A Conversation with Bijan Tehrani About Asghar Farhadi, Editing, and the Hidden Language of Cinema
Hayedeh Safiyari is one of the most accomplished editors in contemporary Iranian cinema. Her remarkable career includes collaborations with some of Iran’s most important filmmakers, particularly Asghar Farhadi, whose distinctive approach to storytelling owes much to the precision and sensitivity of her editing.
A graduate of the School of Television and Cinema in Iran, Safiyari has established herself internationally while maintaining a notably modest and unassuming personality. Despite her extraordinary achievements, she remains remarkably humble, gracious, and generous in acknowledging the contributions of her colleagues.
What makes her work particularly fascinating is its apparent invisibility. In Farhadi’s films, where every gesture, hesitation, glance, and fragment of information can influence the viewer’s judgment, editing becomes an essential element of storytelling. Safiyari’s contribution extends far beyond arranging shots: she helps shape the emotional and psychological architecture of the films.
In this conversation, we discuss her collaboration with Farhadi, the artistic responsibilities of film editors, the differences between approaches to cinematic storytelling, and the challenges of creating films whose complexities are sometimes overlooked in their initial critical reception.
Bijan Tehrani: Some filmmakers see editing primarily as a means of helping the director express what was already conceived during writing and shooting. Others believe that a film is essentially created in the editing room. How do you see these two approaches?
Hayedeh Safiyari: I think it depends entirely on the filmmaker’s cinematic world and the way they choose to express their vision. For example, in Asghar Farhadi’s cinema, editing functions as an integral part of the drama. Through cutting, withholding or revealing information, changing perspectives, and controlling time, editing guides the audience toward a particular experience. On the other hand, there are filmmakers whose approach is closer to the theoretical ideas of André Bazin, who placed greater emphasis on the integrity of time and space within a shot and was less enthusiastic about intrusive montage.
You can see examples of this approach in Abbas Kiarostami’s films. Real time, long takes, sequence shots, and deep focus give the audience considerable freedom to decide where to look and how to interpret the relationships between characters. It is rather like watching a theatrical performance. The viewer decides which part of the scene deserves attention. A cut usually occurs when the dramatic action within the shot has reached its natural conclusion. But in films where editing has a more active role, the filmmaker determines how and when the audience receives information.
Take the courtroom sequence in A Separation. Through changes of angle and cuts between characters, the audience receives fragments of evidence. Like a judge, the viewer must assemble those fragments and form an opinion. So I don’t believe that all filmmakers have the same relationship with editing. The editing strategy begins with the screenplay and the director’s approach to shooting, and it develops further through the collaboration between director and editor. In that sense, editing can be considered both a second stage of directing and the final rewriting of the screenplay.
BT : One of the directors you have worked with most extensively is Asghar Farhadi. His screenplays are usually extremely precise, and he spends considerable time rehearsing with actors. When the material reaches the editing room, how close is it to its final form? How exactly do you work together? Do you initially edit independently and then discuss the result with him, or do you work side by side from the beginning?
HS: Our working method has varied from film to film. During A Hero, which we shot in Shiraz, my editing room was in the same hotel where I was staying. Mr. Farhadi would usually come by on weekends, or sometimes after shooting if he wasn’t too tired, and we would watch the sequences I had edited.
We would discuss them, and I would incorporate his suggestions. Those discussions also helped guide my editing of the following sequences. Our first collaboration was Fireworks Wednesday, but I joined that project after shooting had already been completed. In all our subsequent collaborations, editing took place simultaneously with filming. By the time principal photography ended, we already had an initial assembly of the entire film.
We followed a similar process on Parallel Tales. I worked throughout the week, and on weekends we watched the edited sequences together. Mr. Farhadi understands editing extremely well. He designs much of his visual coverage with a precise awareness of the possibilities that will become available in the editing room. A good example is the sequence in A Separation in which Razieh is forced out of the apartment. The entire scene was filmed from several perspectives: Razieh’s, Nader’s, Termeh’s, and Somayeh’s.
In editing, these four continuous performances had to be woven together in a way that established the dramatic rhythm without losing the emotional continuity of the performances. In his films, especially in important sequences, coverage is not simply a collection of unrelated shots. Each complete performance has its own internal rhythm and dramatic logic, and the editing must work with that rhythm. Of course, structural changes can occur after the first assembly.
