When you realize that a film has been banned for years and is now finally being released, you feel compelled to go see it… especially when you hear that Masoud Farasati, an Iranian film critic,has called it “filthy…!”
When you keep reading and hearing everywhere that the performances in the film—particularly Hassan Pourshirazi’s—are highly praised, you eagerly seize the opportunity and head to one of Tehran’s cinemas to watch it…
Before the film begins, the sight of a full theater—something rare in recent years—gives you a good feeling. For too long, the screening of cheap and vulgar films had lowered the tastes of our audiences to the level of worthless comedy plays, and the posters of the same recycled actors hanging above every cinema entrance had killed your spirit, making you feel that cinema itself had been buried in this land.
I believe The Old Bachelor breathed fresh air into Iranian cinema. And why do I find this film shocking and valuable?
The cohesion of the performances, the presence of the actors in precisely designed scenes, a story so strange and unbelievable yet made convincing by the director’s skill, the découpage, and the events that leave the audience breathless—all are part of its strengths.
The Old Bachelor is a wake-up call to our lives and a mirror of the bitter realities of our increasingly brutal and decayed society.
In a city where a father beheads his daughter, where a husband carries the severed head of his young wife through the streets, where a father dismembers his son at home and—with the help of the mother—throws the mutilated corpse into the trash… please, look at these glimpses of our sick society today and do not run away from them.
The performances are extraordinary, led by Hassan Pourshirazi and Hamed Behdad, who here finds the most fitting role of his career and delivers a stunning performance.
But beyond the shock and surface violence, the story moves forward with a deliberate structure. The narrative rhythm begins slowly but tensely, tightening the knots step by step, drawing the viewer not only into the unfolding events but also into sharing the anxiety and fear of the characters. The film’s point of view stands somewhere between that of a judge and a witness: it allows us to step back and see the magnitude of the darkness, while at the same time pulling us unwillingly into the suffocating, claustrophobic space of the story.
Every scene, through meticulous mise-en-scène, is a piece of a puzzle that only at the end reveals its complete and terrifying picture. In its storytelling, The Old Bachelor transcends classical narration and enters a realm where each frame has a purpose beyond merely advancing the plot. The frames become visual documents of a society in collapse.
Symbolically, too, the film is rich. The perpetual darkness of the shots does not merely convey an atmosphere of crime but stands as a metaphor for the extinction of the collective conscience. The rare, sudden bursts of light become sparks of hope, surrounded by the blackness. The tight framing conveys the feeling of imprisonment, and ordinary objects (a knife, a rope, even a glass of water) acquire symbolic power—reminders of violence and control, or else purification and cleansing. The colors are chosen intelligently: grimy grays and browns reek of decay, and whenever red enters the frame, it screams both danger and blood.
But a major source of the film’s power lies in the acting. Hassan Pourshirazi here does more than play a role; he embodies the entire history of a broken, worn-down man. His fleeting glances, long pauses, even the way he stands within the frame—all narrate a lifetime of scars and suppressed rage. His performance is a combination of tightly controlled reactions and sudden violent outbursts, which makes it all the more believable.
Hamed Behdad, in what may be one of the best performances of his career, creates a character full of nervous energy and sharp glances—both dangerous and strangely vulnerable. In key moments, he blurs the line between predator and prey, keeping the audience uncertain about him until the very end.
Even the supporting cast, with less screen time, leave strong impressions. Each completes part of the film’s social puzzle: the weary, resigned mother; the neighbors who only watch in silence—and whose silence is louder than any scream.
That is why The Old Bachelor is not merely a shocking film, but a profound and multilayered experience; a film where imagery, narrative, and acting come together to place a mirror before us. A mirror in which it is not easy to look, but necessary.
