An Exclusive, Insightful Conversation with Shahab Hosseini
My first encounter with Shahab Hosseini dates back to February four years ago, at the home of my dear friend Shirin Jahed, one of Iran’s most accomplished television directors—an artist to whom many well-known figures in Iranian cinema and media owe a great deal for her talent, mentorship, and refined taste.
Thanks to Ms. Jahed’s thoughtfulness, we celebrated Shahab Hosseini’s birthday—along with that of my close friend and companion Abbas Yari and myself, all born in the month of Bahman—with a cake and a handful of candles. From that very first meeting, I found Shahab to be humble, gentlemanly, and warm-hearted. With a calm, witty, and thoughtful manner, he spoke about life, art, and the troubling cultural climate of our time—the growing dominance of superficial tastes and the gradual fading of a serious reading culture.
We became friends with striking ease and simplicity. Some time later, during one of Shahab’s trips to the United States, we arranged to meet again. He visited our home with warmth and sincerity, and there we conducted a long, rich, and engaging conversation for Cinema Without Borders—which, at the time, had not yet been born.
For me, after more than sixty years of work in media, festivals, and cultural programming—and after serving on the juries of numerous international film festivals—his analysis of cinema struck me as remarkably mature and deeply considered. You are reading the first part of this warm exchange; in the following sections, further observations will emerge that I am certain you will find equally fresh and revealing.
Hassan Tehrani: During your childhood and adolescence, did you feel drawn to cinema or artistic work?
Shahab Hosseini: To be honest, my childhood and teenage years unfolded under difficult circumstances—during the Revolution and the war. Outside the family, the social conditions were very clear and restrictive. Because of that, we began to construct inner worlds for ourselves. In those inner worlds, we dreamed—and naturally, with every dream came stories.
Many of the images we associate with our childhood games were shaped by those internally processed dreams. Perhaps one reason we couldn’t bring many of those dreams into reality was that our country was at war. Through films, music, and books, we tried to live out our passions internally. Today, that inner life may have found its outward expression in cinema—for me and for some of my friends.
Hassan Tehrani: How did your family respond to your interest in art and acting?
Shahab Hosseini: My father was a high-school teacher, so he was constantly dealing with teenagers and understood their mindset well. He knew how to interact with us. At a time when pursuing personal interests was not easy, he believed that each of us had to choose our own path in life. He never imposed his views on us.
Perhaps he wished I would choose another profession—at that time, becoming a doctor or an engineer was considered more respectable for boys and brought pride to families. But when I told him I wanted to enroll in Hamid Samandarian’s acting classes, he did not object. On the contrary, he even helped me pay the tuition. From that point on, I began to truly experience the world of theater and acting.
Hassan Tehrani: You began your career in radio, didn’t you?
Shahab Hosseini: My acting journey actually started with student theater productions. I wasn’t a theater student myself, but I had close friendships with theater students. I met many of them in those acting classes. At the graduate level, Mina Ebrahimzadeh invited me to work in theater, which was my first real stage experience. That led to participation in student theater festivals.
After that, with the help of friends, I worked for a while as an actor in radio, which was a very valuable experience. Later, I moved into television and hosted several programs. All of these experiences helped me mature professionally and personally.
My professional acting career truly began with television series, and my first feature film was Rokhsareh (1999), directed by the late Amir Ghoveydel, a highly skilled and creative filmmaker whom I will never forget. From there, the journey has continued to this day.
Hassan Tehrani: Did working in front of the camera—considering lighting, lenses, and technical aspects—cause you stress at first?
Shahab Hosseini: At the time, I knew nothing about cinematic technique. I was driven purely by passion and love for acting. I was so intoxicated by acting that I paid little attention to technical details. I immersed myself in the role and acted instinctively. That passion and concern for the role convinced directors to work with me—the final result satisfied them.
This combination of effort and good fortune allowed me to work under the guidance of excellent directors. Later, I realized how reciprocal the process truly was. An actor must bring creative force to the role. If something comes to mind, it should be shared—the actor must live the role.
Early on, emotional involvement sometimes caused misunderstandings. But as one matures, dialogue, interaction, and logic take precedence. If an actor presents an idea with sound reasoning, no director resists—in fact, they welcome it. Fortunately, this mutual interaction has always existed in my career.
From the very beginning, I reminded myself that if a director entrusted me with a role, I must work in a way that would never make them regret that trust or wish they had chosen another actor. That’s why I have always worked with love—and maintained good relationships with every crew I’ve worked with.
Hassan Tehrani: When you are offered a role, what technique do you use to approach the character?
Shahab Hosseini: I believe acting largely draws from one’s personal experiences and way of thinking about life. An actor’s worldview cannot be separated from their work. In many professions, it may not matter what a business owner believes—but in acting, you cannot separate personal thought from artistic expression.
I see acting as becoming one with the character—never judging them as good or bad. I feel that this character exists within the story and must be lived authentically before the camera. No matter what actions the character takes within the drama, they believe they are doing the right thing at that moment.
Acting, to me, is a fusion of the actor’s body and the character’s soul. An actor must dissolve the role within themselves. I believe an actor’s essence should be like water—clear, neutral, without taste or color—so it can combine with anything. Just as water mixed with coffee beans creates coffee, or with tea leaves creates tea, each role has its own color, aroma, and properties that the actor must discover.
I always feel a heartfelt connection with the roles I play.
I don’t see acting merely as a job. I invite it into my life. I often imagine that the characters I portray are people who once lived, who perhaps appear to me in dreams, sharing unfinished concerns or unresolved paths—and asking me, as an actor, to give form to their emotional world.
I live with these characters. I must understand them without judgment—even become them. If I play a jealous person, I search for jealousy within myself. I open that drawer and add my own spice to the role. If the character is witty, I draw from my own sense of humor. I use my natural traits as tools to merge with the character.
Authentic portrayal requires true understanding. An extroverted person cannot play an introverted character by projecting outward behavior. You must recognize the character’s inner nature and distance yourself from your own. Sometimes roles align closely with your own temperament; other times they don’t. Acting is a kind of love affair—without that, performance becomes mechanical and dull.
Hassan Tehrani: You’ve portrayed characters with psychological challenges in powerful ways. How do you approach such roles?
Shahab Hosseini: I played a character with this dimension in My Brother Khosro, directed by Ehsan Biglari. In my other roles, the nervous traits emerged from circumstances rather than mental illness.
For My Brother Khosro, I had no direct experience with schizophrenia or bipolar disorder. I researched with curiosity, trying to understand imbalance—because, ultimately, mental illness is about imbalance of the psyche.
In The Painting Pool (directed by Maziar Miri), I played a character with autism. I realized I shouldn’t imitate autism. From the character’s own perspective, they are living a normal life—the limitation lies in their expressive tools, not their inner logic.
Similarly, in A Separation by Asghar Farhadi, many said I played Hojjat as a “nervous” character. I disagree. There are scenes where he is calm and polite—at the bank, and at the hospital—until he understands what has happened. His breakdown is contextual, not inherent.
I cannot fake pain. Either I’ve experienced it, or I must find an equivalent within myself. I must ask: What is this character’s pain? Only then can I respond truthfully through behavior, gaze, and action.
(To be continued)
