Persepolis
Written & Directed by Vincent Paronnaud & Marjane Satrapi
Language is key to the success of the animated oddity Persepolis. Not the spoken language—which is French, even though most of time we’re supposed to imagine that the Iranian characters are conversing in Persian. The ingenuity lies in the movie’s visual design, which conveys insight via playful élan belonging to a class of its own, mercifully avoiding the trappings of comic book adaptations.
While Zack Snyder’s 300 essentially elaborates on freeze frames from the original Frank Miller story, Persepolis creates a fresh approach to interpreting the graphic novel format, taking cues from the experiences of illustrator Marjane Satrapi. Serving as co-director with Vincent Paronnaud, Satrapi retains the black-and-white aesthetic of her two-volume opus, but the lively collage of memories leading from her childhood under the oppression of Iran’s Islamic Revolution through her rebirth as secular artist progress with a steadier cohesion than stationary images allow.
Steadily churning along under the balanced guidance of a sweetly nostalgic screenplay (by Satrapi and Paronnaud), Persepolis experiments with the impact of discontinuous motion. The plot functions as a touching record of maturity amid political turmoil, but the technique is a marvel of a separate class, one that investigates the act of seeing in a tradition instigated by early Dadaist cinema. Movement clashes with fixed visuals, emphasizing the battle for individualism at the core of Satrapi’s struggles against the rigid misogynist impositions of the Iranian government.
As young Marji (voiced by Chiara Mastroianni), a witty teenage girl with attitude to spare, situates her pool of experiences within the framework of larger real-world events, the era comes to life in sprightly light and menacing shadows. Born to a household enraged by the Shah’s dictatorship and fundamentalist restrictions that force women to hide behind veils, Satrapi encounters a variety of incongruous ideologies.
Details of her character emanate from the whims of her adolescent naiveté, particularly when she offers a questionable apology for teasing the son of a Shah official: “It’s not your fault your father is a murderer,” she says, completely sincere.
Though her family resists the increasing tyranny of the Shah, the Satrapis shy away from radicalism, disquieted by the ominous threats posed by the government. Riots yielding lethal results unfold in Satrapi’s illuminative memories, primarily as stark silhouettes billowing with the forceful reverberations of social claustrophobia. Consequently, she flees the country, spending her teenage years in various regions of Europe. Adapting to a Viennese counterculture steeped in metropolitan lifestyles and punk fury, Satrapi toys with assimilation. Then guilt settles in; she endures her regrets and returns to the veil. Further unhappiness ensues, until the frustrated heroine finds a comfortable middle ground.
It’s a light progression, even with the heavy historical context, but Satrapi (both storyteller and star) makes an engaging memoirist. Since the movie remains within the confines of her selective recollections, it never becomes dogmatic, nor does it present clear-cut alternatives to religious fundamentalism. Satrapi leaves those questions aside, settling to champion the perseverance of the human mind.
Written & Directed by Vincent Paronnaud & Marjane Satrapi
Language is key to the success of the animated oddity Persepolis. Not the spoken language—which is French, even though most of time we’re supposed to imagine that the Iranian characters are conversing in Persian. The ingenuity lies in the movie’s visual design, which conveys insight via playful élan belonging to a class of its own, mercifully avoiding the trappings of comic book adaptations.
While Zack Snyder’s 300 essentially elaborates on freeze frames from the original Frank Miller story, Persepolis creates a fresh approach to interpreting the graphic novel format, taking cues from the experiences of illustrator Marjane Satrapi. Serving as co-director with Vincent Paronnaud, Satrapi retains the black-and-white aesthetic of her two-volume opus, but the lively collage of memories leading from her childhood under the oppression of Iran’s Islamic Revolution through her rebirth as secular artist progress with a steadier cohesion than stationary images allow.
Steadily churning along under the balanced guidance of a sweetly nostalgic screenplay (by Satrapi and Paronnaud), Persepolis experiments with the impact of discontinuous motion. The plot functions as a touching record of maturity amid political turmoil, but the technique is a marvel of a separate class, one that investigates the act of seeing in a tradition instigated by early Dadaist cinema. Movement clashes with fixed visuals, emphasizing the battle for individualism at the core of Satrapi’s struggles against the rigid misogynist impositions of the Iranian government.
As young Marji (voiced by Chiara Mastroianni), a witty teenage girl with attitude to spare, situates her pool of experiences within the framework of larger real-world events, the era comes to life in sprightly light and menacing shadows. Born to a household enraged by the Shah’s dictatorship and fundamentalist restrictions that force women to hide behind veils, Satrapi encounters a variety of incongruous ideologies.
Details of her character emanate from the whims of her adolescent naiveté, particularly when she offers a questionable apology for teasing the son of a Shah official: “It’s not your fault your father is a murderer,” she says, completely sincere.
Though her family resists the increasing tyranny of the Shah, the Satrapis shy away from radicalism, disquieted by the ominous threats posed by the government. Riots yielding lethal results unfold in Satrapi’s illuminative memories, primarily as stark silhouettes billowing with the forceful reverberations of social claustrophobia. Consequently, she flees the country, spending her teenage years in various regions of Europe. Adapting to a Viennese counterculture steeped in metropolitan lifestyles and punk fury, Satrapi toys with assimilation. Then guilt settles in; she endures her regrets and returns to the veil. Further unhappiness ensues, until the frustrated heroine finds a comfortable middle ground.
It’s a light progression, even with the heavy historical context, but Satrapi (both storyteller and star) makes an engaging memoirist. Since the movie remains within the confines of her selective recollections, it never becomes dogmatic, nor does it present clear-cut alternatives to religious fundamentalism. Satrapi leaves those questions aside, settling to champion the perseverance of the human mind.
