Shatranj-e-Baad aka Chess of the Wind [dir. Mohd Reza Aslani]

Normally we know Iranian cinema for its realistic human dramas with existential questions - the works of Abbas Kiarostami*, Asghar Farhadi, Jafar Panahi etc exemplify this aspect. Or there is Mohsin Makhmalbaf's poetic flights of fancy. But Mohammed Reza Aslani's 1976 film Chess of the Wind - which had been regarded long lost and was only recently rescued from destruction - is an altogether different beast. This is a stylized and provocative crime noir that harks back to the work of Alfred Hitchcock and Henri-Georges Clouzot. And equally interesting that the film is driven primarily by its women characters.

Going by its look and the feudal nature of relationships, I imagine Chess of the Wind is set somewhere in the early 20th century. It is a time of candlelight crystal chandeliers, enormous glass storage urns, powder-loading pistols and wooden wheelchairs. In a wealthy household, the matriarch has recently died. Her middle-aged spinster daughter Aghdas (Fakhri Khorvash) is handicapped and moves about in a wheel chair. Aghdas is yet to come out of mourning, when the stepfather begins a process of domination to control the family estates. There are other men in the house who sympathize with Aghdas, but for their own ends. Her only close companion seems to be the devoted maid and companion (Shohreh Aghdashloo). A plan is made to do away with the stepfather and it is carried out. But how long can the crime stay hidden?  Apart from the people that live in it, the house is a character in itself. Every claustrophobic corner seethes with whispered intrigue as Aghdas becomes increasingly unsure of who she can trust, including her own sanity.

Apart from an examination of this crime and its aftermath, the film is also an exploration of the decadence of the feudal system. Wealth only begets greed and sin. Banned almost immediately after release, for some surprisingly racy content, Aslani's film is also a sensory marvel. Khorvash and Aghdashloo burn up the screen with their multi-level chemistry. The baroque production design (art director Houri Etesan and costume designer Manouchehr Safarzadeh) is chockful of unique period objects, and the camera (Houshang Baharlou) lovingly lingers over the sight of stained glass windows, rich tapestries, chessboards, chandelier bulbs, ornate flails  - Echoes of the object fetishes seen in the films of Robert Bresson or Walerian Borowczyk. And the visuals are not just eye-candy, they define the mood of the film. Towards the end when the narrative reaches a hellish place, the viewer is carried into the lower depths of the house, the visuals draped in an orange-red tint of perdition. Also of note is the terrific avant-garde score (Sheyda Gharachedagi) that generates a sense of nerve-squeezing dread across several sequences.

From a purely narrative point of view, the climax is almost absurd, but like with Dario Argento's Suspiria, the mood generated by the visuals and sounds carries it through brilliantly, making for a memorable experience.

* This site has previously reviewed Kiarostami's films like The Taste of Cherry and Like Someone in Love (Click the titles to read those reviews).