Unravelling the unique manner in which films relate to reality is one of the most fascinating aspects of cinema. It’s an endless series of permutations and combinations with as many flavours. Some place their narratives inside an exquisite, larger-than-life fictionality that evokes grand emotions; others seek realism by utilizing different elements — life-like dialogue, a realistic sense of time, performances and events that are heartrendingly close to life.
Iranian cinema, beloved around the world for its naturalistic nature, is an especially interesting study of these mechanisms of cinematic realism. Drawing from the same vein, Bita Joon, a short film written and directed by Sara Boutorabi, is an exquisite work that imparts an acceptance of life through its utter stillness and simply, the experience of its events.
The movie follows a day in the life of an Iranian woman, Bita with terminal cancer. It begins with Bita and her husband singing “Happy Birthday” to their daughter over an internet call, the husband playing along with his accordion. A mundane series of events follow; throughout it all, Bita is struggling with hidden sentiments, grasping internally towards something that might give her satisfaction over the state of her life.
RelatedStories
The movie offers very little cinematic cues to help the viewer along this process. It’s a dreary, life-like portrayal where the cues are identical to real life — her husband’s subtle, cruel neglect, the odd revelation when we see the terminally sick Bita console her caretaker over the latter’s life problems.
Bita’s interaction with her mother involves, perhaps, the only bit of overt symbolism in the film. Talking about the right way to care for orchids, a deeply nuanced view on the nature of human resilience is put forth. The conversation echoes in the mind long after the film finishes, forcing us to reflect upon our own relationship with our circumstances.
Bita Joon transfers an unexpected heaviness of emotion by the time its seemingly normal events come to their conclusion. There is no overt narrative structure that finds a conclusion by the end, but as we see Bita break down in her small backyard garden, wordlessly consoled by the same man who we saw treat her with casual neglect, the statement that the film makes over its 14-minute runtime feels exceedingly powerful and endlessly vast.
The 28th edition of the Toronto Reel Asian International Film Festival runs in-person and online November 13-24. For tickets, scheduling, and other details about this year’s programming, visit the festival’s website.
