On August 11th 2023, the Playhouse presented an Iranian film named “Winners” and followed it with a facilitated question-and-answer forum with the filmmakers. This was undoubtedly the most educational event in the Playhouse over its four-year life. We can take it for granted that another film from Iran will offer something fresh and distinctive and thought-provoking.
The subtitled dialog in “It was Just an Accident” (MUBI), showing now at the Montrose Playhouse, starts in a slow and measured manner. This enables the filmmakers to symphonically alter the pace as new characters are added. A family are driving. There is an accident. “Thank God we are safe and sound,” Mum says. “You killed it,” replies her upset daughter from the back seat. “I didn’t even see it,” says Dad unconcernedly. “What will be will be,” says Mum, perhaps alluding to the fate of whatever they hit (which is not specified). When they arrive at a garage, the mechanic says, “A family broke down. I’m going to try to help them out.” This sparse, efficient dialog takes the audience by the hand to the story which begins as the camera picks up a second mechanic, hidden from the father but stalking him furtively. Why? A beautiful shot, flattened like a landscape painting, shows this second mechanic digging a hole in the desert. Behind are low, sandy mountains, it’s grassless and to the left of the screen is a single leafless tree in the shape of a turkey wishbone. The father is now bound. “You think that a life of misery has erased my memory?” the mechanic screams. “I’d know the squeak of your artificial leg anywhere.” The father appears confused; he lost his leg “in an accident. Look at my scars,” he says, “you’ll see they’re recent. What did I do to you to deserve this?”
The mechanic demurs; he isn’t a cold-blooded killer. He manhandles the father into the back of his van and heads to a well-stocked bookstore where one of the booksellers knocks him down a peg or two for taking such drastic action on his own. The purpose of the film quickly becomes clear. “I’m just asking you to help me to identify him,” says the mechanic. “I’m going to finish what I started.” Many minutes within the film are devoted to the construction of a team of witnesses who might—collectively—verify the identity of the captive. First up, a photographer and a wedding couple, disturbed mid-way through a shoot. There are several excellent scenes in front of the gates of the venue as the four (the couple, the photographer and the mechanic) argue. Eventually the bride scampers like a mountain goat into the back of the van, still wearing her wedding dress; a comedic turn, at least temporarily. “Hamid is the only one who can help us,” says the photographer. They set off to find him; at this point what is taken in by the camera—dusty city streets, noisy with horns and motorbikes—becomes particularly rewarding for the audience.
The caper continues, but only for one more scene. The van has ended up on the deserted roof of a parking lot and a couple of security guards arrive. The team improvise, faking interest in using a spectacularly ugly city view as the backdrop to the bridal photoshoot; they pay a bribe on a credit-card machine which the guards carry around for this purpose. The sequence is funny and realistic and educational all at once.
Hamid, afflicted with resentment and anger, played by Mohammad Ali Elyasmehr, is the best character; he will make the father talk “in a jiffy,” and argues that the friends’ vigilante tactics likely mean that “if he walks away from this we’re all in big trouble.” Later, he continues to agitate. “You’re all scared that’s all,” he says, and, pressing the point home, “You idiots, let me handle this.” He stomps, as if over-caffeinated, and winds up the emotional energy immaculately. The bride tries to intervene; “Grow up,” she says.
A subplot follows about the mother from the car giving birth. “Pastries are customary,” someone at the hospital says, “and the nurse wants a tip.” But then we return to that exact same place in the desert with the wishbone tree. There are dozens of shots with the sun low in the sky and long shadows on the sand. It’s achingly beautiful, and reminded me of the title of a book, “Deserts are not Empty.”
I am not qualified to write about the politics within “It was Just an Accident”—although there is a reasonable summary available on Wikipedia. But surely Iran is a closed box for most of us in Montrose. It’s a rare week indeed that a piece of art comes to town directly from Iran, and watching the gorgeous cinematography and listening to the soundscapes without wishing to delve into the politics is more than enough. Many of the exterior shots are stock-still, such that we tend to watch the film lengthways; at the end, when the father is strapped to a tree, the positioning of the camera with interrogator to the left, the tree perfectly centred and father bound to the left of the tree, such that the shot is lopsided, is sympathetic and expertly handled.
One afternoon recently, a friend of mine remarked that, despite the passing of over two years, he vividly remembers the discussion after “Winners.” The Iranian film industry is sizeable. But government censorship requires that producers haggle over specific images for weeks before the film is certified. So it is especially thrilling that the Playhouse can kick off its more independently minded lineup for 2026 with another superb film from Iran.
Hamid is certain that they have their man, agitatedly retelling five years’ worth of nightmares about that stump, the fake leg. He believes in vengeance. “I swear it’s him,” he says. “He made me feel his leg with a blindfold on.” But the groom advises caution; furrowing his brow, he says to his wife, “This is a quagmire, darling.” “Leave it to me,” she replies.
Adam Poole
1st January 2026
If you are interested in viewing this screening, please book your tickets here
