EIFF 78: Morticianby

Just before the third screening of his film, Abdolreza Kahani appeared before the audience, impeccably stylish in his blazer, sunglasses, and his mane of long, seemingly electrified gray hair. Speaking in smooth, elegant Farsi, the director held up two similar smartphones. Golazin Ardestani, his leading actress, served as the interpreter. “Last year,” Kahani said, “I came here and brought you a film I had made with this phone. This year I am back again. Only this time I used this other phone instead.”

Kahani's undeniable charisma makes it tempting to focus entirely on his minimalist, smartphone-only filmmaking approach (what he calls ‘solo cinema’) or his provocative views on authenticity and perfection. However, that would overlook Mortician, winner of this year’s Sean Connery Prize, a film that, despite its radically lo-fi ethos, reveals more complexity than it might initially seem.

Mojtaba works for the Islamic Republic of Iran as a mortician for Iranians living, or rather, dying in Canada. He performs his duties with meticulous precision and spends the rest of his time traveling and staying with the relatives of those he ‘washed’. Universally adored, Mojtaba is introduced as an introverted, sweet figure: a foreign man in a foreign land, whose job and routines are insular, portable, like a bubble that both protects and detaches him. Things change when his government boss announces that they can no longer afford his salary. As Mojtaba wonders how to continue supporting his family back home, another Iranian expat, a mysterious singer-songwriter named Jana, approaches him with a shocking request. 

Jana is eccentric, younger, unpredictable: whether by design or not, her character enters the story much like a ‘manic pixie dream girl’, and for a time, it seems the film might veer into indie romcom territory. The oddball, deadpan humor of some scenes is undeniable. But gradually, the apparent naiveté of the characterisation gives way to darker themes. Mojtaba’s self-denial, both in his dedication to his job and his unwavering support of his family, becomes more transparent as a form of self-sacrifice. His precise, ritualized routines now appear as a means of self-avoidance, rather than an expression of self-fulfilling beliefs. When going through the motions is your only option, immersing yourself in them might save you from confronting the void.

But Mortician offers no easy escapes. As viewers begin to understand what lies beneath Mojtaba’s sweetness and hope for some kind of redemption, Kahani delivers a brutal ending that left everyone in the theatre shell-shocked and gasping. It's no surprise the film won the audience prize. As a narrative tactic, drawing viewers into empathy only to shatter their expectations in the last five minutes is perhaps a bit manipulative—but undeniably effective. Moreover, it’s the kind of manipulation that serves a broader purpose: art that jolts people out of complacency for a good cause.

As a political work, Mortician has merits beyond its form. But that’s not to say its form isn’t intriguing. Beyond the smartphone, Kahani imparts a notable staccato rhythm to his story, using shots of roughly the same length and omitting transitions, so that Mojtaba’s routines are depicted fragmentarily, yet predictably, from the start. This conveys both the comfort and slight alienation of his life while setting the stage for the final act and its twist. For a filmmaker who deliberately rejects perfection, there is a great deal of technical mastery at play here. One can only hope to see him at EIFF again next year—with a new phone and a new film.

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