While teaching film appreciation at Mumbai University, I was introduced to a marvellous Iranian film called ‘Leila’ by our visiting faculty, Mr. Ajit Duara. Directed by Dariush Mehrjui, it’s one of the most ‘modern’ films I’ve seen, not just for its thinly veiled critique of a traditional society that embraces the latest technological developments from the West, but shuns liberal thought, stifles individuals and drives a wedge into the healthiest of relationships; it also makes for an interesting study in creating a masterful cinematic work, within the constraints of a heavily restrictive environment. This is a unique facet of Iranian art-house cinema in general, apart from economy of expression, dogged unsentimentality and awe-inspiring acting.‘Leila’ is about an attractive, young upper class couple in Tehran who’re madly in love with one another. Once their contentment is established (through various indirect devices and brilliant performance, since the lead players are not even allowed to touch each other to suggest intimacy on screen, in keeping with the law of the land!) the director introduces a problem. Leila (Leila Hatami) finds out that she’s unable to conceive. Reza (Ali Mosaffa), her husband, is supportive and tells her it doesn’t matter, because he’s happy with her irrespective of whether they have children or not.
But Reza's mother is an upholder of tradition and she starts working on the couple, shaking Leila’s fragile self-esteem and making her feel terribly guilty about her infertility -- citing the logic that if her only son doesn’t have a male heir, the family name will die. Leila herself is a product of her upbringing, and used to being subservient in a society that believes in keeping its women firmly hidden under their chadors. Despite Reza's assurance, she succumbs to her mother-in-law's pressure and persuades him to take a second wife. Reza's father is livid and admonishes his son for listening to his mother's stupid advice – but his muted protests are no match for his wife’s belligerent perseverance. Eventually, the mother's will prevails and Reza starts meeting women, while insisting he’ll only marry the girl his wife approves of. In a bizarre series of sequences, we see Leila standing at street corners waiting for her husband to drive past with potential candidates for her to look at. With each such outing, Leila’s own defences start crumbling and finally, she puts an end to her misery by giving a nod to a reasonably sound proposal.
On the day of the wedding, Reza's father refuses to attend the ceremony and stays back at home with Leila. In the evening, the entire family returns home rejoicing the occasion while Leila is sitting all alone in the darkness of her house. She has already moved out of her own bedroom into another guest room in the house and has personally decorated the bedroom for the new bride. But when Reza and his bride finally close the door, Leila cannot bear to be in the house any longer and in the middle of the night, she walks out and goes to her parents' house. Reza comes to fetch her the next morning, begging and pleading with her to go back with him. But Leila refuses. Reza is unable to find happiness with his second wife, who eventually gets pregnant, and ironically, has a baby girl. She realises that Reza doesn't like her and walks out leaving the baby with him. In the end, no one is happy and Reza's mother doesn't get her male heir either.
What makes ‘Leila’ fascinating is that every act of human violation is done under the garb of respectability. Leila is conditioned to think it is her duty to give a male child to her husband. So nothing can reassure her or lessen her guilt. Reza claims that he doesn't want to do anything without Leila's consent. But how does he imagine that his first wife will be happy if he takes a second (irrespective of what she says), given that they’re both so much in love? He too is the product of a tradition that allows men to take more than one wife and has perhaps seen them living together in ‘harmony’. Reza's father, who is the voice or reason, is stifled, because his society doesn't give him the space or the freedom to express his liberal views. Reza's mother, who is the voice of orthodoxy, prevails.
On the face of it, Reza has Leila's consent. On the face of it, Reza's relationship with the other woman is legitimate because he has 'married' her. On the face of it, Leila has no real reason to walk out on her husband because she pushed him into the marriage in the first place. But human feelings and relationships can hardly be categorised and compartmentalised so rigidly. In the end, the filmmaker uses this brilliant domestic drama to speak of the crushing power of societal pressure and its potential to destroy lives in the name of propriety and traditional values.
Sounds familiar, doesn’t it? Even more impressive, though, is the manner in which Mehrjui articulates his own liberal ideology within the restrictive confines of his closed environment. Perhaps it takes such rigorous limitations to power the human imagination and find newer ways of self-expression.
And then it gets even more amusing to see our mediocre filmmakers crying foul over censorship.
Deepa Deosthalee
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