Imagine dedicating your life to art, only to have it silenced, censored, and buried by a system that fears its power. This is the reality for Iranian filmmaker Ali Asgari, whose latest work, ‘Divine Comedy,’ transforms frustration into a biting satire that’s as hilarious as it is haunting. But here’s where it gets controversial: Asgari doesn’t just critique censorship—he openly defies it, risking everything to tell stories that matter. From passport confiscations to bans on directing, his journey is a testament to the resilience of creativity in the face of oppression.
Asgari’s films, including festival darlings like ‘Disappearance,’ ‘Until Tomorrow,’ and ‘Terrestrial Verses,’ have long explored the quiet tensions of everyday life in Iran. But with ‘Divine Comedy,’ he takes a bold leap into comedy, using humor as both a weapon and a bridge. The film follows Bahram, a mid-career filmmaker whose Turkish-Azeri-language works have never been screened in Iran. When his latest project is rejected by cultural authorities, he teams up with his quick-witted producer, Sadaf, to stage a clandestine screening in Tehran. What starts as an act of rebellion spirals into a darkly comedic journey through bureaucracy, cultural gatekeeping, and the anxieties of artistic freedom.
And this is the part most people miss: Asgari’s satire isn’t just about Iran—it’s a universal critique of systems that stifle creativity. Shot entirely in Iran without official permits, the film is a multinational co-production involving Italy, France, Germany, and Turkey, with international sales handled by Goodfellas. But the risks were real. Asgari openly admits, ‘Risk is part of making this kind of film. You either play by their rules or face the consequences. I chose freedom.’
In a candid conversation with Variety, Asgari delved into the absurdities that inspired ‘Divine Comedy,’ the dangers of independent filmmaking in Iran, and the surprising universality of his work. When asked about balancing humor with the harsh realities of censorship, he explained, ‘The situations in the film are based on real experiences—mine, Bahram’s, and others’. But I fictionalized and satirized them to highlight the absurdity of our daily struggles.’
Here’s the controversial question: Can satire truly challenge oppressive systems, or does it merely entertain without effect? Asgari argues that satire diminishes the power of authoritarian regimes by exposing their ridiculousness. ‘When you use satire, you show how silly and stupid the rules are,’ he says. ‘It’s not just about laughing—it’s about questioning.’
But satire isn’t just a tool for resistance; it’s also a way to connect with global audiences. ‘Many people outside Iran aren’t aware of what’s happening,’ Asgari notes. ‘Humor brings them in. It makes the message accessible.’
The risks Asgari takes are staggering. His passport has been confiscated multiple times, and he’s faced bans on traveling and directing. Yet, he remains unfazed. ‘If they kill me, I won’t make films,’ he quips. ‘But confiscating a passport? That’s just part of the job.’
Now, here’s a thought-provoking question for you: Is artistic freedom worth the personal cost? Asgari’s answer is clear: ‘If you want to be free, there must be consequences.’ But what about self-censorship? Asgari admits there’s a subconscious kind that creeps in, shaped by years of living under restrictive systems. ‘As long as I’m aware of it, I fight it,’ he says.
Asgari’s films aren’t made for a specific audience—Iranian or Western. ‘Cinema has no borders,’ he insists. ‘I get messages from countries I’ve never heard of, saying they connected with the film. That’s the beauty of art.’
‘Divine Comedy’ is partly autobiographical, blending Asgari’s experiences with those of Bahram and other collaborators. The idea for the film was born when ‘Terrestrial Verses’ was banned in Iran. Asgari secretly screened it in cafés and homes, carrying a projector and witnessing firsthand the varied reactions of his fellow Iranians. ‘That became the basis for this film,’ he explains.
The film’s reception in Doha surprised even Asgari. ‘I didn’t expect a full theater,’ he admits. ‘But the audience here connected deeply. People were clapping during the screening, and the questions afterward were incredibly professional.’
So, here’s the final question for you: In a world where art is increasingly policed, what role should satire play? Is it a powerful tool for change, or just a temporary escape? Let us know in the comments—Asgari’s story isn’t just his; it’s a reflection of the struggles faced by artists everywhere.
