When Jafar Panahi completed his latest film, No Bears, the world watched with the usual mix of anticipation and unease. The filmmaker already knew a trip abroad for a premiere in Mostra would be impossible under Iranian law that restricts travel for years to come. Yet what unfolded on that festival Friday was a powerful counterimage: some collaborators wore the film on the red carpet as a quiet act of defiance. Behind bars for 52 days, Panahi faced a reality that some might call destiny, while others thought of it as endurance written into the fabric of his career. If the work itself could earn Panahi the Golden Lion once more, it would not just be a triumph for cinema but a testament to the resilience of women and artists facing suppression. The film’s potential to move audiences echoes the impact of his earlier breakthrough, El Círculo, a stark indictment of the challenges faced by women in Iran. This new iteration of Panahi’s cinema arrives with a heavy prophetic weight—a work that seems to foresee more than it simply portrays.
According to Iranian officials, Panahi’s imprisonment is seen as a continuation of a six-year sentence established in 2010. The charge cited was organizing propaganda against the regime, a sentence that has repeatedly shifted in scope and enforcement over the years. What began as a formal ban on leaving the country and limits on filmmaking has persisted through more than a decade of work that blends fiction and documentary form. Films like This Is Not a Movie (2011), Pardé (2013), Taxi Tehran (2015), and Three Hundred (2018) navigated oppressive contexts with bold, inventive methods that interrogate both their own nature and the medium they inhabit. No Bears extends that approach, building on the same core premise while amplifying it with sharper intensity and political edge.
stealth shooting
In this film, Panahi appears as himself, a presence both intimate and elusive. The narrative follows him as he directs a project from a distant vantage point, filming in a border town near Istanbul. The story tracks an Iranian couple attempting to flee toward Europe, and the actors portraying them share their precarious circumstances. The cast, like Panahi himself, seeks freedom from a country that constrains movement. While in the border village, Panahi’s need to document reality pushes him toward clashes with local norms—clashes that reveal, with unflinching candor, the rigidity and sometimes ridiculous masculinity that persist. As a result, No Bears emerges as one of Panahi’s most intricate works, infusing his characteristic anger and bleak humor with heightened conceptual daring. If the director has long believed cinema can illuminate truth and momentarily offer sanctuary for its makers and subjects, this film seems to insist that art may also demand faith from its audience. Some viewers may call this prophecy; others may simply recognize uncompromising art.
As the festival reached its climax, No Bears stood as a provocative counterpoint to a parade of premieres. What began as a gesture of solidarity among supporters and the director evolved into a debate about whether the film’s extraordinary artistic merit could secure recognition on a stage wary of political complications. The lineup included a mix of ambitious titles, each carrying its own political resonance. One entry, Beyond the Wall, combined melodrama and suspense in a way that felt both difficult and somewhat strained, and the French option Les miens, a family comedy, carried a heavy metaphor that some perceived as overpowering. The Italian entry Cira, about the life of Saint Clare of Assisi, attracted attention for its biographical approach but drew mixed opinions about its resonance with contemporary audiences. These competing reactions underscored a festival conversation about how art intersects with politics and how a world audience negotiates the tensions between cinematic ambition and real-world consequences.
Among the frontrunners hovering over the awards, a debate swirled about whether Blonde or Almas en pena en Inisherin could claim the Golden Lion. Both titles carried strong case for recognition, yet their paths suggested divergent outcomes. One was divisive in its reception; the other offered a certain masculine energy that some felt did not align with the prevailing zeitgeist. In this volatile mix, insiders wagered on Panahi’s film finding its own, quiet victory—an achievement that would honor the author’s persistent insistence on artistic integrity and political courage. It was clear to many observers that tar, a film crafted with deliberate care toward awards season, might be aiming to leverage Panahi’s standing and the festival’s mood to secure results that could defy expectations. The final decision, as ever in such contested moments, remained a blend of artistry, strategy, and the unpredictable verdict of audiences and juries alike. (Source: festival coverage and contemporary cinema analysis)