It is
categorically impossible to buy into the ubiquitous portrayal of Arabs and
Persians by the government and media as ugly, snarling, fanatics devoid of the
slightest human compassion if you watch any films of the Iranian Second Wave,
such as those of Majid Majidi and Jafar Panahi. Prohibited from making films by
the current Iranian government, Panahi has spent the past decade working
independently, leaving credits off his films and sneaking them out of the
country for exhibition. Featuring non-professional actors, Taxi also
stars Panahi himself as a version of himself, an outlawed movie director
reduced to driving a taxi to make money while satisfying his need to create by
filming his passengers. He’s far from a firebrand, though; he appears
positively Zenlike in his acceptance of his predicament, not letting his
frustration with the government effect his affinity for the people of Tehran,
even when they can prove just as vexing. While not a documentary or an
improvised film, Taxi has a loose structure. Many of the actors are amateurs,
but the situations are mapped out to provide the film with an appropriate range
of topics and personalities. With his stoic aplomb, Panahi puts to shame the
type of filmmakers (or artists in any field) who make their own grievances the subject
of their films; the types who, while fuming with rage on camera, are privately
delighted at the opportunity to appear righteous and heroic. By being so
non-confrontational in this film, Panahi ultimately makes something that is
extremely political and more profound than any Godard-like or Oliver Stone-like
diatribe against injustice. It’s a film that’s not content to point out the
hypocrisy of the government; it’s a film that makes you feel a little more
connected with people who share the same needs, passions and humor all over the
world.
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