In a bid to emphasize the film’s emotional and moral core, Richard Tobin explores the silence, suffering and strength in Jafar Panahi’s It Was Just an Accident.
Winner of this year’s Palme D’Or, It Was Just an Accident arrives at Irish cinemas with slightly less impact than last year’s winner, Anora. However, this lack of anticipation should not be mistaken for a lack of significance; after watching It Was Just an Accident, I believe it is one of the most important films of 2025. It’s best to know as little as possible, but this Persian-language film follows a group of Iranian characters, all former prisoners who come from different walks of life. These characters have kidnapped one of their former interrogators Eqbal (Ebrahim Azizi) as retribution for the torture they suffered at his hands. As time goes on, the group grapples with what to do with their former abuser.
Jafar Panahi’s film masterfully explores how these strong emotions silently corrode us.
Fear and hatred are the core themes of the film. Jafar Panahi’s film masterfully explores how these strong emotions silently corrode us. Every character in the film has reason to hate Eqbal and the unspeakable wrongs he inflicted upon them. It’s heartbreaking seeing how visceral a reaction each character has when they first encounter Eqbal again. As they lash out, it becomes clear their anger is really a mask for the fear they felt when they were at the hands of their captor. Each character is forced to reckon with how they were treated and how it shaped them as a person. Just like Eqbal’s scars, psychological damage and degradation of self-worth don’t fade quickly.
What makes the film so complex is seeing their morals and good intentions creep into their mindset. Eqbal has put them through unimaginable suffering and the characters’ desire for revenge is completely warranted. They were good people forced to endure cruelty for no reason. Ultimately, the film begs the question whether their positive qualities and beliefs are enough to remove the pain and trauma they carry around with them. The more time they spend trying to clarify their next step, the more they’re forced to confront their grief and intentions. As the film progresses, we see the characters realise the importance of choosing kindness to confront hate, as we witness the impact that even small actions can make.
Just like Eqbal’s scars, psychological damage and degradation of self worth don’t fade quickly.
What makes the film so scarily powerful is how it juxtaposes this message of choosing to let go of our hate with Iran’s brutal, persecuting society. Without spoiling anything, even when the characters do choose to do the right thing, we see how it doesn’t necessarily work out for them. This film defies the comforting logic of many stories where the message is simply choosing kindness. Instead, it tells the chilling truth of life for Iranian people. The system is too strong to overwhelm, and as long as it remains in place, will continue to punish them. This is a story that should be commended for forcefully pulling the audience from their seats and fully immersing them in the lived experiences of others.
There’s a multitude of technical elements that make this film feel so searingly impactful but one aspect that stood out was the sound design. Everything in the sound design intricately amplifies these feelings of fear, anxiety and hate. Whether it be crying or shouting from the characters, or birds crowing ominously above, the sound is mixed perfectly so as not to be overbearing, while still creating internal stress and discomfort in the audience. The squeaking of a prosthetic leg moving and the unnerving quietness: silence in a film has never filled me with comparable feelings of dread.
Ebrahim Azizi is the only professional actor in the cast, which is remarkable given how brilliant the performances are. Vahid Mobasseri and Mariam Afshari capture their character’s internal conflict and reveal how, at their core, goodness prevails. Elyasmehr is a great contrast to the performances of his co-stars and really lets his character’s raw anger and resentfulness spill onto the screen. Special mention must go to Azizi, who despite being in a box for most of the film, still manages to give one of the film’s most memorable performances.
Whether it be crying or shouting from the characters, or birds crowing ominously above, the sound is mixed perfectly so as not to be overbearing, while still creating internal stress and discomfort in the audience.
Although art isn’t necessarily created to seek acclaim or recognition, I’m admittedly shocked and slightly frustrated at the lack of buzz around these incredible performances. Director Jafar Panahi has crafted one of the year’s most important stories. As well as the brilliant direction, what’s even more impressive is the lengths that Panahi has gone to in order to ensure this story gets told.
Panahi has repeatedly criticised the policies of the Iranian regime throughout his work. He has been banned from filmmaking and sentenced to prison multiple times throughout his life with his most recent sentence being earlier this month, where he was sentenced in absentia to a year in prison. Still, he never has let the regime stifle his stories and has continued to make films in secret. Directing and creating It Was Just an Accident involves him risking everything he loves for his art. As a result, he is undoubtedly an inspiring filmmaker and has created a film that deserves to be seen, discussed and celebrated in society at large.