Persepolis

Persepolis was a ceremonial capital of the Persian Empire – the earliest remains of which are found from 515BC. The Persepolis this entry is about is the animation film with the same name…over 2500 years after the city and as further away from the glorious days of ancient Iran as can be.

I read the two books the film is based on last summer at my friend H’s house in Ibiza. H doesn’t get up much earlier than noon so I spent the mornings – or what were left of them after I woke up – reading and writing. The drawing of a naïf girl (Marjane Satrapi) on the cover of Persepolis attracted my attention and I couldn’t put them down…correction…like all great books: I couldn’t put them down to start with but slowed down towards the end to prolong the pleasure of residing in the world they created.

The same happened in the film last Friday – I sat on the first row in a small room and was close enough to feel dizzy at times…by the swirling jasmine petals, people running away from police, flying cars and all the rest you should see for yourself.

Both the books and the film are magical…without the magic. Nothing magical just a life story…in fact its magic is in its simplicity…just a woman telling her life story – a truly and only human story…no artificial colourings or flavourings…just a tear jerking and side splitting masterpiece.

But it’s not just the story of an Iranian woman. It’s the story of all immigrants – and maybe that’s why I like it so much. It’s about the price paid for freedom and that all of us pay a price for freedom. The highest price of freedom immigrants pay is loneliness. The price is the same wherever you come from and wherever you immigrate to. And it doesn’t matter what you are running from – family, religion, torture, poverty even yourself…

The price paid is not just loneliness though – there are indecision, fear and acceptance. Every day the immigrant has to answer the question ‘should I stay or should I go?’. The immigrant fears the answers to ‘am I doing the right thing?’ ‘are they accepting me?’ ‘am I as good as them?’…all the questions immigrants ask herself is aimed at herself, aimed at putting herself down. Acceptance of self, of place and of own choices doesn’t come automatically. Yes, she arrives here – wherever that may be – willingly…but in fact what she willingly does is leaving where she was, she arrives not knowing the destination but knowing the departure only too well. As she gets to know the destination and the questions and indecision settle. Natives don’t ask themselves whether to stay or go – not as frequently anyway. They are accepted so…no fear. And most importantly, they accept where they are, why they are there so…no loneliness.

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Some parts of the books didn’t make it to the film. The omission of one part in particular makes Marjan look cleaner but a little too deceivable…loosing it all like that over an unfortunate love affair, her first. Or perhaps one should loose it all over the first unfortunate love affair so that one doesn’t make the same mistakes again and again…

I cried every time she said goodbye to her family...I cried whenever one of the characters cried…tears, tears, tears…tears from the eye of the tiger…why tiger? It’ll become clear when you watch the film…and watch the film, you must.