Film and Sound: “Chess of the Wind”

A seemingly lost Iranian film, “Chess of the Wind,” was rediscovered in a Tehran junk shop 38 years after it was banned following the 1979 revolution. Written and directed by Mohammad Reza Aslani, the film was screened only once in 1976 until now; it was restored and brought back to life using a 35mm camera. Considered a thriller and documentary with fictional but based authenticity, it lasts a mere one hour and 41 minutes. It provides an avant-garde approach to ambient music and dialogue, created by Sheida Gharachedaghi, who gave remarkable consideration to Aslani’s original vision for the film’s soundtrack, resulting in a contemporary and innovative Iranian composition.

The film tells a tale of hidden layers, avarice kin, and an eerily unsettling mansion in the middle of a city. Set in the Qajar dynasty, the antiquity of the time gives the audience a glimpse into the opulent lifestyle that ails the characters into scheming disputes. The use of crimson and vibrant Persian jewel tones against the ecru clay building enhances the focus on a fixed character throughout the scenes, such as the young girl in deep red dancing along the house as the traveling musicians strum their Kamanchehs and flute their Sheypoors. Cuts of chirping birds, swaying tree branches, and washerwomen conversing by a water fountain act almost like an intermission, giving the film a nature-esque feel that contrasts with the suffocating, rigid demeanor of the ghostly mansion.

The winds rise as the foul play continues. The lady of the house succumbs to an illness and nightmares of her late step-father, riddled with tension towards her nephews, and her quiet love for the maid. She only finds out, through an echoing laughter coming from the basement, that her stepfather never passed; he was there all along, and that her maid will murder them all for a revitalized life. And after all is gone, what is left? Nothing but the boy, the nanny, the maid, the house, scattered chess pieces, and the rest of Iran.

Two months before the film screening

I stumbled upon a record store on Broadway in Seattle. I wasn’t exactly looking for anything in particular; in fact, I shouldn’t have been there at all since I don’t even own a record player. (I know, ugh!) But there I was. First, I look at folk and ballads. Eh, nothing. Country? No. Rock? No again. Ah! International picks! YES! We’ve found some goodies at last. Does it matter whether I can read Arabic? I don’t think so. Judging by the cover, I think I’ll take it home with me. Maybe I’ll snatch up a record player someday to listen to my new $25 vinyl, which I so desperately needed. 

Arrival

On a somber blue Seattle evening, I prop myself against the brick wall outside of the SIFF pop-up theater. It’s eerily quiet, there’s a light wind, and a dusting of rain. The early bird ticket line is gradually forming. Fortunately, I have anxiety about these things and always purchase my tickets way ahead of time and check my email consistently on the day of. Not long after arriving, the doors open and I rush in to grab a popcorn and find an end-seat. And I am bound to the end-seat. Why? Here I can observe and take my blinded notes. 

The Sequels

• Solidarity Hotline
• The crisp static of re-recorded international music
• Showcasing film restorations and small artists
• Film Festival Awards
• Grand Illusion Ad with creepy stop motion animation
• Spoken commentary by The Grand Illusion: “Art is such a great way to show resistance… to showcase the beauty of people, and to respond to in-office regimes.”

Blinded Notes

The dark abyss. Breathing. Drums, becoming louder and louder, masking the taps of my pencil. My butter-greased hands turning the undyed journal paper pages. The men sitting on the rouged rugs, blessing the signed deeds and kissing rings on the bearded man’s bulging fingers. Mentions of Quran texts cause silence. Now opening a small chest of iridescent pearls. I see bare feet, hookah, candlelight, tobacco, and the jewels. A cat with blue eyes. The eyes of the cook. Silver and porcelain platters set on the floor, arranged. Dogs barking. Dishes clanking.

The household men treat the young boy and women distastefully. One man thinks he has it all. The woman with glasses, sitting in a crafted wooden wheelchair, shifts around. She’s mourning her mother. The men are using her for wealth. She’s ill and paralyzed, but the house still belongs to her. She’s out to get rid of the corrupt bearded man. Forged deeds thrown into the fireplace, one by one.

The woman’s maid readies a pistol; the nephew encourages the use of a silver spiked ball. Both are done, quick. Triumph horns blow. The dead man is tied up and put in a bottomless glass jar in the basement. Well, the police show up and request a bribe to keep quiet. Ominous tunes. ACID! Matching veils, after death. Daylight and the chessboard appear. The maid’s ankle bells ring as she tiptoes around.

The doctor visits, and the nanny cleanses the sickly woman with heavy incense and smoke. Purging of the evil eye. The two nephews are still around, chess on the staircase. Talking of business and scandal. The maid is intertwined with all the characters. Fountain women, between each scene, talk to one another as they clean linens and tell the tales of the house, witchcraft, and the suffering. They talk of how their boys are being taken away for a new creation called “military service.”

The weather picks up during every intermission fountain scene. A young girl dances in red as the maid and a boy watch, against a beige background. The head of the house breaks all of the glasses in the basement after a dream. The dead man is nowhere to be found. She cites her dream; we all have dust and dirt on us. DUST! DUST! Everyone looks gradually ill. Gold and sick.

Distant laughter makes the woman irritable, and she crawls down the stairs with an open blade, creaks the basement door, and the maid walks out of the steaming bath like a water spirit. The paunchy man and the two nephews are there as well. The woman murders the same man again and has a heart attack. They’re lying there in the doorway, unmoving. 

The maid rustles with one of the nephews because it was their plan all along to rid the bearded man and ill woman, so they could take the house and live lavishly. However, the nephew decided that the maid should be his servant, not his equal. He used her to get what he wanted. She did all of the work, and he took the credit. So then he passed on as well. Broken chess, sprawled about. THE STAIRS!

The maid, draped in black, opens the front gates and walks along the corridor out to the city. The lush greenery, the black veil, and the cityscape. Views of the mountain edges, cinematic. The whole film was based at the house; I had no idea that it was in the middle of an urban city. Suffocating.

The Crowd

In the beginning, thick novels were strung about the crowd, exposing local bookstore bookmarks. Light conversations, rustling popcorn bags, and sha-zam down on the third row. In the end, we were submerged. It’s as if we were there in the film, standing on the steps, along the staircase. Watching the cooks in the kitchen, sitting on the marooned red rugs, and dipping our feet in the fountain water, listening to the women talk as they washed the pale white linens. I’ve never encountered such an awe-struck theater; we were swept up, entranced, and living in the moment. We knew the rarity of such a film. A once-in-a-lifetime experience. And it was. And maybe I should’ve bootlegged it.

The Sound

The featured scene of the maid emerging from the steaming bath looked exactly like the front cover of the vinyl I had bought a few months prior to the film showing, and it was the soundtrack for the film. A rare find and an exhilarating moment.

“The Lost Song of Freedom”

1. “Prelude”
2. “Dance of the Spirit”
3. “The Dream of Death”
4. “Purgatory”
5. “The Truth of Death”
6. “Moribund”
7. “Awareness of the Dying”
8. “Darkness Enters”
9. “The Funeral / Revolt”
10. “The Illusion of Serenity / Arrest and Detention”
11. “Golliwog / Masculine Conquest”
12. “Hope Arises from Despair”
13. “Ending Parade”

Credits

• The Grand Illusion and Staff
• SIFF and Staff
• Mississippi Records
• Sheida Gharachedaghi
• Gita Aslani Shahrestani
• Mohammad Reza Aslani
• Cyrus Moussavi
• The Film Foundation’s World Cinema Project