‘It Was Just an Accident’ Review: Jafar Panahi’s Most Essential Act of Resistance
Jafar Panahi crafts his most daring film yet with the Palme d’Or-winning ‘It Was Just an Accident.’ With an admittedly simple premise, the Iranian filmmaker defies authority with simple gestures that speak louder than a thousand words.
Jafar Panahi’s 2022 No Bears saw the Iranian filmmaker play a fictionalized version of himself, demonstrating the fearlessness required to defy authority and make art that speaks truth to power in a country that refuses all forms of criticism against its totalitarian regime. Since 2011’s This Is Not a Film, Panahi has been shooting films illegally, as his 2010 arrest led the regime to issue a 20-year ban on all filmmaking and travel. He has never stopped and consistently defied this order numerous times, leading to his arrest once again after production on No Bears wrapped. Multiple imprisonments have never once shut down his resolve to craft morally complex stories that denounce the Ayatollah’s tyrannical reign in the country, and his latest movie, the Palme d’Or-winning It Was Just an Accident, may be his most courageous work yet.
One cannot overstate the massive act of resistance that unfolds throughout the picture, centered on the film’s two female characters – Shiva (Mariam Afshari) and Goli (Hadis Pakbaten) – who do not wear a hijab for most of the runtime. Many Western viewers may overlook this immense and courageous gesture, not knowing that female characters in Iranian films and television series are required to wear one at all times. The oppressive nature of the law reduces women’s rights and freedom in the country, whilst Panahi boldly stands up against this oppression by ensuring the audience pays attention to how the women are dressed and how they interact with the other male characters, who are now exacting their revenge on the person who ruined their lives and gave them immense torment ever since their arrest and imprisonment.
The person in question is named Eghbal (Ebrahim Azizi), and takes his car to a repair shop after a mild car accident damages his engine. This is where an employee, named Vahid (Vahid Mobasseri) sees him and recognizes the noise his peg leg makes – a distinct squeak that no one will forget by the time Panahi cuts to its bone-chilling end credits (making, more than any other contemporary film, the case that one should never leave when the credits appear and sit with what they have just observed, before moving on to whatever next they have in their agenda). The noise sends him into complete shock, and, a few scenes later, Vahid successfully abducts him and plans to bury him alive. We don’t understand why this happened, although it is implied that Eghbal has a past connection to Vahid.
This is where we learn that Eghbal is an officer of the Iranian regime and has tormented Vahid in prison, torturing him for several months, before he was ultimately freed. However, doubt begins to settle in when Eghbal convinces Vahid that he is not who he claims to be and begs Vahid not to leave him there. To verify his identity, he contacts a few people who will confirm whether or not he is Eghbal, the aforementioned Shiva, Goli, her groom (Majid Panahi), and Hamid (Mohamad Ali Elyasmehr). After that, they will decide what to do with him, but their trauma from the time they spent in prison is still deeply felt, so it’s hard to see them doing anything other than killing Eghbal outright.
Things, however, get further complicated when doubt on whether Vahid’s actions are morally righteous settles in, or when a human element becomes present. One element, in particular, is layered with so much anger at the system, the regime, and the lack of humanity that many people who live in contemporary society carry. Because of that, even if you are unfamiliar with Panahi’s critique of Iran’s censorship and fascist tyrants who are ruling the country and oppressing their citizens to think and speak freely, you may find something to latch onto and resonate with what the filmmaker is saying. Cinema is not just a tool for entertainment. However, in Hollywood, it seems to be the driving force behind dumbing down the population, preventing them from thinking critically about the images they see daily, whether on big or small screens.
That said, in Panahi’s hand, cinema becomes the ultimate form of resistance against fascism and the forces that want to control it at every turn. They do not want their people to think for themselves, nor do they want them to consume anything that dares to criticize their actions. As such, It Was Just an Accident contains many layers of meaning that anyone who moderately thinks will undoubtedly be drawn to what Panahi is saying. The first layer is the political critique, an evident and well-drawn act of courage that has defined Panahi’s filmography since he began using a camera to showcase what he – and his people – have been experiencing to the world, dismantling the narratives the regime would like to control. The second are the actions each protagonist takes, from refusing to wear a veil or a hijab, to openly discussing what the regime does to its critics, and even family members of those critics. That alone is bold enough in a society that doesn’t allow its citizens to think critically, although it’s of lesser importance than the third layer.
That layer emerges as Panahi reframes Vahid’s story, as he begins to realize that things aren’t as black-and-white as they seem. In the case of the layperson who likes to nitpick everything, this may sound like a cop-out, especially in the unbroken conversation between Shiva, Vahid, and Eghbal that serves as the movie’s denouement, offering no satisfaction to any of the protagonists he tortured. However, the final shot of the film completely dismantles any of these facile criticisms in representing the perpetual fear that Iranians who dare to stand up against the oppressors of the country feel at every second of their lives.
It’s a blood-curdling conclusion that lingers as the credits roll, making you realize the importance of what Panahi has exposed and visualized in his latest – and most potent – act of resistance. And it will stay with you for as long as you live and breathe on this planet. As such, It Was Just an Accident is not a “masterpiece” or a film to be celebrated in the traditional sense of the term. Everyone doing so is diminishing the movie’s merits in completely frivolous categories (just like “critics” who point out the “pros” and “cons” of a film without ever engaging with what actually works—and what doesn’t).
Rather, Panahi’s movie is an essential act of political defiance, one that takes courageous action in the hope that its people will eventually be freed from the oppressive regime currently controlling them. Art is the first and foremost vehicle to protect. Without it, the will to live and carry on in the face of such oppression may not be worth it. Yet, if Panahi continues to make films even while being banned from doing so, the hope that freedom will eventually arrive may just be enough to give them a fighting chance.