with his producer Sadaf and bring h...
