Once during his summer vacation, a 12-year-old boy who used to sell ice-cream in central Tehran to raise his junior high school fees, suddenly realised that all his ice-cream had melted in the heat. Inconsolable, the boy went home crying. He cheered up only when his mother gave him money for another one — this could have been a poignant sequence straight out of a Majid Majidi movie. But, in fact, this is a memorable incident from the Iranian filmmaker’s childhood that brought him closer to his mother. Family and familial ties have steadfastly remained at the core of Majidi’s movies. The auteur, who has earned the tag of a “humanist filmmaker”, made his directorial debut with Baduk (1992) — about two separated siblings caught up in child slavery. In the years that followed, he followed it up with Children of Heaven (1997), The Colour of Paradise (1999), Baran (2001), and, The Song of Sparrrow (2008). In his latest, Beyond The Clouds, the writer-director follows the struggles of Aamir (played by debutante Ishaan Khatter) to secure the release of his sister Tara (Malavika Mohanan), who is imprisoned for attacking her assailant. Eventually, Aamir is confronted with what a sense of family feels like, when circumstances make him host three unexpected guests: his adversary’s two young daughters and mother. In this interview, Majidi talks about what led to the making of his first Indian film, the need for real stories and how hope is crucial to his cinema. Excerpts: Beyond The Clouds is your first Indian film. What made you decide to set it in India? As I travelled across India, I realised that Indian life is very dramatic yet rooted in reality and culture. I love to portray this reality in my cinema. All these factors encouraged me to make movies here. Though, initially, we had considered Jaipur and Varanasi as the backdrop, we ultimately settled for Mumbai. After all, it is the city of cinema. India contains an array of cultures. We can see the obvious mingling of these cultures in Mumbai. How did Mumbai influence your story? It’s very interesting for me that people in this city live together, in harmony, despite their differences. No one crosses their limit. Once, I spotted a lady at the corner of a street. She was busy cooking, not bothered about who is staring at her. Since my childhood, I have been curious to know what people are doing behind the wall. What do they eat? How do they live? Such walls don’t exist for people on Mumbai’s streets. I can see everything clearly. Family is an important dimension in your films, isn’t it? My core concern is related to the essence of having a family. When a family is strong, it contributes to building a strong society. I lost my father at the age of 15. Being the second- eldest sibling, we had to take care of the family after him. Since then, I am acutely aware of how important family is and why we should try to preserve it. You have been a follower of Satyajit Ray’s cinema too. I’m an admirer of Satyajit Ray and my introduction to Indian cinema has been through his films. However, when I studied Indian cinema more closely, I realised that finding Ray-like sensibilities in contemporary cinema was a dream. Nowadays, Indian cinema does not reflect those realities as they are driven by box-office results. Commercial cinema exists in every country. Today, in Iran, the ratio of films that deal with reality and address commercial concerns is 50:50. In India, though, it tilts more towards commercial cinema. Did you consider making a love story, something which Indians love? The love we see in cinema, even in Bollywood, is very artificial, like plastic. I believe in a love that makes us exult from within. That’s invaluable. For instance, Latif in Baran is initially very miserly and mischievous. After he is touched by love (Latif falls for a girl who is masquerading as a boy to make a living), he is ready to sacrifice his life’s savings for her safety. That is what I want to show. Love should make us better persons. Baran and your documentary, Barefoot to Herat (2002), captures the plight of Afghan refugees. How do you view the current refugee crisis? This is a serious tragedy the world is facing today. Even in Syria, people have to undertake unexpected migrations. Children are abused and organ trade is rampant. Of course, we need to take a sympathetic look at the crisis. They are human beings who are forced to flee their homes. We have to help them find a better life. Unfortunately, for many people, including governments, promises to help them are merely lip service. But through cinema, we can show respect and sensitivity to different cultures while portraying those oppressed. How much impact did New Wave Iranian cinema have on you? That wave had a great impact on world cinema. With its poetic consciousness and delicate treatment, which were its key features, it created a distinct identity of Iranian cinema. Abbas Kiarostami and Mohsen Makhmalbaf were pioneers of this wave and their work left an impression on me. The new generation, however, does not have that perspective. That culture has changed. The new generation of filmmakers are very influenced by the social network. They don’t explore and experience reality. They don’t read much. They are away from the soul of life. You bagged the first Oscar nomination for Iran with Children of Heaven. Getting nominated in the Best Foreign Film category gave a push to Iranian cinema. We were already enjoying some international attention, but the Oscar nomination brought us into the limelight. It was very motivating. Later, Asghar Farhadi got us the first Oscar award for A Separation (2011). There is a lot of emphasis on real stories in your films. When you are in the real space, you can enter the aura of that area — you can touch and experience it. Then, you can reflect on this. It is very different from what you will ever find on social media. Also Read | Beyond The Clouds movie review: The Ishaan Khatter starrer is good-looking yet hollow Most of your films end with hope. Because hope is very important. If you remove hope from life, then not much is left.
