by Nataliia Serebriakova
Worth: $16.00
FilmInk rates movies out of $20 — the score indicates the amount we believe a ticket to the movie to be worth
Cast:
Vahid Mobasseri, Ebrahim Azizi, Mariam Afshari
Intro:
… not only a story about vengeance and recognition, but a piercing reflection on collective trauma and moral paralysis in a society broken by fear.
It Was Just an Accident by Jafar Panahi, which won the top prize at this year’s Cannes Film Festival, opens with a brief prologue. A family with a young daughter is driving along a dark road when they accidentally hit a dog. The girl is upset that her father, who was behind the wheel, killed the animal. “It was just an accident!” her pregnant mother tries to comfort her. Then the perspective shifts: the story centers on a car mechanic named Vahid (Vahid Mobasseri), who recognises the father at the gas station as his former prison torturer, Eghbal (Ebrahim Azizi). The man is given away by a distinctive detail — a prosthetic leg that makes a specific sound.
Vahid follows the family home, and the next morning tracks the suspect around the city. Seizing the moment, he knocks Eghbal unconscious, kidnaps him, and drives him into the desert. There, he digs a grave, preparing to bury his tormentor alive, but starts doubting whether this is really the same man. He then drives around the city with Eghbal tied up in the van, gathering various witnesses — former prisoners — to help identify him, from a female photographer to a bride in a wedding dress.
For viewers who have never lived under a dictatorship, such events may seem unbelievable. But Panahi, who himself has repeatedly faced imprisonment at home, makes us empathise through precise, human details. Vahid is an ordinary working man who lost everything after being jailed for his views — his fiancée committed suicide; another witness was raped in prison.
The plot rests on a moral dilemma: should a torturer be killed — if it truly is him? And would revenge really bring satisfaction to the victims? Around the midpoint of the two-hour film, the narrative begins to stall somewhat: witnesses cannot reach consensus about his identity, and they fear that if released, this agent of the regime will recognise their voices and track them down. A biting satirical moment comes when the group bribes two policemen who become suspicious of noises in the van — a sharp portrayal of a thoroughly corrupt state system.
From small, tense details, Panahi builds not so much a thriller as a dramatic warning about the impossibility of forgiving violence. With a bleak ending, he emphasises that one cannot negotiate with the criminals of a regime — and that time does not heal wounds in a country where the state continues to repress its citizens.
Ultimately, It Was Just an Accident becomes not only a story about vengeance and recognition, but a piercing reflection on collective trauma and moral paralysis in a society broken by fear. Panahi refuses to offer catharsis or easy answers; instead, he exposes how violence—state-sanctioned or personal—infects every relationship, every decision, every attempt to heal. The question of guilt remains suspended alongside the deeper truth: in a system built on cruelty, justice is impossible, forgiveness is unbearable, and even survival feels like a compromise with darkness.
