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Fatherlessness, Curse or Blessing?
By Vahid F. Parsa
vahid@tehranavenue.com
December 2006
به فارسی بخوانيم
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While in {Ebrahim Hatamikia}'s In the Name of Father characters are placed in an Abraham-Isaac situation -- to revisit the Iran-Iraq War of the eighties, this time positing a sacred mandate for a "father" sacrifice an offspring, and in this way praising the father figure yet again -- {Rasul Mollaqolipour}'s M. Like Mother appeals to the story of Mary and Christ and dedicates his movie to all "the women of the world." The film attacks the father and consigns all the pains in the world to the mother. It was rumored that Mollaqolipour made his film in response to Hatamikia's Father, using the same actress, {Golshifteh Farahani}. The fact that Mother was released immediately after Father, foregoing participation in Fajr Film Festival and possible awards that it entailed, makes this rumor stronger.

M. Like Mother tells the story of SEPIDEH (Golshifteh Farahani) who was a nurse during the Iran-Iraq war and suffered from the effect of a mustard gas attack. She later marries SOHEIL Kavianpour ({Hossein Yari}), who is a career diplomat. When Sepideh becomes pregnant, she learns later that the mustard gas has affected her irreversibly and that her child will be born with defect. Tension breaks between the couple over keeping the handicapped child. The father leaves his wife and she alone raises the child.

By making the father a diplomat, Mollaqolipour is clearly delivering a reprimand to those in decision-making positions of the Islamic Republic, those who see the revolution as their immanent domain, and the ensuing War -- or "Holy Defense," as it is known officially -- as testimony to the truth of their beliefs. In this way, the child represents the post-war "handicapped and unwanted generation," whom the father abandons. The divine mother, on the other hand, bears the burden of raising this child-generation. The mother is not alone, of course, and although the father is nowhere to be seen, Mollaqolipour goes out of his way to stress that God had always been there. This is the concept of M. Like Mother and there are many signs throughout that point to this reading of the movie.

With his emblematic white, collarless shirt, the father, in whose conjugal house a huge, grainy poster of himself appears on the walls, easily erases a phone message that could've changed the life of the mother and says of his son: "It is to his benefit not to be born," provoking this answer from the mother: "You go change the world and don't bother with me and my child's life." The father, having roamed the world in his diplomatic capacity and having propounded his country's foreign policy, comes back only to complicate things further.

I would've liked the review of M. Like Mother to have ended right here, encouraging everyone to go see the movie, with the brilliant acting of Golshifteh Farahani and the child actor ({Mohammad Ali Shadman}) as SAEED, and a few other sequences, like the child's drowning sequence (before he is rescued miraculously by the mother), or the excellent cinematography and lighting, like the abortion room sequence.

But, M. Like Mother has problems of form. It constantly pushes the emotional envelop onto its audience. It strives to be a social melodrama, and it is. However, the director's insistence to put his characters in stress situations, especially the mother and child, not to speak of his viewers, is disturbing. In every sequence of the film disaster is lurking and the space between these disasters is filled with romantic chapters in which the actors are repeatedly made to arch their brows and shed tears for effect.  There have also been accounts of women in newspapers who, while watching the movie, have had nervous attacks and who had to be carried to the hospital. Mollaqolipour bombards his viewers with disaster, like the sequence in which Sepideh attempts to purchase black market medication for her son, the announcement of {Saddam Hussein}'s arrest, the mother's nervous breakdown, her fall, and the going to waste of the medication. The viewer is then forced to watch numerous sequences in which handicapped children croon their hearts out.

Rasul Mollaqolipour is an angry establishment filmmaker. He expresses his dissatisfaction with some of the social policies of the Islamic Republi by showing handicap children singing a tune by a popular pre-revolutionary singer, {Vigen}, and by showing the playing of violin by Golshifteh Farahani (which the visual laws of the Republic forbid the display of musical instruments from up close).

M. Like Mother points an accusatory finger at the father, for being self-same, self-centered, and opportunist, stepping on all human values and emotions; yet, in the final scene he suddenly becomes the father again and reclaims the child that he didn't want alive while the mother expires in the hospital. This scene may be shockingly bad in terms of the overall rhythm of the movie, but in terms of implication, it is disastrous. Why does a father who has been indicted throughout the movie for his misjudgments (indeed, crime) must at the end inherit everything that the mother so diligently tried to keep alive?

In his successful movie, All About My Mother, which is also a melodrama, and which Mollaqolipour has no doubt seen, the Spanish film director, {Pedro Almodóvar}, makes an intelligent reference to A Streetcar Named Desire, to draw a picture of the postmodern world infested by AIDS, where men and their laws are in the midst of disappearance, leaving their place to a world populated by mothers, women, and feminine ideals. Almodóvar remains faithful to the concept of his movie to the end, without needing to jerk tears from his audience or appeal to disaster, using only dramatic trappings, to get rid of the men of his story one by one, leaving only an unborn boy-child that carries the seeds of a future world founded on non-masculine values.

In M. Like Mother, if we forget the irrelevant but caring character of the company manager who falls in love with Sepideh, Mollaqolipour is also trying to rid the world of male destructive force; but he brings the father back at the end, which appears as a desperate attempt at recapturing male supremacy. One can only lament this for a film that will be forgotten a few years from today. How can Mollaqolipour allow himself to exonerate a father like this? What does Mollaqolipour's world look like when the movie comes to an end? What would such a father do for his son? What can the child share with his father? What would've happened if the father hadn't left? Would the child be alive? Would he have been able to pick up an instrument and play it? Would he have the same fate as his mother's? These are not unimportant questions and their answers require a courage that M. Like Mother, with all its inherent anger, is incapable of offering. Any positive, optimistic answer to these questions, like the ending of this movie, is unacceptable and resembles a self-deception; for, this "crippled post-war generation" wouldn't have paid the price had it been otherwise. This father better leave the house and never look back again.

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