For example, there is a scene in The Salesman in which Emad and Rana appear in front of makeup mirrors. Originally, that scene was intended to appear in the middle of the film, but we eventually recognized its dramatic and thematic potential and moved it to the end.
BT We previously discussed A Hero. Some French critics questioned the film’s running time and suggested that it could have been shorter. What do you think about that kind of criticism?
HS: Mr. Farhadi’s screenplays are full of details, and those details form the structure of his storytelling. I can confidently say that there is very little within his scenes that serves no purpose. He is extraordinarily sensitive to rhythm and to the necessity of each moment. Sometimes when people say a film is too long, what they really mean is that they don’t understand why they need all those details.
But my experience has been that whenever we remove something simply to make the film shorter, we often discover that information has been lost or that a character’s development has become incomplete. Mr. Farhadi sometimes refers to certain middle sequences as a kind of “coloring.” These are scenes that may initially appear secondary, but they allow the audience to understand the characters more fully and prepare us for their later reactions.
If you remove such a scene, a character’s behavior in the following sequence may suddenly seem unmotivated. That is why I believe criticism should be specific. If someone thinks a scene should be removed, they should explain which scene, why it is unnecessary, and how its removal would leave the narrative intact. Simply saying that a film is too long is a very general judgment, especially about a filmmaker whose storytelling is fundamentally built upon the accumulation of details.
BT: There has been considerable debate surrounding Farhadi’s latest film, Parallel Tales, although I have also read some very positive reviews. Why do you think the film has produced such divided reactions? I observed something similar when A Hero was released.
HS: A Hero is a very good example. I remember speaking with a Swedish colleague at Warner Bros. Studios who had seen the film and loved it. He pointed out details that had received very little attention during its initial release. Some films need time to find their audience.
I believe Parallel Tales will also gradually find its place. It represents a new experience in Mr. Farhadi’s career, and I admire his courage in moving away from many of the familiar elements of his earlier filmmaking. The acting, the temporal structure, and the editing language are different. In his previous films, we often used rapid cutting and connections based on movement or dramatic continuity. But in Parallel Tales, we deliberately used visible jump cuts and hard cuts.
Breaking chronological time and moving between fiction and reality are fundamental elements of the film’s structure. This is not something he had explored in quite the same way in his earlier films. Sometimes critics, particularly during initial festival screenings, approach a new film with expectations based on the director’s previous work. When a filmmaker changes their cinematic language, viewers may need more time to understand that change. I am confident that this film will be better understood and appreciated as time passes, just as attitudes toward A Hero have evolved in the years since its release.
BT: Sometimes I see the issue as something more complicated. It seems that the success of a filmmaker coming from a non-Western culture can provoke reactions that go beyond purely cinematic criticism. I sometimes feel that certain elements within Western intellectual circles, consciously or unconsciously, conceal a sense of cultural superiority behind the language of criticism. Do you think that interpretation is exaggerated?
HS: It is a very broad and complicated subject. I think we would have to examine each particular case carefully before reaching a conclusion.
BT: You have worked with many different directors. Some filmmakers shoot numerous takes and arrive in the editing room with an enormous amount of material. A significant part of the film’s final form is then created during editing. How do you approach projects of that kind?
HS: In most films I have edited, there have been quite a few takes. I watch all of them. Sometimes, out of ten takes, I may narrow my choices down to two or three serious possibilities. I might even edit two different versions of a sequence to see how the various choices affect the film as a whole. Some actors, such as Shahab Hosseini, bring something different to every take.
Even when they remain faithful to the director’s intentions, each performance may contain a slightly different emotional quality or perspective. For an editor, that makes the selection process both more interesting and more challenging. Other actors perform with remarkable consistency. Their first take may be almost identical to their last. I always ask my assistants to transfer the script supervisor’s notes into the timeline and indicate why each take was repeated.
Was there a technical problem? Did the cinematographer request another take? Was the director dissatisfied with the performance? Was there a makeup problem? Having that information directly in the timeline allows me to understand the circumstances of each take without constantly referring to the script supervisor’s paperwork. Overall, I prefer having more material to work with. I actually find it more difficult to edit projects where the available footage is extremely limited.
BT Looking back at your many collaborations, which experiences have been particularly successful or satisfying for you?
