“One is not born a woman, but becomes one.” Almost eighty years after this statement by Simone de Beauvoir, it is still true that femininity is not a biological or natural given, but a product of growing up, culture and social structures. In Iran, Hijab is a central part of this patriarchal structure – an arrangement where women are not only crafted but defined by hijab. The veil acts as a mythical gloria that is wound around the female body and hides it from vision while exposing it to control – which reduces the woman from a subject to an object and assigns her the status as a product permeated by cultural value.
Iranian film plays a double role in representing and reinforcing Hijab. On the one hand, because of official laws, women are always depicted on the veil – even in private environments. This leads to Hijab being normalized and conventionalized in the imagination of the viewer. For the Iranian spectator, it is as if the woman on the screen is defined through her mythical glory. On the other hand, this maintained representation has been developed into a visual, cultural and aesthetic code: a system that dictates how the female body is seen and perceived within the cinematic framework. Over time, these codes have designed the visual language in Iranian films, which to a significant extent determines what is allowed on the screen and what needs to be erased, hidden or replaced.
However, during the history of Iranian film, perceived filmmakers have tried to challenge the dominant masculine structure that controls visual language. “Fireworks Wednesday”, directed by Asghar Farhadiis a clear example of how compulsory hijab affects the representation of women on the screen. Farhadi, fully aware of the restrictions imposed by censorship and the male visual order, constructs a story that directly engages in these restrictions.
From the beginning, the female character is shouting, protesting and accusing her husband. Still, the camera’s controlled look – and by extension, the viewer’s mind – works in such a way that the man seems to be in the right until the end. The woman, who lacks the visual funds to become a full subject, is not easy to believe. Only when the man’s unbelief is finally revealed is the viewer, as if confronted with his own unconscious participation.
In this sentence, film is not just shaped by Hijab’s restrictions; It just transforms these limitations into dramatic elements. The camera, just like the social structure it reflects, does not see or trust the woman.
The uprising under the track for Woman, Life, Freedom Basically, this “symbolic order” questioned for the first time. Out of this movement – not only on the streets but also in art and film – a pressing question arose: Can Iranian film represent women as subjects and agents in themselves?
In recent years, some filmmakers have wrestled with these issues. In his latest film, “It was just an accident” Jafar PanhiFor the first time, women are placed on the screen without the mandatory hijab. Similar, Mohammad Rasoulof Do it in “The seed from the holy figs. “Yet in both films, the presence or absence of the veil makes little difference-as the woman is still not a topic.
The central question is not the physical veil of the woman within the framework, but the internalized veil in the filmmaker’s gaze. In these male writers, women are either traditional homemakers or warriors dressed in masculine heroism-two roles that are equally fetish. In both cases, women behave in ways that reflect male fantasies.
Take, for example, the nature of Wonder Woman in Blockbuster Cinema. Instead of confirming the essence of femininity – as a human being, not as an object of the male look – she graves against BDSM’s aesthetics, one of the many expressions of male fetishism.
Contrary to the Cannes-shelf films of Rasoulof and Panahi, “The Witness”, directed by Nader Saei-be and co-written by Panahi, offers a rare example of a movie that really gives women identity. The film depicts the transformation of women who, in the aftermath of a liberation movement, begin to regain their humanity and agency from a male -dominated world. The female protagonist is neither a self -sacrificing mother nor a fearless warrior. Instead, she is doubtful, vulnerable but in the end decisive and agentive.
Saei-where spoke to indifire and said: “It is only natural that public culture in a community, as a river, will eventually find its way and continue to float. It may be ponds built to block it temporarily, but over time cracks begin and now begins once at once. Each film that opposes this present Film seems even slower than the cultural transformations that are already developing within society.
Nevertheless, a significant part of the Iranian cinema continues to function within the boundaries of official censorship and the visual language dictated by the Islamic Republic. Many films – even those in the realistic genre – do not present an authentic depiction of everyday life. Women show up with headscarves in bed, in the bathroom, and completely covered by the integrity of their own homes. These images, how skilfully designed, finally promote a mythical and imaginary world: one where the prevailing order works seamlessly and without interference.
On the other hand, some filmmakers working within the framework of officially sanctioned film have recently begun to show signs of a varying perspective. The female characters in their films have become more complex, more active and less stereotypical. However, these changes remain largely on the story, not visual structure. The image of a revealed woman – as a reflection of social reality – still has no place in the official space for the Iranian cinema.
An example is “Nightwalker” of Farzad Motam, where a woman (although it is still under compulsory coverage) tries to break away from traditional structures. Sometimes filmmakers examine alternative strategies to escape women’s false representations. In recent decades, Abbas Kiarostami, for example, often has often left women from their stories, or focused on rural women who carry the veil naturally and after election. In the same way, Asghar Farhadi now prefers to shoot his latest films outside Iran. Nader Saei was also preparing to make his next film abroad.
“Overall, the challenges of making a movie outside the country, at least for me, have been much less than producing one inside Iran-Efters, as I used to work (underground), I had to give up many of my ideas or perform them in a compromised and incomplete way because of the word.
Some filmmakers have emphasized that any genuine depiction of Hijab or the female body immediately meets with removal during the license or distribution stages, often accompanied by legal punishment. For example, Behtash Sanaeeha and Maryam Moghaddam were sentenced to a 26-month suspended prison, a monetary fine and confiscation of film equipment to make the movie “My favorite cake.” A similar deserted beer Ali Ahmadzadeh, whose film “Critical Zone” led to severe restrictions, causing him to leave Iran – at least temporarily.
But does film really play so much that the team responds with such difficulty? The answer is not just about Hijab itself. Rather, films that depict women without the compulsory veil interfere with the symbolic, legal religious order. This device is not purely political – it is also a form of aesthetic control: compliance with hijab on the screen acts as the introduction of a visual regime.
Iranian film is now crossing a historical threshold. The question of Hijab is no longer just an external or state problem; It is confused with the image itself, with shape and with narrative structure. In this context, a filmmaker who wants to talk about women must also talk about their bodies, their views and their voices. Although this road is difficult and costly, it is the only inevitable path to restoring Iranian film to reality – and to the truth about freedom.
