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For a debut film, writer and director Ali Jaberansari, remarkably weaves the westernization permeating sections of the Iranian society into his delicately provocative, Falling Leaves.
The film is told through the mundane routines of an aged CEO, Amir (Masoud Rayegan) who works at a reputable construction company in Tehran.
Amir’s various moral dilemmas sweep the audience into empathising with him as he remains alone in his home (apart from his persistent housekeeper) with his family in America.
The plot centralises around Amir convincing his son, Arash, to return from California to Iran to continue the business legacy and not make the rash decision of staying on with his American girlfriend who he has recently met.
Iranian cinema is known for its understated influence, and Falling Leaves is no different. While the storyline consists of an increasing complexity, it is relayed in a completely seamless manner, this is underscored when Amir’s old flame, Goli (Homeyra Nonahali) is re-introduced as a medium to challenge him (and the audience) in reconstructing the implications of parenthood, duty, love and marriage.
It is interesting how the film is set in a spacious apartment in Tehran; giving the audience a peek into the life of the privileged in Iran. The location is used skillfully to broaden the viewers’ sensibilities, enhancing the global appeal of Falling Leaves. No matter where in the world you’re watching it, it remains relevant.
Trailer for Falling Leaves:
Jaberansari pays meticulous attention to detail to the sound quality that seems to be a telling contrast to the occasional outbursts of the characters. This is especially noticeable in the first half of the film in a scene where there is a series of disturbances during a Quranic recitation at a meeting: ringing hand phones, microphone static and the squeamish fidgeting of the members of the meeting. This stands in stark disparity to the times when Amir eats his breakfast in complete silence, wrought internally by his emotional conflicts.
There is a certain placidity to the characters’ misery; which is quite brilliantly executed while each is dealing with their own sense of loss. I appreciate how Jaberansari is keen not to overly dramatise or simplify his characters which humanises them and makes them almost inspirational.
I was particularly struck by the scene in which Amir and Goli are approached by a family to take their photo. The father wants to capture a photo of his family, while he throws autumn leaves on his wife and child.
The father asks Amir to take the photograph, while Goli volunteers to throw the leaves on the family – this scene, set in the backdrop of autumn, encapsulates the possibilities of all that could have been but is not for Amir. The season and the moment poignantly retell the choice that Amir does not make and is also revealed in the title.
The essence of the film lies not in the comprehensive ending of what finally happens to Amir nor what he indubitably regrets.
Instead, it is about the rationale of life that we are all inevitably faced with, standing by the choices we make and realising that we are better people for them.
For me, the movie was an absolute delight to watch. And if you’re looking for an interesting insight into Iranian cinema and more importantly, reconstructing what you already know about Iran and its people, this one is for you.
-Photographs courtesy of Falling Leaves Archives.
