There are few films more timely than this one this year. Reading Lolita in Tehran is based on the memoir of English literature professor Azar Nafisi, spanning about 24 years. Nafisi now lives in Washington DC and she wrote the book after leaving Iran in 1997. During revolutionary Iran, Nafisi discreetly brought together her most committed students to explore banned classics of Western literature. The title references Vladimir Nabokov’s Lolita, which is the most provocative, but the list of prohibited books also features Huckleberry Finn, The Great Gatsby, and Pride and Prejudice.

It’s worth noting that the film adaptation is directed by an Israeli filmmaker, Eran Riklis, after Nafisi had rejected previous offers from American filmmakers (per this article). He’s known for his empathetic and relatable depictions of cultures beyond the Jewish-Israeli norm, so it’s no surprise he tackles this one. Riklis worked with screenwriter Marjorie David in adapting the memoir for the film, which opens inside Nafisi’s quiet Tehran apartment, where seven female students gather. They get to take off their required hijabs and black cloaks, showing off their vibrant Western outfits underneath.

The movie then takes us back to show how they arrive at this point, starting with a scene from 1979, mid-flight, where Nafisi, along with her husband Bijan, is heading back to Iran from the US to teach English literature at the University of Tehran. She appears hopeful about her future in her home country, but that hope is quickly dashed when Ayatollah Khomeini comes to power and the Iranian regime imposes strict Sharia law. Before long, Nafisi is forced to wear a hijab on campus, radical Islamist male students start challenging her during class, and ultimately, she finds herself unable to teach at all.

Growing up in Indonesia, a country with a Muslim majority where the harsh Sharia law is enforced in some areas, I’m keenly aware of how awful this law can be, particularly for women (check out this recent article from The Guardian that shows its brutality). Women can face severe punishments, even death, just for showing their hair. This film was made just a few months after the “Woman. Life. Freedom” protests erupted after Mahsa Amini was killed in police custody in Iran for not wearing her hijab properly. That’s why Nafisi’s apartment became a refuge for students to express themselves without fear.

I haven’t read Nafisi’s memoir, but from what I gathered, it leans more towards the intellectual and philosophical side. In contrast, the film unfolds like a gripping survival story that’s both tense and raw. The atmosphere is urgent and grim, illustrating the daily struggles of Iranians, including checkpoints and air raids during the Iran-Iraq War of the 80s. For Nafisi, there’s always the looming threat of physical harm for standing up against intellectual oppression. The film doesn’t hold back in depicting the brutal realities of police brutality during protests and the harsh punishments inflicted on women. One of Nafisi’s students, Sanaz (Zar Amir Ebrahimi), faces 80 lashes after her doctor discovers she isn’t a virgin. It’s heartbreaking to witness that some radical Islamist women also participate in these inhumane practices.

Nafisi astutely uses metaphors to link literary characters with the struggles of oppressed Iranian citizens, while Riklis incorporates visual parallels to drive home these themes. Take Lolita, for instance; Humbert Humbert is a psychological metaphor for a totalitarian dictator who strips women of their identity and autonomy. During discussions about her story, the film transitions to scenes of girls moving through checkpoints, emphasizing the disturbing truth of women being perpetually monitored and silenced. 

As a Jane Austen fan, I find it fascinating how the adaptation of Pride and Prejudice emphasizes the societal pressures faced by young women. Riklis presents another rich visual metaphor with the scene where Nafisi encourages her students to rehearse the strictly controlled Regency ball in her living room. I can never view that supposedly romantic dance scene the same way again… as this film exposes the dance as a tightly regulated social event ruled by harsh, stifling etiquette. However, this simple act of joyful dancing transforms into a defiant political act in itself, since the fundamentalist regime heavily regulates female bodies. Riklis also weaves in a touch of surrealism when Nafisi envisions a closed bookstore as vibrant and bustling, surrounded by free Iranians who are laughing and carrying books without fear.

Israeli composer Yonathan Riklis, who is also the director’s son, creates original scores for the film. I really enjoy how he blends the traditional, more somber sounds of Persian instruments from the outside world with the uplifting melodies of Western classical music within the living room. The music and color grading provide a sense of relief for the women as they enter their living room sanctuary; it’s a sharp contrast to the dark, suffocating, oppressive life they face outside.

I’ve been a fan of Tehran-born Golshifteh Farahani since I saw her in Paterson. She’s perfectly cast as Nafisi, showcasing her sharp intellect and emotional vulnerability. There’s a quiet elegance about her—her stoicism and calm demeanor serve as a coping mechanism. The women who make up Nafisi’s students are played by actresses of Iranian descent: Zar Amir Ebrahimi, Mina Kavani, Raha Rahbari, Bahar Beihaghi, Catayoune Ahmadi, and Rita. The relationships among the women feel authentic as they each come from different backgrounds. While they all confront a common enemy in the regime, they are also individuals with their own personal struggles and perspectives.

Shahbaz Noshir plays one of the few good men in the story, an enigmatic former drama teacher known as The Magician. As her wise confidant and advisor, Nafisi keeps his identity a secret since he still resides in Iran. Whenever she’s with her mentor, Nafisi feels a sense of safety and comfort, as he understands her better than anyone else, even her husband.

I think the film’s weakest aspect is Nafisi’s home life, which is likely explored more deeply in the book. Her relationship with her civil engineer husband feels underdeveloped, and Bijan comes off as a passive partner, even after their brief argument. I find it hard to believe that Bijan hardly puts up a fight when Nafisi expresses her desire to leave Tehran, which makes the ending feel somewhat anticlimactic. Given the film’s subject matter, I thought I would be left in pieces, but in reality, it doesn’t deliver the emotional impact I expected.

That said, this is a tale that’s absolutely worth telling—not just for Nafisi’s journey of escaping to the US, but also for the women who remain behind. The pen holds more power than the sword, but so does the act of reading, as it empowers those words to shape thoughts and spark transformation. Even in challenging times in the US, seeing this film makes me grateful to live in a free country where women are not oppressed. I’m glad that Reading Lolita in Tehran is getting a theatrical release, as it’s a narrative that truly deserves an audience. This marks the first film by Riklis that I’ve seen, and it has sparked my interest in exploring his earlier films.

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