"Neghab" (Mask) is a well-made film and full of surprises. Besides good entertainment, it also offers some food for thought and speculation. And as we don't want to spoil the fun of those who will still come to see the film, we will here devote ourselves to speculation and leave the hard facts for you to detect on your next visit to the cinema.

First Impression -- Neghab is the story of an unhappy marriage, Iranian style, which means that a young man and woman marry after a short acquaintance, the women obviously not giving any thought to the question of what she will do once she turns into a housewife, and a young man who soon turns into a violent bully. Predictably and practically from the beginning, their married life is hellish. And we begin to regret spending money and valuable time on the film: Haven't we seen this before, at least a thousand times? The large, tear-filled eyes of the young wife, the angry behavior of the husband, the seeming incapacity of Iranian film couples to have a meaningful relationship are all too familiar plots, even if the tale is set in Dubai. 

Certainly this kind of failure in marriage happens frequently, here and elsewhere in the world. The skyrocketing divorce rates, especially among young couples, tell their own sad tale. It might be that brides and grooms don't know what to expect of marriage, or don't know each other and themselves well enough, or are just too young to marry. Or one could delve into sociological and psychological depths and uncover the fault lines disrupting a society in transition, vacillating between traditional and so-called modern models of life and relationship. One could also mourn the loss of religious principles as traditional means of guidance and support. All this has been done, and all these explanations may be true to a certain extent.

However, my question as a cinemagoer goes in another direction: why do we have to see this particular tale every other time we go to the cinema to see an Iranian film? Why do producers and directors rely so much on the large, tear-filled eyes and the brawling husband? And, incidentally, why should they choose their lead actresses more according to the size of their eyes than their acting talent? Why don't we see happy marriages -- or women whose main interest is not housekeeping -- or husbands who cry because of their wives' cruelty -- or at least normal-sized eyes? It really boils down to this: is it the duty of art to reflect a society's problems, or can we also expect art to be a standard-bearer and to introduce avant-garde views, thoughts or patterns of behavior? All these thoughts pass through my head while I watch the first part of Neghab. Because {Sara Khoiniha}'s eyes are really extremely tear-filled and large, her character, NEGAR, is really an almost unbearably pitiable victim of her husband, KAMRAN, who is really almost unbearably bad-tempered and hateful.

This is as far as we get in the story and the speculation, when the first surprise occurs. The film spirals around itself several times, and we get hooked. We will be as good as our word and not spoil the surprises -- only so much: we are obliged to take back our hasty judgment as to heavy-handed acting, unimaginative directing and repetitive script. That was just in the beginning, and it was in a way a sham beginning. However, getting hooked and reversing all negative judgments leads us to the….

Second Impression -- I am ashamed to say that I wouldn't have expected it of an Iranian film. Or, to put it another way: if it had been a foreign film, I would never have taken the beginning seriously, but would have been waiting for the surprise and enjoyed the director's and actors' cunning in leading us up the garden path with the large, tear-filled eyes and other stock ingredients of a standard mediocre Iranian film. Neghab's script in the end turns out extremely artistic and cunning; the design is pleasant to look at; the filming is of high quality -- thanks to {Alireza Zarrindast}; the whole film is solid good entertainment rarely to be enjoyed in Iranian cinemas. By the same token, it doesn't really appear like a normal Iranian film; it has an international ring about it -- and not only because it is set in Dubai.

My immediate reaction is to admonish myself and all those who think like me: why are we surprised when an Iranian film turns out to be good and entertaining according to artistic standards? Have we given up hope that any Iranian film would ever meet these standards or indeed our expectations? Or have we been inculcated with the precept that Iranian films must have their own special Iranian style to such an extent that we exclude all other possibilities from the start? That leads us to a fundamental question about art or rather cultural diversity: does the fact that cultural differences exist and countries have their own styles in, say, filmmaking, preclude our measuring them according to artistic standards? Is reference to artistic standards a manifestation of cultural imperialism, or is the refusal to be judged according to them an excuse for inferiority? Or, on a personal level: if a given native style does not agree with our personal taste, do we have the right to demand something else -- better in our eyes -- or will that be treason?

I say: we -- the spectators, the consumers of artistic production -- we have the right to demand high quality, and we have the right to praise works we like and be critical of those we don't. And if we suspect that something we don't like is like that because its main purpose is the reinforcement of a national ideology rather than the attempt to create an original work of art, then we have the right to say this as well. So I say: give us less of the tear-filled eyes and more of good scripts, good images, good acting and good entertainment!

These are the two impressions provoked by Neghab. But don't worry, it is absolutely ok to go and see the film just for pleasure. Have fun!