HS: I consider myself fortunate because working with many different directors throughout my career has been both rewarding and educational. My first major experiences were with Ebrahim Hatamikia, and I still like the results of those collaborations very much. Films such as The Glass Agency, The Red Ribbon, Low Heights, and even Dead Wave remain important to me. I also collaborated several times with Bahman Ghobadi, and each of those films was a different and valuable experience.
Working with Reza Dormishian was different again. There was a youthful, innovative quality to his approach, both in what he wanted from the film and in the opportunities he gave us to experiment with editing. The truth is that there have been so many interesting films and experiences that it is difficult to mention all of them.
BT: Have you ever been tempted to direct a film yourself?
HS: Not in the sense of having a continuing ambition to become a director. Many years ago, I wrote a feature-length screenplay. Then, several years later, when I saw the film Blue, I was surprised by how similar it was to the story I had written. There is also a short film that has remained in my mind for many years. Sometimes I think I might make it one day.
But that is not because I want to change professions. It is more because I have an image or an idea in my mind that I would like to bring into existence, almost so that I can look at it myself. I like my position in the editing room. I enjoy having a close but relatively limited working relationship with the director, without being constantly involved in managing an entire production team. Directing requires the ability to lead a large group of people, make decisions continuously, and exercise a particular kind of authority. I don’t really see myself as having that commanding or managerial personality. I feel much more comfortable in the quiet, concentrated environment of the editing room.
BT: Among Iranian film editors, whose work do you particularly admire? Of course, not mentioning someone doesn’t mean that their contribution is unimportant.
HS: I admire the work of Rouhangiz Khalaj and Shahla Mirfendereski very much. They worked during a particularly important period when editing had not yet established the professional identity and independence it enjoys today. There was even a time when cinematographers would edit films themselves. I have also followed Abbas Ganjavi’s work very closely, and I admire many of his films.
Mostafa Kharghehpoosh is another editor whose approach is often very close to what I myself would want to achieve in editing. Hossein Zandbaf, Abbas Ganjavi, and other editors of that generation played important roles in establishing editing as a distinct and respected profession in Iranian cinema. I should also mention younger editors. Sometimes I see work by my students that genuinely astonishes me. Even in their second or third projects, some demonstrate remarkable creativity.
BT: I have been trying to find Shahla Mirfendereski for years. She was once my teacher and the head of the editing department, and I have very fond memories of that period. I understand that she lives in France, but unfortunately I haven’t managed to get in touch with her.
HS: I would also have loved to meet her in person, but I have heard that in recent years she has preferred to avoid public meetings and contact.
BT: Looking at world cinema, we have filmmakers such as Alfred Hitchcock, who planned their films with extraordinary precision during preproduction and shooting, often leaving relatively little unnecessary footage. On the other hand, there are directors who shoot more freely and discover much of their film’s final structure in the editing room. Which examples of editing in Iranian or international cinema have been especially interesting to you?
HS: That is not an easy question to answer because, as viewers, we usually see only the final result. We don’t necessarily know which elements were already present in the screenplay and which emerged during editing. I remember seeing Alejandro González Iñárritu’s 21 Grams for the first time and being very impressed by its editing structure.
Later, when I spoke with Guillermo Arriaga, who wrote the screenplay, I discovered that the film’s fragmented chronology and nonlinear structure had already been designed in the writing. After that film became successful, many people tried to take linear stories and transform them into nonlinear narratives using similar techniques. But in 21 Grams, that structure was an inseparable part of the original writing.
One of the editor’s most important responsibilities is to make the story clear and bring the audience closer to the emotions of the characters. Yet that aspect of editing is often invisible. When we watch a film that flows naturally, we cannot easily determine how much of that fluency comes from the screenplay, how much from the direction, and how much from the editor solving structural problems.
Even in professional discussions about editing, there is sometimes too much emphasis on the number or style of cuts. As a result, the editor’s real contribution to storytelling, emotion, and cinematic time can be overlooked. Among international editors, Sylvia Ingemarsson is particularly important to me. Her work on Ingmar Bergman’s films, including Autumn Sonata and Fanny and Alexander, is remarkable.
I am also very interested in the work of Jill Bilcock, particularly her collaborations with Baz Luhrmann. Take Moulin Rouge! as an example. Some viewers may find its editing exhausting because there are so many cuts. But when you understand the rhythmic logic of those cuts, you recognize how precisely they create the energy and rhythm of the scenes. That is what interests me: not the number of cuts, but what those cuts accomplish.
