A feature film shot covertly in Iran and smuggled out of the country won a jury award for ensemble cast at this year’s Sundance Film Festival. The Friend’s House Is Here, directed by Maryam Ataei and Hossein Keshavarz, was completed amid wartime tensions and mass street protests that made finishing and exporting the film perilous.
Set just after last summer’s Iran–Israel war, the Persian-language drama profiles Tehran’s underground arts scene: street concerts, galleries, avant-garde theater and after‑parties where artists gather, celebrate, flirt and argue about life and art. The story centers on two roommates and friends, Pari and Hana. One acts with an underground theater troupe; the other posts videos of herself dancing at historical sites — acts that are illegal under Iranian law. When a woman scolds them in the street for not wearing their hijabs, they laugh. The film follows their refusal to be silenced even as authorities begin targeting their circle.
Ataei says they wanted to tell “the story of sisterhood and a fantastic community of people helping each other.” Keshavarz, who co-wrote and co-produced with his wife, says he was inspired by the young artists they know in Tehran: “Resistance is an everyday act for them.” He notes the same generation has been prominent in massive protests, and that security forces have arrested and killed thousands since the anti‑government unrest began.
Filmmaking in Iran has grown riskier: directors critical of the regime face arrests and bans. Keshavarz cites Jafar Panahi — whose films are banned in Iran and who has been repeatedly imprisoned — as an example; Panahi was recently nominated for an Academy Award, was sentenced in absentia to another year in prison, and this week his co‑screenwriter was arrested.
Ataei and Keshavarz say they shot the film in secret, hiding cameras and sound gear and limiting takes in public to one or two to avoid detection. They relied on close friends and family as extras, fearing spies could betray them. They completed shooting in October and entered postproduction as massive protests erupted and the government at times shut down the internet. Ataei, who was already in the U.S. with Keshavarz, says they feared they might not make it to Sundance.
Two crew members in Iran made the risky decision to smuggle the finished film out to Turkey. They hid the footage on a hard drive and concealed it by tucking it at the end of a religious film in case the drive was inspected. After driving nonstop through multiple checkpoints for about 12 hours to cross the border, one of them called: “I have the film! I’m going to upload the film right now,” Ataei recalls. The filmmakers called the act heroic.
The dangers extended beyond production. During a protest last month, one of the film’s actresses was hit in the face with pellet bullets. She could not go to a hospital for fear of arrest or worse, and medical personnel quietly helped save her vision. Separately, U.S. travel restrictions prevented the film’s two principal actresses from obtaining visas to attend the Sundance premiere, an added blow after the risks of making and exporting the film.
Ataei and Keshavarz split their time between the U.S. and Iran with their seven‑year‑old daughter. Ataei, 45, grew up enduring nearby explosions during the Iran–Iraq war; Keshavarz, 48, grew up in New Jersey and New York and met Ataei a decade ago through his sister. They have collaborated on indie projects and worked for several years as consultants on a Hollywood production that was ultimately canceled — a disappointment they say was heartbreaking.
Undeterred, they are now in Los Angeles pitching new projects to Hollywood, including an animated feature set in ancient Iran.
