In its 10th edition this October, the Ajyal Film Festival brought filmmakers, critics and movie lovers together in a hybrid format, allowing those who cannot make it to Doha to enjoy the specially curated selection of films. The festival often focuses on films that bring social issues to the fore in the region and beyond. The films are judged by the youthful Ajyal jury in three different age categories: Mohaq 8-12, Hilal 13-17 and Bader 18-25.
Iran, right across the gulf from Doha, has been a frequent guest at the festival and this year was represented in part by Ali Asgari’s "Until Tomorrow," which was entered in the 13-17 category. This is the second Asgari film I’ve had the chance to see at Ajyal and as ever, he has a hard-hitting story to tell. The film is about a single mother trying to survive in Tehran while keeping her child a secret from her family. In that respect, it is a companion piece to Asgari’s 2017 film "Disappearance," in which a pregnant young woman, faced with the prospect of ostracization, chooses to have an abortion over having a child. The fact that both heroines are played by Sadaf Asgari highlights the correspondence between the two stories, that a woman is just as likely to end up in either situation. Both films highlight how women feel abandoned by society in these circumstances and how they are forced to lie in order to save themselves. When asked about the parallels between these two heroines during the online press conference, Asgari said that the crucial difference was that in "Disappearance" the woman had no choice and was basically carted around by the boyfriend, whereas in "Until Tomorrow," we see Fereshteh making decisions and trying different things although they may backfire one by one.
Fertility, one way or another, is a common theme in world cinema right now, and each culture and social class regulates it differently. In "Until Tomorrow" we have a university student who has gone through with the birth despite her boyfriend’s calls for an abortion. I don't know Iran's laws on abortion or how safe it would have been for her, but keeping the baby seems to have been a radical decision. The fact that abortion is an option in Iran while American women are fighting to keep their period cycle information private so as not to be trapped by the state unsettles the viewers’ assumptions of the "moral code."
In "Until Tomorrow," there is an underlying message, as ever in Iranian films, about women being forced to wear the headscarf when they have already crossed the boundaries of their religion’s edicts in so many different ways. This time, childbearing out of wedlock and discussion of abortion proved too much for Iranian censors, and "Until Tomorrow" has been banned in Iran. Given the Iranian women’s struggle for bodily autonomy that has grown into a widespread protest in recent weeks, the film has increased urgency. What to wear over your head and how you will respond when you discover another life is growing inside you are two ends of the spectrum of bodily autonomy.
In the film, Fereshteh learns that her parents are coming to Tehran to visit a relative who had an accident and that they intend to stay at her place, which means she has to clear her flat of all traces of her baby. It is a well-maintained flat and the viewer gets the impression that she has been doing well on her own without any intervention from the state or her family. I say she is on her own, but really, she has been relying on her close friend Atefeh who sticks with her throughout her journey to find a place for her baby to be looked after for one night, hence the film's title "Until Tomorrow."
Fereshteh’s first options, naturally, are her neighbors, but she has to keep up appearances in front of them since she hasn't told them that she is keeping her baby a secret from her family. She makes up a story about having her flat fumigated which quickly travels around the block of flats and is exposed as a lie. It is the police state exercising itself in a microcosm, not so much because the neighbors wish ill towards one another, but because they actually have a pest problem and public services are so lacking that they want the same duty of care they think is being shown to Fereshteh.
When Fereshteh realizes that she cannot keep her baby in the same building, she decides, despite her better judgment, to get in touch with the baby’s father. Her friend Atefeh accompanies her on this fruitless venture and then seeing the hopelessness tries another option, which involves her asking her own ex-boyfriend who is now a married respectable citizen to keep the baby for one night. The wife is understandably reluctant and Fereshteh decides not to leave her baby with such an unwilling guardian. The friend’s ex, by way of apology, insists on driving them off to a hospital where they can leave the baby with "the granddaughter of his aunt." This convoluted description of a blood relation reminds one of Fereshteh’s story of the flat fumigation – he is clearly lying about the nature of his relationship with this nurse. This sense gets stronger in the car where, supposedly trying to help Fereshteh, he goes on about how awful his marriage is. The scene is a master class in the claustrophobic car scenes that Iranian cinema excels in.
The claustrophobia continues when they get to the hospital and the nurse tries to arrange a place for the baby. Fereshteh is tried and tested in the endless corridors of the hospital building and in harrowing conversations with people in positions of power. However, she finally manages to furrow her way out. Trying to conceal the truth since the morning has only landed her in trouble and made her party to other people’s miseries, and it dawns on her that living with the consequences of truth is much easier than the several charades she’s had to put on.
This account of lies spiraling and getting out of control is naturally a metaphor for Iran today. Women who are forced to act out roles they don’t believe in will hold the system responsible and demand a reckoning at some point. As in this film, in the end, they will stand naked in front of authority, forcing them to recognize women in their entirety.
