Eran Riklis is no stranger to cinematic complexity. With a career built on exploring profound human stories, from Lemon Tree to The Syrian Bride, the Israeli-born director’s latest work Reading Lolita in Tehran has made waves across the festival world. Premiering at the Rome Film Festival amidst a turbulent political backdrop, the film won both the Audience Award and the Special Jury Prize. Based on Azar Nafisi’s bestselling memoir, the film weaves a deeply personal story of intellectual resistance, seen through the lives of women in revolutionary Iran.

Milani Perera had the pleasure of interviewing the director at Tallinn Black Nights Film Fest, and had an informal conversation with Riklis about him as a filmmaker and about his latest film.

MP: Your journey as a filmmaker is quite fascinating. How did it all begin?

ER: My path into filmmaking was sparked by literature. When I was 14, living in Brazil, my literature teacher handed me One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest by Ken Kesey. Coming from Israel, my worldview was quite narrow, but that book opened my eyes to the depth of human experience, to the psychological layers of the characters. It was a revelation. I started to understand that stories have the power to transport you into entirely different worlds. That was a pivotal moment. By the late ’60s I was watching films like Five Easy Pieces by Bob Rafelson, and they resonated with me deeply, sparking a fascination with visual storytelling. I began experimenting with an 8mm camera, and that’s when I realized filmmaking was my calling. After serving in the Israeli Army during the Yom Kippur War, I returned to my dream and studied film at 21. That’s when I truly started my journey.

MP: Reading Lolita in Tehran is a memoir that has touched many hearts. What made you decide to adapt it, especially as an Israeli director?

ER: (laughs) Well, there’s always fear when you’re embarking on a project, especially one based on a book that people have deeply connected with. But when I read Azar Nafisi’s memoir in 2009, something clicked. I had just finished Lemon Tree and The Syrian Bride, and her story felt like the perfect next step. It wasn’t just about telling an Iranian story; it felt universal. I reached out to Azar in 2016, and when I asked her if an Israeli director could tell her story, she said yes. That was incredibly empowering. I think that’s what filmmaking is all about: when you tell someone else’s story, you have to make it your own. And for me it was never about the location or the specific context. It was about people fighting against oppression – something I have always wanted to explore in my work.

MP: What was it about Azar’s memoir that you felt connected to, particularly in terms of your own cinematic vision?

ER: When I read the book, I didn’t see it as a story about Iranian women. I saw it as a story about humanity. It’s about people resisting forces that try to crush their spirit – whether that’s social, political, or psychological oppression. That theme has been a thread in my previous films. It’s not about men or women; it’s about the struggle for freedom, the resilience of the human soul. Even though this story takes place in Tehran in the ’80s and ’90s, the essence of it is timeless. It could be anywhere, anytime; that’s why I felt so connected to it.

MP: As a male director, how did you approach telling a story about a group of strong women without falling into the trap of ‘the male gaze’?

ER: (laughs) I guess you could say I’m a bit of a spy in that sense. But honestly, I think it comes down to perspective – seeing the world through a sensitive, human lens. It’s about listening and observing, not just assuming. I was constantly aware that I wasn’t a woman, but I worked with a team of incredibly talented women, both behind and in front of the camera. The actresses brought so much depth to their characters, and that was crucial. The story needed to come from them. In the end, it’s not about me telling a woman’s story; it’s about women telling their own story, and I’m just there to help capture that.

MP: Speaking of capturing the essence of the story, how did you translate Azar’s memoir into a cinematic experience?

ER: When we started the project, we knew we had to respect the source material, but we also had to make it our own. It’s a process of letting go – sometimes you have to ‘kill’ the book to make the film. With my co-writer Marjorie David, we decided to distill the essence of the story and then let go of the specifics. When we began production, we stopped worrying about the script and just focused on the real world – the people we were working with. We cast Iranian actors, many of whom are in exile, because I wanted the film to feel rooted in reality, to have an authenticity that couldn’t be fabricated.

MP: How did Azar react when she saw the final cut of the film?

ER: It was an emotional moment for both of us. She had seen my previous film Lemon Tree, and that convinced her that I could be the right person to tell her story. But when she watched Reading Lolita in Tehran for the first time, just hours before the world premiere at the Rome Film Festival, I could feel her nerves. She was sitting in the back, watching it unfold. When the credits rolled, she rushed to me with a big smile and hugged me so tightly. That’s when I finally breathed a sigh of relief. In interviews, Azar has mentioned that while the film is about her, it’s also not entirely her story – it’s a delicate paradox. I think that’s the biggest success of the film: capturing the essence of her experience while still allowing it to resonate with others.

MP: The film has such a distinct visual style. How did you and your cinematographer develop that?

ER: I chose Hélène Louvart as my cinematographer because of her incredible sensitivity to visual storytelling. From the start we made the decision that the camera would be like another character in the room, particularly in the scenes with the women. The camera wasn’t an outsider; it was part of their world. I’ve always believed that the most important thing in film is the close-up – the human face. The face is a map of the soul, of emotions. We used the close-up to draw the audience in, to create intimacy with the characters. It allowed us to explore the emotional and psychological depths of the story, especially when we wanted to show the internal conflict these women faced.

MP: Mirrors play a key role in the film’s visual language. Can you explain the significance of this motif?

ER: I’ve always been fascinated by mirrors in cinema. Back in 1978, when I was studying at the National Film School in England, I watched Tarkovsky’s Mirror and was deeply inspired. That fascination has stayed with me. In Reading Lolita in Tehran, mirrors symbolize reflection – both literal and metaphorical. There’s a powerful moment when Golshifteh stands in front of a mirror, takes off her veil, and confronts her inner struggle. The mirror doesn’t just reflect her image; it reflects her soul, her desires, her battle with what’s expected of her. The mirror becomes a window into her internal world, her fight for self-determination.

MP: Finally, there’s an enigmatic character in the film, ‘The Magician.’ What role does he play in Azar’s journey?

ER: The Magician is an important figure in the book, an intellectual companion who provides Azar with a sense of purpose. He’s a presence that appears and disappears throughout her life, but what he says to her at the end is crucial. He tells her that she can leave Tehran, but Tehran will never leave her. Even when she settles in the U.S., there’s a lingering sense of loss, of belonging to a place that’s no longer hers. That’s something we tried to convey in the film – how the memory of a place, of a time, never truly fades. It’s always with you. The use of mirrors in the final moments of the film ties into this: the reflection of Tehran in the Washington streets symbolizes that inescapable connection to home, no matter how far you go.