Jafar Panahi's Western Debut Offers A Sweet But Sober Glimpse Into Daily Life In Downtown Tehran. By Stacey Richter THE IRANIAN FILM industry operates under a blanket of censorship that's hard to imagine from the sex-crazed, blood-drenched aisle seats of our own cinematic Gomorra. Since the Islamic Revolution of 1979, almost all western movies have been banned due to severe restrictions governing the ways women can be portrayed. "We are not against cinema; we are against prostitution," the Ayatollah Khomeini has declared, which means, in practical terms, that Islamic dress codes requiring women to cover their hair and wear loose-fitting garments in public must be strictly observed at all times. Though a woman may be "at home" in the context of the film, the censors, who apparently don't buy into the suspension of disbelief, still consider her to be "in public" when her image appears on the screen. Women are often pictured sleeping with their head scarves on in post-revolutionary Iranian films. Furthermore, according to Islamic codes, a woman may only be "intimate" with members of her own family. Intimacy includes activities like touching and hugging, which can't be portrayed on screen unless the actors are related. It's very difficult for Iranian filmmakers to portray husband and wife characters if the actors aren't married in real life. This, added to a legacy of harsh political censorship from the time of the Shah, has resulted in a style of filmmaking that (at least in the examples exported abroad) is often concerned with small conflicts, the lives of children and the anxieties of everyday life. The mysterious death of a cow, a crack in a water jar, a schoolboy's lost notebook and a little girl's desperate desire for a plump goldfish--these are all basic plots of some better-known Iranian films. Despite restrictive guidelines, Iranian filmmaking has thrived. The White Balloon, the first feature-length film from director Jafar Panahi and winner of the 1995 Camera D'Or prize, is a sweet but sober glimpse into the life of a little girl in downtown Tehran. Panahi's film has the slow rhythm and attention to inner- life typical of the films of Satyajit Ray or Ingmar Bergman. The story is about Razieh (Aida Mohammadkhani), a determined 7-year-old girl who wants nothing more than a certain beautiful goldfish to decorate her family's house for the New Year. Though it's tough to convey the excitement of such a simple plot in words, her quest for the fish is surprisingly moving. This is partly because the adorable Mohammadkhani, who shouts all her lines, is so utterly appealing; and partly because the market of Tehran, where she ventures out to buy the fish with her mother's money (under strict instructions to bring back change) seems like no place for a little girl to be wandering by herself. A sense of threat accompanies Razieh on her journey. First, some snake charmers--a bunch of men that she has been warned not to look at--manage to separate the 7-year-old from her note. With the help of her sturdy vocal chords she manages to get the money back, only to lose it again. There's a subtle feeling that Razieh might be paddled by her parents if she doesn't get her money back--her brother, who convinced their mother to give his sister the money in the first place, shows up at one point with a black eye. The adults who surround the two children can't seem to understand how dire it is that they get their money back, but the kids themselves are quite certain of the gravity of their task. With earnest concentration, they try a variety of techniques to retrieve the bank note that has fallen through a grating into a cellar. The film takes place in real time, heightening the sense of living inside a child's world. Though the adults can't understand how important it is for Razieh to get her goldfish or to retrieve her money, it becomes very clear to the audience that these are matters of immense importance. Though The White Balloon is about children, it isn't really a children's movie. The subtext is probably too dark for younger kids, and there's a sense of threat, nuance and subtlety that would probably be better appreciated by Arch Deluxe-quaffing grown ups. Panahi's static compositions, which resemble still photography more than the dynamism of western directors, give The White Balloon a documentary air of mature calm; this, along with the small scale of the subject matter, lends the film the remarkable feeling of being a chronicle of real events. The White Balloon opens Friday, September 6, at The Loft Cinema (795-7777).

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