Persepolis

I feel like it’s time to talk about one of the many misconceptions that keep cropping up all over the internet. This is the idea that only Hollywood movies are formulaic and that everything would be better if made outside of the studio system. Yes, this country does produce a lot of painfully predictable films but the same occurs in other places if you look at Bollywood musicals, Korean romantic comedies, Chinese slapstick parodies, Japanese ghost stories and English crime dramas. Themes and scenes and characterizations get carbon copied again and again and only seem fresh in the context of being new and foreign. That said I have a huge soft spot for those quirky coming of age stories peppered with tragedy and loss that crop in France and the Middle East. For me each one of these is unique and can usually do no wrong. Having stated my bias, let me warn you this article is less about criticism and more about writing  a love letter to Persepolis.

 

Autobiographical in nature, the story begins with Marjane’s childhood in Tehran during the 70’s when the country found itself under a brutal yet comparatively permissive dictatorship. During this time the country flourished culturally and exposed young Marjane to foreign influences such as rock and roll and Bruce Lee. Unfortunately after the revolution the country jumps out of its moderate frying pan and falls straight into the fires of clerical rule. This creates a huge cultural shift that manifests itself in the way of headscarves, prohibition and open misogyny. Nobody is more opposed to this change than Marjanes family of educated socialists but given the sheer brutality of the new regime they have not choice but to keep their protests at home.

 

While the films subject matter is quite heavy it still retains a playful dreamlike quality that interweaves anecdotes, history, pop references and fantasies into a coherent and feather light vessel. I attribute a lot of this to the art style of the movie which layers pale stylized figures on dark and complex backdrops. Within this architecture of shadows all dreams and nightmares are possible and as such the movie shifts effortlessly from stories about punk rock shows to police brutality to touching family moments.     

 

Based on a graphic novel by Marjane Satrapi, this movie could be considered Sin City for people who aren’t into Frank Millers testosterone packed story telling. In other words it is a super faithful adaptation of an inventive black and white story that retains all the magic of the source material as it moves from page to film. If Sin City taught me that comic book movies could be faithful and visually arresting then Persepolis has taught me that they can also have a heart and soul.