Iran's foreign ministry on Friday condemned Israeli air strikes on south Lebanon, calling it a violation of a ceasefire with the weakened Hezbollah group it backs and holding the truce's guarantors the United States and France responsible.
For eighty-four years, he lived between art and truth and chose the latter as his art.
When he could no longer make films because Iran's theocratic system would not let him, he endured in silence. That moral stillness, that refusal, will grant him a kind of immortality no monument could.
It might sound sentimental, but it’s no small thing to hold on to principles that offer no promise of survival: to keep saying no to censor when yes could buy you comfort.
Most people take the deal and call it success. For Taghvai, success meant honesty, even if it meant silence. He chose to stop working than betray the essence of his work and bow to censors.
For years, he chose quiet over compromise, teaching instead of directing, living modestly but faithfully to an idea of cinema that no longer seemed to belong to this world.
'Found freedom' in death
Taghvai died on October 14, 2025. The modern world—obsessed with visibility, market value, and the algorithmic myth of individuality—has little patience for those who stand apart.
Everyone believes they are unique; artists are sure of it. But there is a difference between those who merely believe it and those who live it. Most pass through history collecting, as Andy Warhol once put it, their fifteen minutes of fame.
Others—those like Nasser Taghvai—shape history from within.
His wife, the filmmaker Marzieh Vafamehr, announced his passing with a single, luminous sentence: “Nasser Taghvai, the artist who chose the difficulty of living free, has found freedom.”
That line captures him entirely: liberation through honesty, not survival through compromise.
The smell of oil and the sea
Taghvai was born in 1941 in Abadan, a city poised between refinery and sea—between modernity and tradition. The geography of the south shaped his eyes: the heat, the salt, the rhythm of labor and myth.
He studied Persian literature at the University of Tehran, but it was life, not books, that made him a filmmaker.
His early documentaries of the 1960s, such as Wind of Jinn (1969), were meditations on fear, faith, and freedom. For him, cinema was never entertainment; it was knowledge in motion. He helped forge the Iranian New Wave, replacing sentimentality with silence, rhythm, and thought.
In Tranquility in the Presence of Others (1970), he dissected authoritarian family structures so precisely it was banned. In Sadegh Kordeh (1972), he brought Iran’s forgotten peripheries to the center. In My Uncle Napoleon (1976), he revealed—through humor and tenderness—a society haunted by its own mistrust.
After the 1979 Revolution, in a suffocating climate of censorship, he made Captain Khorshid (1985), a southern reimagining of Hemingway’s To Have and Have Not. A parable of courage and dignity, it won the Locarno Prize and remains one of Iran’s cinematic masterpieces.
Later came Hey Iran, a satire that turned laughter into rebellion, and Paper Without Lines, a meditation on imagination and identity.
“When I cannot tell the truth, I don’t make films”
His final project, Bitter Tea, about the Iran–Iraq War, was shut down. His response was austere and unforgettable: “When I cannot tell the truth, I don’t make films.”
For Taghvai, not making a film was itself an act of art—a decision against deception.
Across his work, one theme persisted: resistance to power and deceit. In Tranquility in the Presence of Others, madness defies authority.
In Captain Khorshid, honor resists betrayal. In Hey Iran, laughter dismantles militarism.
His cinema was intellectual yet humane, philosophical yet popular. He never mocked his audience; he invited them to think.
“The camera is not just an eye; It’s a conscience”
Taghvai was not only a filmmaker but a teacher of filmmakers. For him, cinema was not a profession but a way of perceiving. Generations of Iranian directors learned from his credo “the camera is not just an eye—it’s a conscience.”
He lived between presence and absence: present in his images, absent in his long silences. He refused to lie for visibility, to flatter power for memory, or to compromise for survival. “Art that isn’t honest isn’t art,” he once said.
In a world where art is often reduced to advertisement, he proved that honesty is the hardest, most enduring form of resistance. Even in stillness, he made the loudest noise.
His death is not just a farewell to a filmmaker. It is an invitation to remember that independence in art means standing against power without shouting — to be quiet, and yet remain unforgettable.
Israeli air attacks targeted the village of Mazraat Sinay on Thursday, killing one person and wounding seven others according to local health authorities.
Videos shared on social media depicted a large orange blast and mushroom cloud rising in the night sky. The Israeli military said it aimed at "terrorist" targets.
Iranian Foreign Ministry spokesman Esmail Baqaei called the attacks "a blatant violation of Lebanon’s territorial integrity and national sovereignty."
"This situation stems from the persistent inaction and appeasement of the ceasefire guarantors, France and the United States," he added.
A shaky truce has held since a November truce ended over a year of cross-border combat between old foes Hezbollah and Israel, in which over 4,000 Lebanese people were killed according to medics.
The punishing war culminated in attacks on Hezbollah leaders' communication devices, maiming hundreds. Massive air strikes killed the group's veteran leader Hassan Nasrallah, a canny commander and the most charismatic advocate of the so-called Resistance Axis of armed groups Tehran led in the Arab world.
A chastened Hezbollah, once seen as a key deterrent for its Iranian patrons against Israeli attack, totally sat out the 12-day Iran-Israel war in which Tehran was badly bruised.
Iran's regional influence has been sapped by the nearly two years of regional conflict sparked by the attacks its Palestinian ally Hamas launched on Israel on Oct. 7, 2023.
Its continued sway hangs in the balance as a truce brokered by US President Donald Trump took hold in Gaza over the weekend.
Lebanese President Joseph Aoun accused Israel of violating the ceasefire with Hezbollah.
“The repeated Israeli aggression is part of a systematic policy aimed at destroying productive infrastructure, hindering economic recovery, and undermining national stability under false security pretexts,” he said in a statement.
Israel has demanded Hamas and Hezbollah disarm, and the Lebanese government has called for the group to give up its arsenal by the end of the year.
However, President Aoun seeks to limit Hezbollah’s weapons rather than fully disarm the group, sources close to Aoun told Iran International.
The aim is to gradually wear down and neutralize Hezbollah’s arms without the need for forced disarmament, the sources said.
