Stories around the World in Film

Appendices

Appendix A: Compare/Contrast Chart

(table 06.01.04.01 available in print form)

Appendix B: Plot Description of Finzan

Nanyuma is the central character. Her husband has just died, but unlike her co-wives she does not mourn for a man she never cared for. We see this visually in a scene where the husband's shrouded body is flanked on both sides by two of his mourning wives, while Nanyuma recedes in the background. The tradition of multiple wives will be discussed in light of current discussions of how marriage is defined in the United States. (Throughout human history, polygamy has been a common practice challenging the "traditional" notion that marriage is, and has always been, between one man and one woman.)

Instead of finding liberation, the village chief decides that, according to tradition, Nanyuma must marry her brother-in-law, Bala—a buffoonish character adapted from Malian street theater. While students may not immediately recognize this archetypal clown, they will respond to his antics and the scatological humor. Sissoko has said that Bala also "represents power, oppression, and leadership"²¹ in Mali. Bala's gun is his symbol of power and Sissoko was "attempting to show the cultural belief that weapons give power to a few people who rule Mali.".²²

Nanyuma's son, aware of his mother's plight, attempts to frighten the cowardly Bala by imitating a prophetic spirit who informs him that the evening will bring him flatulence and diarrhea. The prophecy is fulfilled when the son and his friends lace Bala's drink with a potent herb that keeps him occupied and Nanyuma momentarily safe. Nanyuma twice escapes but is brought back to the village, eventually tied up like an animal, and forced to wed Bala. Her resistance, however, continues. She spits at the judge and defends herself from Bala with a knife when he tries to rape her. The village chief, who has endorsed this marriage talks about "evil and clever women" possessing Bala and making him an idiot. But many of the women of the village clearly sympathize with Nanyuma's predicament, urging the chief to reconsider his decision. It is Nanyuma's daughter who asks her grandmother "Are women human beings or slaves?" Nanyuma's own mother (who is herself banished) can offer nothing except "Leave me alone." In fact we see multiple women who handle their situation differently, some accepting it with quiet resignation, others speaking out, presumably for the first time.

As Nanyuma's personal crisis plays out, so too does the social crisis involving the district commissioner who demands the village provide millet at a fixed price. Because of a drought, there is no grain, and the chief rejects the authority of the commissioner. Nanyuma escapes from Bala, but is soon returned only to escape again. It is clear that for the chief and the villagers, Nanyuma's breaking with tradition is the greater crisis, threatening the stability of society. The custom of widow inheritance—which previously bound the community together—now threatens to break the community apart, especially because resistance to the custom is a direct challenge to male supremacy.

For not providing the millet, the chief is arrested. But in an act of solidarity, the community demands his release. A soldier reminds the district commissioner that "the bambaras are dangerous. They rarely rebel against authority. But once they get started they don't stop." This provides an interesting paradox, as we see different abuses of power and different responses.

Nanyuma escapes, seeking help from her other brother-in-law in the city. He not only rejects her plea, but returns her and his niece Fili to the village so Fili won't become "a whore." It is later revealed that Fili has not been "excised." While Fili tries to educate some of the village women about how city women are mobilized against the traditional practice, even Nanyuma exclaims "We have to take it off because its dirty!" The women are divided on excision, but some appeal to the Chief who argues that "excision is at the very base of our tradition," as if this is an argument. The women, who also believe Nanyuma should gain her freedom and be allowed to choose her own husband, tell the Chief that if he doesn't reconsider Nanyuma's case, they will not sleep with their husbands—a strategy reminiscent of Aristophanes' Lysistrata.

Nanyuma eventually advises Fili to run away, arguing that villagers are led "by a blind obedience to tradition." Before Fili can escape however, she is forced to undergo the procedure at the hands of other women who tell her "You'll become a woman." Fili cries "I'm already a woman," but it's too late and her screams tell us her fate. We see how women themselves are often culpable in perpetuating harmful traditions.

