“A film that is simultaneously harrowing and hopeful.”

Trauma lives deep within the human soul, and it can be disorienting to realise that it’s not only our experiences which are carried with us, but also those of the people who came before. Generational grief is a complex subject, and one that we still don’t entirely understand despite our best efforts and decades of intricate analysis into the psychology of trauma. This is a subject that Pegah Ahangarani introduces as the impetus behind Rehearsals for a Revolution (تمرین‌هایی برای یک انقلاب), her deeply personal documentary in which she reflects on the past fifty years in Iranian history through the perspective of five key members of her family, crafting a film that is simultaneously harrowing and hopeful. The film begins with a definition of the word yâd, the Farsi word for “memory”, one that the director positions as having a more complex, layered meaning. This is both the starting point for the film and its conceptual anchor, indicating that what lies ahead is not a presentation of objective facts, but rather history as it is recalled, felt and interpreted by someone reflecting on both her experiences and those of the family that came before her. A reflection on memory as active, selective and often even contradictory in its own way, the film examines the precise act of remembering, looking at how these memories that form the foundation of the story are not just a remnant of the past, but also influence the present, shaping how the director understands herself and her country. Constructed as a collage of archival material (a blend of home videos, newsreel footage, photographs and audio recordings), the film presents a vivid portrait of resistance over the decades, delicately curated by an artist intent on sorting through fragments of the past in an effort to impose meaning on an uncomfortable history.

Ahangarani does not imply that her experiences or those of her family are any more important than the lives of countless others who also witnessed these harrowing events over the decades. The film doesn’t focus on presenting her family members as grand heroic figures, but rather ordinary people whose lives quietly contradict political constraints, some more explicitly than others. Her focus with Rehearsals for a Revolution is to interweave the personal with the historical, to position herself (in the form of her memories and the knowledge she has of her family) in the context of Iran’s political and cultural evolution. War and revolution are common artistic topics, but we tend to see them depicted mainly through front line spectacles, rather than investigated from the perspective of those who were not directly involved, even as witnesses, or who were too young or far removed to understand the situation fully, but still carry the burden of generational trauma inherited over time. The director focuses on telling multiple stories that fall into three key categories: those who came before her (like her father and uncles), those who came after (such as her young daughter), and herself, weaving together several perspectives to create a complex portrait of Iran’s past. The result is a slower and more introspective examination of political and cultural upheaval, focusing on a series of moments that are all related and form a continuous stream of historical commentary, rather than singular, isolated events. The decision to distil history into smaller moments prevents the film from being overwhelming, a choice that reflects Ahangarani’s focus on crafting something subtle but persistent, showing the cycles of repression and resistance that define this culture and its people, to underline the core message relating to the intersections between these memories.

When confronted with such an intimidating subject, it’s always fascinating to see how a filmmaker approaches the process of exploring these themes. Almost the entirety of Rehearsals for a Revolution is constructed from fragments of existing footage, creating a mosaic of memories pieced together by the director with a textured, vaguely dreamlike quality as it moves between eras, finding common connections that bring them together effectively and draw the viewer into its unique rhythm rather than being more traditionally structured. Ahangarani doesn’t try to make the definitive account of the past half-century in Iranian history, but openly acknowledges that this is entirely her own perspective, rather than speaking for the people she’s honouring throughout the film. Despite being cobbled together from a range of sources, the film never feels disjointed, since her voice and perspective act as the thread that ties everything together, giving the film a sense of coherence. This shapes Rehearsals for a Revolution into something more deliberate and structured, rather than simply being a collection of videos tied together by a common theme. It often feels as if we are being granted unrestricted access into the director’s mind, the film being less a factual documentary and more a personal video essay combined with diary-like narration (which is in itself deeply insightful and confessional) that reflects on what we are seeing on screen, suggesting an ironclad trust between the director and the viewer, rather than simply a historical lecture. The act of assembling these memories becomes a way for the director to process her deep-seated trauma, while also finding moments of poetry amidst the pain, proving that there can still be a sense of tenderness when exploring a challenging subject if the right artistic approach is taken.

The ambition behind Rehearsals for a Revolution is staggering, since the idea of condensing fifty years of Iranian history into a single film seems impossible, especially one that runs only 93 minutes, which is exceptionally short for such a subject. Yet, Ahangarani understands the power of brevity, choosing to be selective in what she portrays, and in the process covering an unexpected trove of information without it becoming overly dense. This is a very timely film given current events, and while there is a limit to how much a filmmaker can include when exploring the history of a country where conflict is ongoing, she nonetheless finds a way to offer some kind of hopeful conclusion. The idea of a revolution inevitably evokes the image of crowds of people, defiantly protesting the system. However, Ahangarani takes the perspective of revolution being a deeply personal matter, indicating that the most important acts of resistance are not always loud or visible. It can be embedded deep in one’s identity, or found in the small choices made daily, or simply by existing under restrictive conditions. We’ve seen many examples of artists implying that a single voice can initiate change, and while it may seem to be pandering to a common cliché about how a single spark can ignite a blazing inferno, the film carefully curates its content to build a more complex depiction of this challenging topic. Rehearsals for a Revolution is as much about revolution as it is the act of documenting it, the process of artistic expression becoming a form of defiance itself, leading to an articulate historical document pieced together from fascinating fragments of the past and bound together by vivid memories. The film is a quietly devastating examination of Iran’s history since the 1970s, and leaves the viewer thoroughly invigorated and informed about the haunting struggle of the nation and its people, as well as looking towards a potentially brighter future for the next generation.

(c) Image copyright: Medianest / Fasten Films