When I run across a woman's testament of her time of trial, and it is done with heart, humor, and style, I love her very much. Marjane Satrapi is an artist and a writer; she weaves a beautiful yet troubling portrait of life in her native Iran. Persepolis is a lovely film and one of the few that grants us a glimpse into the lives of those who have lived in Iran. It begins, of course, when she is a child and as a little girl she is fascinated with martyrdom, blood, integrity. As she grows into a woman, she is less inclined towards state imposed ideals. Little Marjane just wants to rock. She is sent away from her family and her homeland into the world of the Germans where she discovers the life of the modern Westerner. Terror is behind her it seems. But wait, here is love, freedom, vulgarity! Marjane is completly open, like a wound, in these recounts. Soon she goes back to Iran to only find the same avenue open to her again. Leave, or die.
Satrapi's artwork is beautifully spare yet ornate. The pervasive intertwining of the atmospheric Western charcoal with the Persian geometrical patterns are fused in a way rarely seen. Persepolis is a winning film; a funny, human, gravely animated story that lingers like jasmine. Plus, she sings like me.
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