“Roya takes us inside the battered mind of a political prisoner and shows how both psychological and physical terror can fragment memory.”

Iranian filmmakers being banned and imprisoned is sadly a recurring tragedy in the world of cinema, with Jafar Panahi and Mohammad Rasoulof being the most famous, but certainly not the only ones to repeatedly meet that fate. Women’s rights activist Mahnaz Mohammadi, director of Roya, knows first hand what it means to see the inside of a cell, having been jailed several times in the past for “endangering national security” and “propaganda against the regime.” Perhaps that is why her sophomore fictional film, shot clandestinely like so many other films critical of the government, feels true to the bone. Not easy to follow, but with an intense performance by Turkish actress Melisa Sözen (probably best known for her role in Nuri Bilge Ceylan’s Winter Sleep) at its heart, Roya takes us inside the battered mind of a political prisoner and shows how both psychological and physical terror can fragment memory.

Roya (Sözen), a teacher and activist, is given a choice: make a forced confession on camera denouncing her political beliefs, or remain in her dank, tiny cell. The guards and interrogators try to break her will in any way possible, both physically assaulting her and playing with her mind by revealing a picture of her husband with another woman. As she is led through the bowels of the prison, blindfolded and with only a limited view of what’s in front of her, she hears the screams of her fellow prisoners. The blood streaks on the floor might be from the unlucky ones that preceded her.

Then Roya is let out on temporary leave, but six months in prison have left her dazed and confused, and the terror doesn’t stop outside prison walls. Phone calls revisiting her confession, people following her around, even the lights in her apartment blinking like the light in her prison cell. Or does she imagine this? Past and present, reality and what’s in her head start blending as she moves through life like a ghost, despondent and paranoid. Her sister is dead, her father not all there anymore. How to escape this living hell?

The opening half hour of Roya is deliberately disorienting, as Mohammadi shoots from Roya’s point-of-view as she is shuffled through the prison, interrogated and beaten, and eventually calmed down by a physician, though it’s unclear whether he is friend or foe. The buzzing sound of the light in her cell, the noise muted at times, puts the viewer into Roya’s headspace to prepare for the quite confusing plot that follows once she steps back out into the daylight. This confusion is part of the experience, both for Roya and the viewer, but it does force the audience into paying close attention, since little is explained. Ashkan Ashkani’s excellent cinematography adds to the fog in Roya’s perception, often softening the background to heighten the woman’s nearly catatonic state. Sözen almost sleepwalks through the film, but in this case it is meant as a compliment. Her performance is deliberately muted, because her character is muted and battered. Paranoia and resilience fight for space in the actress’ facial expressions, as she delivers a masterful performance of a woman whose reality is reshaped through terror and confinement. Roya is a difficult and intense watch, clearly made by someone who knows what she’s talking about because she lived it, and whose bravery in making this film cannot be overstated.

(c) Image copyright – Pak Film