Interestingly Nanyuma's young son and his male friends recognize the injustice imposed upon women, swearing not on their mothers' heads but on their fathers', exclaiming that "Our fathers are messed up!" So while Fili loses her battle and Nanyuma escapes to an unknown future, there seems to be hope for future generations.

Appendix C: Descriptive Commentary on The Circle

The film begins with a black screen and no image. We, the audience, hear only the diegetic sound of a moaning woman while other female voices simultaneously talk over her cries. The title credits appear, but there are no subtitles to translate the Farsi. As a viewer we are already disoriented and uncomfortable as we listen to an unidentifiable struggle. The director, Jafar Panahi, uses this technique to immediately place the viewer in what becomes the dark world of chadors—the traditional garment worn by Muslim women, which are prominently featured throughout the film. We then hear a baby cry, see the first subtitles, "It's a girl!" and then the full frame turns from black to white. This dramatic opening sets the stage for a dramatic film about multiple women whose lives intersect as they struggle under a repressive Iranian regime.

A square gradually comes into focus in the middle of the white frame, and a woman's head—veiled in white—appears as she slides the window open. Obviously she is a nurse, and she calls out a woman's name: Solmaz Gholami. This is the first woman we are introduced to and, while we never see her, her fate is revealed at the end of the film, giving us a circular narrative. The title, The Circle, reveals both a stylistic and thematic device used by Panahi to show us women struggling and women resisting different forms of oppression. A circle of restrictions follow these women, and while their particular situations are vague, we know that they are contained within the circle, which does not allow for escape, only continuation.

A woman in a black chador appears. The camera is behind her so we see only her dark triangular shape. The contrast between the nurse—whose head is framed in the square window—and the woman in black (who we learn is Solmaz's mother) is startling and suggests the barriers that even exist between women themselves. We discover that the ultrasound promised a boy and Solmaz's in-laws, on learning that a girl has been delivered, will demand a divorce.

The long take establishes a slow pace contrasting to a more frantic pace that is about to begin. With an increase in speed, we seem to also see an increase in the women's resistance. The mother greets the female in-laws, lies to them about the birth, and continues down a circular staircase. We overhear the in-laws receiving the bad news, and we then see another woman—presumably Solmaz's sister—who receives the news from her mother. In a technique that Panahi will use throughout the film, the camera then follows this woman as she continues moving down the circular stairway. She walks outside to a phone booth, asks another woman for change, then disappears. The camera, however, stays with the new woman and her two companions, who themselves form a circle.

The three women's agitation is apparent even if we don't know the cause. Moedah leaves to sell a gold chain, and a man walks by the other women, announcing "You two alone?" The implications of his seemingly benign question are grave because women should not be alone on the street. The fierce Arezou becomes enraged and follows after the man. The camera momentarily stays with the young and comparatively innocent Nargess, and we see her panic as she is left alone. The camera turns to Arezou and we see her angrily confronting the man, chasing after him and yelling. Clearly she is a woman used to defending herself. We then learn that Moedah has been arrested and a tracking shot is used to show Nargess and Arezou running towards their friend. The indifferent sounds of modern Tehran surround the women, actually heightening the sense of the women's isolation, as they hide behind a car, furtively watching their friend. The fear of the women is palpable. The unsteady frame of a handheld camera accentuates the erratic scene and helps us identify directly with the point of view of women on the run.

We are given the first close-up of Nargess' face, and we see the hint of a black eye. This fact is never explained, and Panahi knows it doesn't need to be—abuse is perhaps not uncommon. It becomes clear that the women are avoiding the police. They bring out their black chadors and cover themselves. Another tracking shot shows them running in the opposite direction, and as audiences members we become caught up in the intensity of the drama.

