Even though writing these lines may offend some of our guitar-toting, rock-enthused friends, I saw it my duty to share them in care and in the hope that since I have also bent backward under the weight of 4x10 speakers and reeled to the vibrations of guitar bass, my brothers-in-arm would extend their generosity to include this pen.

These lines are not directed only at Mr. {Bahman Ghobadi}, whose A Time for Drunken Horses (2000) I have admired and enjoyed the music of his Turtles Can Fly (2004). No One Knows About Persian Cats (2009) is only an excuse to touch on several points. The question is: "What is Persian Cats… saying, why and for whom?"

I believe that there are no fundamental differences between the content of this film and the way the people of the East have been portrayed by orientalists in the Western media, if not downright abiding by it. As such, the technical aspects of this film are not my concern, for Ghobadi is a dexterous filmmaker in command of his medium; rather I take issue with the relationship between the storyline and the way rock aficionados and worshipers lead their lives in Iran.

Mr. {Al-e Ahmad}, may his soul rest in peace, will turn in his grave to see that "protest" has become a made-for-export commodity in the garb of electro-pop with English lyrics. We have a responsibility as intellectuals and we don't want {Franz Fanon} or others to scoff at our predicaments.

The Romeo and Juliet of our story in the Persian Cats… leave no stones unturned to flee the purgatory of Iran and to thrive in the Garden of Eden of the West. They want to sow the sound of Persian Rock around the globe and to bring pride to Iran and Iranians. Alas, though, that a bunch of backward fanatics are standing in the way of our protagonists, dumping their stash of mountain dew, and ultimately, with our protagonists not even able to taste the bitter ale of Eden, taking them out -- for this type of Rock is a mortal kind and our heroes are fighting to the last drop of their blood to submerge themselves in the sea of "cultural industry" and loose their lives as a result.

More successful counterparts of our band in the US have proved that we are much like others. We wear tight jeans, don black leather coats, bang our heads, head our bongs, and sing of love and separation in a language that the whole world can understand. And the world should know that Iran and Iranians also boast a "culture" and that they are capable of wearing torn jeans, flaring their guitars, stealing the heart of white girls, and let the Western hipster taste the juice of Iranian men.

And how well this film whitewashes the sins of Iranian expats who will feel that they have supported the protest movement in Iran by going to see Ghobadi's film. Those who admire their own image reflected off of others, who award those who mirror their vanity, and palliate their consciences in a way that plays into the hands of a neo-colonialist empire, are no longer required to pay any prices for their heroic deeds. They can get them without much trouble at all. The colonized will see the carrot from a distance and do everything in their power to get to it. And it is as such that the protagonists of the film loose their lives for freedom at the end of the story.

To Bahman Ghobadi, what we are fighting for is the freedom to pick the hot stool of our dogs from the pavement with plastic bags to the tune of Lady Gaga and to let rise up, guitar in hand and torn jeans in tow, against all those who are standing in the way of corporate capitalism and the neo-liberal order. We must all stand next to the cats of the film and proclaim: "We Iranian musicians are harmless creatures like Persian cats," and in this way piss on protest music altogether.

I must add that I see the above criticism directed at myself as well, and I can only say that I have also rocked in hell-holes in Iran and because of my lyrics I was pelted with tomatoes in Texas by hardcore Republicans. I must also add that I will never advice such path for my fellow rockers in Iran.

I will end my ramblings with a free verse by myself:

Camera in hand
Documentarians*
Run after about-to-die poets
To build themselves
Penile monuments

Footnote

* I must say that by documentary I mean various genres, including docudrama. Our filmmaker friends are well aware that I am referring to only a handful of their colleagues who offer feline products to the market. In the hope that we can rock hard in various parts of Iran without fearing cats or bears.