by Finnlay Dall
Worth: $15.40
FilmInk rates movies out of $20 — the score indicates the amount we believe a ticket to the movie to be worth
Cast:
Lili Farhadpour, Esmaeel Mehrabi, Melika Pazouki
Intro:
… equal helpings of love, loss and resistance …
Mahin (Lili Farhadpour) is a retired nurse and widow living in Tehran. Her friends “hardly ever see” her, except on her birthday, and despite having a daughter and grandchildren overseas, leaving her apartment would mean it’s automatic seizure; seeing as it’s on undocumented land. It’s no wonder then that she pines for someone else to accompany her in the large and lonesome home. So, on her birthday night in, enthralled by her regularly scheduled soap opera, Mahin decides that she’s ready to look for love again.
Her first few tries are unsuccessful. She scoots up to a grey fox as they both sit in line for bread. Only, he gives her the cold shoulder – seemingly more interested in the bread than in her. She doesn’t fare much better in the park, as the groundskeeper is friendly enough, even playing along with her white lie that she tells her daughter, but ultimately seems oblivious to Mahin’s advances. All hope seems lost until her lunch at a pensioner restaurant. Overhearing a conversation between a group of older gentlemen, she becomes transfixed by the man choosing to sit by himself. This is Faramaz (Esmaeel Mehrabi), a taxi driver who, when chastised by his friends about why he eats out everyday, simply responds: “I don’t have a choice. You all have wives and home cooked meals.” Seizing the opportunity, Mahin waits for Faramaz at the taxi rank until nightfall, insisting that she ride with him. Both flustered and a bit smitten, the pair get to know each other on the ride home. Him being a former soldier, embittered by a “meaningless” war, and her a widow to a military hospital worker, the pair find sympathy in both being left behind by the Iranian Revolution. Emboldened, Mahim asks Faramaz to stay at her place for the night, and as Faramaz stops briefly to get his medication, rain torrents down on the car. Mahin sits back, relieved at the end of her dry spell, and prepares for the most magical night of her life.
Farhadpour and Mehrabi portray an older couple who are instantly charming. Their elderly bodies betray a youthful fire of rebellion and silliness that’s hard not to fall in love with. Arriving at the house, the couple resemble awkward young lovers. Mahin readies herself and the apartment before letting her date inside, while Faramaz, once in the lounge room, stands embarrassed – not quite sure of what to do with himself when Mahin is preparing dinner. However, it’s not until Mahin pulls out an illegal bottle of wine, something stashed away from a friend long ago, that the real party begins. They drink to stories of their youth, drunkenly set up new lights in the garden, and top the night off with a dance. Plastered and not content with a slow waltz, the couple jive to a song from their younger days. And as the camera dances around with them, the audience basks in the warmth emanating from two seniors and their newfound love.
The couple are filmed with an intimate closeness that sits in stark contrast to our first moments with Mahin, who spends the first third of the film in the middle of wide shots. Her body shrinks in shopping malls, the Hyatt Café and even her own home. Meanwhile, her apartment is either shrouded in darkness or lit by clouded daylight – an intentional grey over her everyday life. It’s not until Faramaz enters the picture halfway through the film, where the pair get comfortable sharing their lives on the couch, that things finally zoom in.
Despite Mahin’s romance being slow to start, Farhadpour’s acting draws us in. She somehow plays her loneliness with an earnest desire to help others; a strength that makes her easy to root for. This is most exemplified by her run-in with Iran’s “Morality Police”. When her escapades at the local park are interrupted by an argument happening nearby, Mahin forgoes her pursuit of love to defend a young girl from being arrested. The girl (Iranian activist and filmmaker Melika Pazouki) is charged with “improperly” wearing her hijab. Frustrated, Mahin lambasts the officer harassing her, chiding him for making a fuss over “a few strands of hair”. Managing to disorient him long enough, she saves the young woman from being taken into police custody. “You have to stand up for yourself.” She says later, “The more submissive you are, the more they’ll push you down.”
This moment, at first, feels out of place. It’s a deviation from the standard romance plot we’ve otherwise seen up until this point. But it’s the first sign that something may not be right with Mahin’s world. That her indignation isn’t just spurred on by loneliness, but perhaps is a direct result of oppression from the society at large. Because if this was a simple romance movie about the elderly finding love, why were hard drives containing the film seized from editor Ata Mehrad’s home? And more importantly, why did directors Maryam Moghadam and Behtash Sanaeeha have their passports revoked when they tried to leave Iran for Paris? We may be seeing a rom-com, but for Iranians like Moghadam and Sanaeeha, this film is rebellion.
Without context, seeing Mahin put on make-up or nail polish might seem like a natural desire to appear young again. Or seeing her old friends at an evening meal, in which they show full heads of hair and skin, might just pass as a fun scene with eccentric characters. But in reality, these images, not to mention the whole act of inviting Faramaz into her home, as they partake in wine and dance drunkenly together, act as intentional forms of rebellion. Even Mahin and Faramaz’s gripes about the changing world around them are a clever subversion of the old soul trope. They may be pining for the old world, but in a regressive theocratic society, it’s ultimately a freer one. One where you “wore heels and plunging dresses” without getting side-eyed, or where you could make your own wine without getting arrested. The film argues that all the people of Iran, young and old, should be allowed to enjoy a rebellious love.
Yet, there is also a dark truth to the film. While Mahin saves one of the girls from being arrested, several others are heard pleading as the van drives away. Mahin’s neighbour may be a nosy older woman, but her husband also works for the government, so her actions speak to that of an informant. And when it’s finally time for Mahin to bake her titular cake, the audience are confronted with a bleak reality about Iran and its people that they might not be ready for.
My Favourite Cake is a product of Iranian history, despite its romantic surface. And without the right context, audiences may struggle to engage with the film on a deep level. However, with the right amount of patience and an open mind, the film will dish out equal helpings of love, loss and resistance for the hungry viewer.
