When people label a film “great,” the usual effect is to close off a discussion that ought to be opening. But when the film was made in Western Asia, cheaply and under threat of censorship, by a guy with so marketable a name as Mohsen Makhmalbaf, a critic has no need to be delicate. Let the discussion begin with the obvious: A Moment of Innocence is a great film.
I’m even tempted to say it’s one of the key artworks of our time. Half documentary and half conjuring trick, A Moment of Innocence transforms a past act of political violence into a present-day vision of generosity, in which gifts are offered, veils are removed and jaws drop all around. This is as much magic as any film can work–and it seems to be done right before your eyes, as you watch the movie being made.
At the film’s core is a bit of autobiography. In 1974, when he was 17 and working to overthrow the Shah of Iran, Mohsen Makhmalbaf helped organize an attack on a police station. He planned to stab a cop and make away with his gun; but in the event, he accomplished only the first half of his goal. Makhmalbaf spent the next five years in prison, gaining release when the Ayatollah Khomeini took power.
Two decades later, the man whom Makhmalbaf had stabbed reappeared in his life. Mirhadi Tayebi, no longer a cop, came to the open casting call that Makhmalbaf held for his 1994 documentary Salaam Cinema. If you’ve seen that picture, you’ve watched a snippet of Tayebi’s screen test. He’s the man with the mug like Frankenstein’s monster, who earnestly asks to play romantic leads.
At the start of A Moment of Innocence, Makhmalbaf transposes his re-encounter with Tayebi into the realm of fiction. You see the ex-cop come trudging unannounced to Makhmalbaf’s home in search of a film career, only to have his knock answered by the director’s young daughter. She cracks the door just enough to peer up at the stranger, tell him her father isn’t home and then engage Tayebi in a rambling conversation he doesn’t want, about homework. Seen from the middle distance–the camera, unmoving, is set far enough back to show both figures in full–the man who once aroused hatred and fear in Makhmalbaf now appears as a supplicant, deferring with all the patience he can muster to a little girl.
Out of this droll encounter grows the project Makhmalbaf “documents” in A Moment of Innocence. At a distance of twenty years, he will make a film about his attack on the policeman. Tayebi won’t get to act in this film; but he will serve, in effect, as an assistant director, hired to coach the young man chosen to play him.
Immediately, Tayebi takes offense and stalks away. Having imagined himself being played by a big, handsome kid, he’s hurt when Makhmalbaf instead casts gangly young Ammar Tafti. With more difficulty than he’d expected, Makhmalbaf coaxes Tayebi to come back, to get Ammar outfitted in an old-style cop’s uniform and begin teaching him the drill. The uniform is a bit of a problem. The only available cap is too big; it bobbles on Ammar’s head while he’s trying to march. Even so, Tayebi takes a liking to the quiet, solemn boy, who seems eager to please, or perhaps terrified.