Farzaneh Taidi passed away last week on the 25th of March. Those of us who recall the pre-revolutionary Iranian cinema would remember her as a daring artist with a theatre background who preferred avant-garde roles such as “The eighth day of the week” for which she won the Seppasse award.

With a great screen presence, combined with then modern looks she epitomised the beauty with brains and talent image of the Iranian woman of 1970s. Iran was projected as a progressive nation that was modernising its values and Taidi was open to challenge taboo subjects and took on LGBTQ roles as well as the role of the first Iranian cinema female protagonist, a rape victim in a psychological drama. She also had the role of Shahin in “Not without my daughter” a film which in the age of the Iran hostage crisis faced a tsunami of criticism from the Iranian community because of its propaganda aspect as well as the fact that it touched many patriotic nerves. I don’t want to open a whole can of worms over this film so if you haven’t seen it go and see it for yourself and make up your own mind. I think after a few decades we know more about people getting caught up in revolutionary fervour, understand culture shock, Islamic vs. American family laws etc. the reliable or unreliable narrator as well as different points of view of what accounts as being held against one’s will and what doesn’t!

I don’t want to regurgitate what you could find in Wiki pages or her official website. What I have is a brief memory of her. This is what I wanted to share. This memory should not be lost to the wind! 

Forgive me if being my memory the blog ends up more about me than her.

Back in late 80’s, during a time that I call ‘My twenty somethings post limbo years’ named as such because after those years that I had abandoned my University education, and illegally worked in shops and fast food restaurants. On the last job before the Uni I happened to be somewhere on the outskirts of London and during a lunch break from the shop warehouse I went to a post office. In front of the queue were Parviz Kardan and his son. I thought what are the odds! The relevance of mentioning this chance encounter is that the son was in fact also the son of Farzaneh Taidi.

Soon after that my life turned around and I was fortunate enough to share a housing association apartment with three other twenty something Iranian guys. Along side the day jobs a rather naive yours truly was living with one well connected budding Jekyll and Hide musician ’N’, the other an ostentatious painter ‘K’ and a notorious social climber, and last was an obnoxious actor ‘M’ who was a self confessed narcisist.

For a while our little apartment in East London had become an art and culture centre. We used to have dinner parties for budding Iranian musicians, singers, actors and fill the house with talented people. The house and the empty town hall room which was at our disposal had become the theatre rehearsal space for Shohreh Aghdashloo and Houshang Touzie but that is another tale.

One day N came along and said I know someone who is looking for actors in a play. Do you fancy taking a part? I was into my photography then but other than a brief chance of being a child actor in a film “Randeh Shodeh” I had no acting experience. 

’Sure!,' I said. We started rehearsing for 'The Dictation’ a surreal play by Gholam Husein Saedi. I played the bad student, a political prisoner who had his tongue removed so everything had to be gestured with expressions and I was told that for a brief part that I had given a good memorable performance. Here is a link to the pictures that I took at the time.

Farzaneh Taidi and her husband Behrouz Behnezhad were sitting with the director and were scouting for actors. Back stage I was introduced and asked if I wanted to take on a part in their Ruhawzi play.

This was a rather flimsy Nowruz play and initially I was to play a luti/laat figure with a lot of toxic machismo. With my anglicised boarding school accent I was more suitable to play a middle Eastern man in Downton Abbey. 

Anyway to save myself an awful lot of embarrassment I requested another role and I was cast as a Hotel manager.

 When I got home I beckoned M who mother nature had turned to a naturally born thug with toxic machismo to take on the role he was made for and behold he was perfect for it!

But what was more interesting than the whimsical play was Farzaneh Taidi and Behrouz Behnezhad themselves.

They had been under house arrest in Iran and evidently had suffered tremendously. With the aid of people smugglers (if my memory serves me right) risking life and limb they had crossed the Pakistani boarder and were living in a modest London apartment. The play itself echoed their post traumatic state. It was about a woman who had died crossing the border and had been given a second chance in life. Her character an angelic figure had to face the harsh reality that a room in a London Bed and Breakfast was far from the reality of the promised Paradise. Again and again real life echoed the play. The actors were mostly inexperienced. The musicians played hard to get. N would not go on stage and perform unless he was paid in full in cash before hand. The diaspora public had an unsympathetic 'so what' attitude to the whole affair. In the middle of all this I noticed that the stress was taking its toll on both Farzaneh Taidi and Behrouz Behnezhad for they were trying to get their life back together again, they needed a circle of supporters and recognition for their craft. 

They did not cease to surprise me. Off stage Farzaneh was still suffering from Post traumatic stress. Behrouz was very protective of her but he had had his own fill of stress in organising the event. In my novice way I suggested to him that he should consider a moment of deep breathing and solace. He very quickly went into a Yoga head stand and kept the pose for five minutes or so. Before the play in the final rehearsal Farzaneh came along and said to everyone: ‘Kardan’s son is coming to see the play so if you see him please be nice to him.’ That one or two sentences reminded me that I am the estranged son of a mother who along time and space had lost to divorce, patriarchy, distance and time and finally death. I don’t think she said 'my son' but I think with what she said and the way she said she meant my son is coming to see me and it meant alot to her. Farzaneh was in tatters and Behrouz was holding her together. When however she went on stage she was really good. 

The play was finally staged and being a light hearted play the audience with their kids were running around and were interested in the corners were food was being served.

When the play was over I did not keep in touch but K who was a cultural status collector and a social climber took the opportunity to use the connection and get himself into the celeb circle. Next thing I remember was that they were invited to K’s wedding. I think the shallowness of the London expat Iranian circle mixed with their PTSD meant that at least at that time they behaved erratically. To put it in other words they turned up to K’s wedding as high as a Kite!

The flat mates moved on. For my new job I moved outside London, but on a chance visit to a small African souvenir shop in Covent Garden I saw that Behrouz was running the shop. I didn’t expect him to remember me. I said hello and he was warm. He genuinely seemed to be pleased to see me. I asked about Farzaneh and he said she was also well.

When a few years later I asked K about the London circle he was disgrunted. He said he had tried very hard to get the circle of London people to agree to anything. They are all after their own selfish interest. Every community had managed to create a cultural centre. Look at the Polish people they have their own centre. We can’t ever get the old guards to do something for the new. If you pass the idea of integrating effort they get frightened of tarnishing their legacy. They have the ‘who the hell are you guys?’ attitude. I knew the people he was talking about. I then knew that with or without me the era of the Great Gatsby who served “Ashe Reshte’ days were over. Of course in this story the Great Gatsby turned out to be K and his green light was the light of recognition from the Iranian community. I don’t blame K. Soon the whole world became one of collecting virtual ‘Likes’ and Instagram pictures of ostentatious selfies.

As for Farzaneh, she later had the part of ’Not without my daughter’. Whatever you thought of the film I would say good for her! She played her part well. I managed to control the twitching artery in my patriatic neck and watched and enjoyed many aspects of it. It is  a good quality for someone to be able to walk in other people’s skin.

I hope that people would remember her with that attractive cheeky smile of Fuji coloured 1970’s covers as well as her boldness to play the controversial parts. My deepest sympathy goes to Behrouz and Farzaneh's family.