It Was Just an Accident

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(Ali Ameri) - At first, as an admirer of Jafar Panahi, I truly appreciate his achievements as an independent Iranian filmmaker, his struggle for freedom of speech, and his courage in being a mouthpiece of the Iranian nation, who have been massively oppressed and traumatized amidst several crises they still must tolerate.

However, I will argue that his Palme d’Or winner, It Was Just an Accident, despite all the accolades and awards received, is not among his best films, although it remains controversial and searing. While political considerations are at stake here, I’m offering my opinion as a cineaste whose main concern is the art of cinema rather than politics. Now that the film has been seen internationally and screened at numerous festivals, perhaps the time is ripe to observe it more impartially.

The film suffers most from flaws in the screenplay, particularly in its handling of characterization and the lack of in-depth exploration of the characters’ psyche.

It Was Just an Accident centers on Vahid (Vahid Mobasseri), an auto mechanic and former Iranian political prisoner who accidentally identifies an investigator-torturer who had previously beaten him severely after he participated in nationwide protests. The tormentor, Eghbal (Ebrahim Azizi), who has a prosthetic leg, is recognized by his stumbling walk and voice, as he had interrogated prisoners while they were blindfolded.

In a bid to confirm the man’s identity, Vahid seeks help from other former prisoners, themselves psychologically wounded, to see and identify him. Bewildered and furious, though also curious, they initially confront Vahid bitterly but eventually agree to help.

After seeing the man, they express their disgust and hatred upon confirming his identity. The group includes Shiva (Maryam Afshari), a wedding photographer; Golrokh (Hadis Pakbaten), a young woman preparing for her wedding, accompanied by her groom, Ali (Majid Panahi); and Hamid (Mohamad-Ali Elyasmehr), Shiva’s former lover, who is the most enraged among them, to the point of wanting to kill Eghbal instantly.

While there is no exaggeration in the horrific realities the film seeks to depict, the way it conveys them is open to question. I am aware of the limitations an independent, dissident filmmaker in Iran must face, but here, this is not the central problem.

From the outset, it should be noted that Panahi knows better than many, including myself, that the Intelligence Ministry of the Islamic Republic of Iran is highly competent when it comes to suppressing uprisings. It is unlikely that one could kidnap one of their investigator-torturers so easily in daylight and move freely through the heavily surveilled city of Tehran.

Such agents have access to communication tools and tracking systems unfamiliar to ordinary people. This is even hinted at in the film itself, when Hamid suggests the tormentor could have them all executed within minutes if given the chance.

More importantly, it is difficult to accept that such figures would spare their former victims so readily—especially while showing no genuine remorse and continuing to deceive them. Conversely, the former prisoners, who have endured extreme suffering, display an extraordinary level of forgiveness, even risking their own safety to help the tormentor’s family.

This moral reversal feels unconvincing. The reality is that the durability of such oppressive systems often depends precisely on the absence of mercy from their agents. In that context, both the forgiveness of the victims and the restraint of the torturer appear dramatically simplified.

If these individuals are as deeply wounded as the film suggests, it is unlikely they would so readily abandon their desire for justice and return to ordinary life. Likewise, it is equally unlikely that a torturer would ignore such a direct challenge to his authority and past actions. These realities are far more complex than the film allows, and they resist being reduced to a straightforward narrative of crime and forgiveness.

I believe acting in cinema is a cultural phenomenon and should be evaluated within its cultural context. Local audiences and critics are often better positioned to judge whether performances feel natural or authentic. Within Iranian cinema, there are many cases where actors are acclaimed domestically but not internationally, and vice versa.

While the cast’s courage—given the risks involved—deserves recognition, some performances, particularly in more demanding roles, feel mismatched. That said, considering the constraints of underground filmmaking in Iran, it is understandable that Panahi may not have had access to more suitable actors.

The broader difficulties of making an independent film under such conditions—constant uncertainty, compromises, and logistical setbacks—are evident. Yet these challenges do not fully justify the narrative choices made here.

What emerges instead is an improbable scenario constructed to serve what feels like a forced moral resolution—a familiar story of crime, punishment, and redemption presented in a simplified form.

This would be less problematic if the film embraced a surreal or allegorical mode. However, like much of Panahi’s work, it positions itself within a realist framework, grounded in the everyday realities of Iranian life. Occasional touches—references to corruption, moments of humor, or depictions of communal behavior—do not shift it into black comedy.

As a result, It Was Just an Accident risks being misunderstood, particularly among Western critics, some of whom have labeled it a comedy. A few lighter moments, placed amid overwhelming anger and revenge, are not enough to define the film’s tone.

More significantly, the film lacks psychological depth. The characters are primarily defined through heated dialogue, expressions of hatred, and sudden outbursts of rage, rather than through nuanced emotional development.

The film is reportedly a loose adaptation of “Death and the Maiden” by Ariel Dorfman, a work that achieves its power through a claustrophobic atmosphere and a deep exploration of both victim and perpetrator. Roman Polanski’s film adaptation similarly succeeds in conveying this tension, largely through performance and psychological precision.

By comparison, Panahi’s film rarely reaches that level of complexity. Its reliance on dialogue leaves many ideas underdeveloped in visual terms. One of the few effective moments is the scene in which Shiva slaps Eghbal, forcing a fleeting acknowledgment of guilt before breaking down in tears. The fixed medium shot here allows the emotional weight to emerge more naturally

Ultimately, these shortcomings render It Was Just an Accident a relatively ordinary film within Panahi’s body of work, despite its ambitions and recognition.

Appreciating and extolling his past achievements, I remain—out of solidarity and respect—awaiting his next film.