Moedah is gone. So too the gold chain and the money the women were counting on. "Then how will we get to Raziliq?" asks Nargess. Arezou says she will find a way. As she makes a phone call, the camera focuses on Nargess who looks towards the sky, a car made ready for a wedding, and perhaps the bridegroom who she smiles at. Her innocence is again highlighted with her soft smile and offers a contrast to Arezou's harsh facial features and more aggressive demeanor. Arezou asks a shopkeeper for a cigarette and is informed that she can't smoke in public. Smoking becomes a motif throughout the film, emphasizing even the small restrictions placed on women.

As they leave to find another friend, Pari, the wedding car is seen again. This aspect of mise-en scène is fascinating. Perhaps it implies the importance of marriage and the only real status of women as wives. Nargess' interest may also highlight her more romantic ideas about the world, also revealed in her upward gaze. This is also implied with the camera's continual focus on her face as she observes the world around her. She clearly lacks the experience of her friend Arezou, who does not share the cinematic point of view. Nargess' idealism is further suggested when she looks at a landscape painting (a Van Gogh reproduction and perhaps a symbol of liberal Western values) and believes it to be Raziliq, where the women are trying to escape to. She describes Raziliq as "a paradise" where "We'd finally see the end of our troubles."

It becomes more apparent that the women are indeed hiding from the police. From Nargess' point of view, we see a corrupt policeman take newspapers from a newsstand with an heir of absolute authority, and the tension continues to build. Arezou leads Nargess more than once, clearly taking on a motherly role to the more innocent and cherubic young girl. Arezou has a plan, directing Nargess to wait for her as she ascends a staircase and follows the circular path of a rotunda as Nargess looks up from below. The camera remains focused on Nargess as she takes in her busy surroundings, which are dominated by the hustle and bustle of men at work. She turns in complete circles three times, as if she is trying to fully understand her restrictive environment. Her gaze follows traditional street musicians but then lands on a police car. Tyranny, it seems, is everywhere and ready to interrupt the small pleasure of music that Nargess registers with her smile.

When Arezou returns to the street with Nargess, she returns with money. And while it's never stated, we know how she got it—sacrificing her body to help her younger friend. She will not go to Raziliq, explaining that she fears more rejection: "Two years in prison and no one came to see me." We also learn that she has a son but is unsure whether he is even alive. She says to Nargess, "I couldn't handle seeing that your paradise might not exist."

Nargess reluctantly takes the money for the bus, and we next see her at the station. But in order to get a ticket, she must travel with a male companion or have a student identification. Women cannot travel alone. The man relents, but police are everywhere—in a shop and in front of the bus. Nargess flees to an upper level. We again see the circular motif of a rotunda as Nargess runs with her chador flying behind her. She misses her bus, and instead begins a search for Pari, another woman, who along with Arezou and presumably Moedah, was just released from prison. When she find's Pari's home, Pari's father calls Nargess "a tramp" and insists that prison is where she and Pari belong. Nargess leaves in defeat, her back to the camera, which then follows two men— Pari's brothers on a moped—who have learned of their sister's release from prison. They are outraged by their sister and seem to want vengeance. But Pari manages to escape, and the point of view shifts.

The anxious grimace of Pari tells us her story is a tragic one. It is at this point that we learn that she, along with the other women, have actually escaped from prison. Indeed, the circle of women is large. When she visits her friend Monir inside a cinema ticket booth (which looks ominously like the women are behind prison bars) we hear how Monir's husband took a second wife while she was imprisoned. When Monir was released after four years, her own daughter was afraid of her, hiding behind the second wife for comfort. Tragedy abounds. As Pari seeks out another former female prisoner, Elham, we learn that Pari's imprisonment was related to her relationship with a man who was eventually executed. Men too are subject to the autocratic government.

When Pari finds the hospital where Elham now works, she must have a chador to enter—another restriction placed on women. Elham, a nurse at the hospital, carries the secret of her imprisonment from her doctor husband. When Pari confides in her that she is pregnant and needs an abortion, Elham does not give her the help she needs. To be unmarried and pregnant is scandalous, but Elham is too frightening of losing her new legitimate status. As the camera follows Pari around the hospital, we overhear a conversation about a female suicide and the disgrace that will befall the family.

