As well as everything else, this wonderfully sweet and funny film will contribute to the debate about whether repressive regimes are the nursery of artistic greatness. The Iranian government has prevented the film’s two directors, Maryam Moghaddam and Behtash Sanaeeha, from travelling to Berlin to attend their own premiere; six months ago, their production offices were raided and computers and hard drives confiscated. But, fortunately, the police couldn’t find the film itself, whose gentle humanity is a compelling rebuke to this fatuous, clumsy repression.
If I had to guess, I would say that the authorities had got wind of a particular scene in which the morality police drive self-importantly around a Tehran park in their van, intimidating young women who are allegedly not wearing their hijabs with enough modesty. The 70-year-old heroine – who wistfully remembers a time when hijabs were not required at all – stands up to these uniformed bullies and rescues a woman from their clutches.
This is Mahin (a lovely performance from Lili Farhadpour), whose story is a meditation on love and loss, loneliness and old age, and on the price at which long-term married happiness is bought. It is a meditation on how women come to terms with the destiny of widowhood, of knowing that they will almost certainly outlive their husbands. Mahin is herself a widow whose daughter and grandchildren live abroad, and her muted existence alone in her apartment is revealed in a series of tremendously composed tableaux. There are FaceTime phone calls with her daughter which somehow never allow for a proper talk. She has difficulty getting to sleep and doesn’t get up before noon. She waters the plants in her garden, goes shopping and occasionally hosts lunches for her female friends, at which the dominant theme is everyone’s various ailments, discussed at hilarious and explicit length.
But the conversation turns to whether it is possible to find romance again at their age. Why not? And so Mahin, without quite admitting it to herself, expands and modifies her aimless daytime schedule with a secret end in view: to meet a man. Mahin hangs out in the bakery queue, at the park, at a fancy hotel coffee shop and finally at a modest restaurant where pensioners’ food vouchers can be redeemed. And she finds herself meeting cute with Faramarz (Esmaeel Mehrabi), a modest, personable single man of her age. He is a cab driver and military veteran, who himself is of Mahin’s independent cast of mind: he got into trouble with joyless authorities for playing a musical instrument in a wedding band.
And so Faramarz and Mahin have their moment together at her apartment, where she offers to bake him her favourite cake. It is a moment of emotional connection for which they have saved up all their thoughts and feelings since becoming single – as if the entirety of their late-life inner existences are now being poured out to each other. There is something quietly magnificent in it. Moments like these in life are poignantly brief – but many never have them at all. It’s a lovely film.
• My Favourite Cake was shown at the Berlin film festival.
