A reimagining of Rainer Werner Fassbinder’s seminal 1972 work, The Bitter Tears of Petra von Kant, The Bitter Tears of Zahra Zand tells the story of a semi-reclusive Iranian fashion designer (Boshra Dastournezhad) living in London, developing an obsessive relationship with a younger woman and mourning her homeland.

Directed by Vahid Hakimzadeh, the whole piece takes place in Zahra’s flat, a place of dilapidated glamour where the jewels shine, but the ceiling leaks. Buckets are placed around to catch the drips, occasionally holding flowers to make things feel less dire. She lives with her maid, Maryam (Pari Armineh), and has occasional visits from a friend (Goli Samii). At the start of the film, she has not left her house in three months. 

Zahra’s deep sadness is the result of the Iranian Revolution, something she sees as the destruction of her country. “Iran is over,” she cries during a heated moment, at other points fondly recalling the beauty of the place and imagining when she will be able to return. This broader tragedy is enhanced by her recent divorce from a man who, she tells her friend, raped and abused her.

Living in England presents even more suffering. The first scene sees her complaining about the weather – “Those poor people call that sun,” she tells Maryam, refusing to get out of bed. The story takes place entirely in Zahra’s apartment, with a brief glimpse of the outside world of rain and cold. Her hatred of the British and their involvement with Iran’s politics disinclines her from engaging with the city she has to call home, and she struggles to accept her daughter’s public school education – which she is quick to decry the price of.

It’s a tragic story, yet it becomes increasingly difficult to sympathize with Zahra as the film progresses. She’s so unapologetically horrible to those around her, manipulative and cruel. There’s no recognition that others have suffered and are suffering, too. This self-obsessed martyrdom which she does, in part, impose upon herself is frustrating to watch, and the tendency of the supporting characters to simply accept her behaviour or lightly criticise her is often inexplicable.

The most interesting character in the whole piece is really Maryam. She has been with Zahra since childhood, with the implication being that it was she who brought Zahra up. Throughout the film, the camera repeatedly turns to Maryam going about her daily tasks. She’s often in the kitchen, separated from the rest of the flat by a bead curtain. It’s a divider that is more symbolic than practical, emphasizing her hazy status as confidant and carer but still staff. Zahra sways between affection and harsh criticisms of the woman, always keen to remind her that she is inferior to her.

The film’s central conflict is Zahra’s quickly developed relationship with Sheila (Melina Farahani), a younger British-Iranian girl who becomes her muse. The transition between Sheila’s first appearances, a wide-eyed girl who seems in awe of all around her, and her scenes once she has been living with Zahra for a time are startling. There’s a practiced falseness to her initial manner, which falls away into greed and, again, casual, self-serving cruelty.

Every scene takes place on a knife edge. There’s no moment of calm that doesn’t precede a storm, and any brief moment of real human connection is swiftly dismantled by vanity and greed. An infinitely analysable film, The Bitter Tears of Zahra Zand has enough of its voice to be far more than a simple remake.

The Bitter Tears of Zahra Zand will premiere at Cinequest festival on 17th March and release in cinemas in April

 

 

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