Panahi boldly takes every opportunity to emphasize the harsh reality of being a female in Iran.

When Pari tries to smoke within the hospital and is told this too is restricted, she says "I feel like it," with great disdain. The separation of the two women is made apparent in the framed composition with Elham, in white, sitting with her back to the camera, and Pari, in black, sitting diagonally from her, face towards the camera. The harsh, straight lines of the bench and lockers are a repeated stylistic element used by Panahi within the mise-en scène.

When Pari leaves the hospital in disgust, two police officers descend on her at a phone booth. One asks her to make a call to a woman. From the conversation it is apparent that this is a married woman and that the policeman is himself breaking the law, instructing the other officer to watch for patrol cars. Again, the restrictions on freedom affect everyone, not just women.

Pari moves away and throws up. While the camera still gives us Pari's point of view, Panahi is about to continue the elliptical movement of the narrative. Pari see a mother and daughter on the street and returns a doll the child has dropped. Costuming becomes important here. The small child wears a bright red hat, complimenting the girl's red bag. All of a sudden the lack of color in this film becomes obvious. Pari attempts to find lodging in a guest house around the corner, but an officer stands at the registration. When Pari walks back outside, the girl is alone. Pari notices the mother on the other side of the street hiding behind a row of cars, watching the situation. Pari approaches her, and the first thing the anxious single mother Nayereh asks for is a cigarette. The women, crouching in the dark shadows, begin to smoke but neither has a match. Again, we see Panahi using the small act of smoking as a means of emphasizing the oppressive environment. We discover that it is Nayereh's intention that a family take her child in, "somewhere that holds a future for her." We also learn this is not the first attempt at abandoning her daughter. Interestingly there is a wedding taking place across the street, a constant reminder that a woman is nothing without a husband. The flashing lights of a police car which pick up the girl, send Pari fleeing into the night. The camera now remains with Nayereh.

Nayereh is a defeated woman. A very long take and the slower tracking of her movement down the dark street, seems to emphasize this. We hear a car pull up near her and a male voice asks if she wants a ride. But the camera remains with Nayereh as she contemplates getting in a strange man's car, with obvious implications. Her chador—a form of self-protection as much as repression—falls off her head as she climbs into the vehicle. A police roadblock requires them to stop, and we then learn that the driver is a policeman who has set Nayereh up, assuming her to be a prostitute. A long shot shows us a similar situation across the street, and the final woman in the circle is introduced.

Mojgan is an unapologetic prostitute. Covered with make-up and chewing gum, she does not pretend she is anything but a single woman who needs to pay the bills. She is already resigned to her fate, which is of course, prison. As a group of men fight about the situation, we see Nayereh escape from the car she's been waiting in. This is seen from Mojgan's clearly jaded perspective. Ironically, another wedding car pulls up long enough for Mojgan to glare at it ambiguously. The man she was with is let go, but Mojgan is taken away to prison in a wagon. The camera is then immobile, focused on Mojgan—a major contrast to the fast-paced tracking of Nargess. When Mojgan attempts to smoke she's told it is not permitted. But when a male prisoner convinces a guard to light up, the restriction is lifted—a clear double standard for women. Mojgan's character, who seems brazen and self-possessed, seems resigned to her position and is perhaps no longer trying to escape the circle.

The square window to the hospital delivery room, which began the film, is now the window to a prison cell where Mojgan is taken. The camera pans around in a complete circle, where we see the shadows of bars from the windows. It is then that we see Nargess, Arezou, and Pari, among other women, in the darkness. The narrative has come full circle, returning to a time before the three women escaped. The guard outside answers a call—an inquiry about Solmaz Gholami, the woman who gave birth to a girl and began the story. Apparently Solmaz has given birth in a maternity ward of a prison and has been transferred to another ward. The achronological sequence suggests that the circle is indeed inescapable. To be born a girl in Iran is to be a prisoner. The camera returns to the square window, which dramatically shuts and the screen fades to black.