Celluloid Underground Review: A Cinematic Odyssey Against the Odds

In 1980s Iran, a young boy named Ehsan Khoshbakht discovered his love of movies, though the new government had very different ideas. After the 1979 revolution, fundamentalists took power and imposed strict rules, banning Western films and censorship. Any copying or showing of unauthorized tapes was forbidden.

Still, in his Tehran bedroom, Ehsan fashioned a projector from scraps to watch the single frame of film gifted to him. Fascinated, he began collecting more, however he could. By 17, Ehsan had screened them in secret for others, discovering classics from around the world. While entertaining friends, danger also came as officers monitored for infractions. Ehsan took risks to share the magic of cinema.

Elsewhere, reclusive collector Ahmad Jurghanian amassed thousands of movies that were impossible to find. Raids had destroyed many archives, but in underground storerooms, Ahmad tended a collection that could unlock Iran’s vibrant cinematic past. When the two met, Ehsan glimpsed a lifetime of work-saving films in an Orwellian memory hole.

Now living in London, Ehsan revisits this inspiring history through the lives of those for whom movies were more than entertainment. Celluloid Underground brings their underground struggle to light, a reminder that even in the darkest times, some fought to keep the dream of cinema alive.

Cinephile in the Making

From a young age, Ehsan Khoshbakht’s love of film was awakened. With just a single framed image gifted to him at the age of six, he fashioned his own makeshift projector from scraps to screen it under his bed for secret viewings with his sister. His imagination took flight in those private cinematic worlds.

As he grew older, Khoshbakht became determined to share his passion for cinema with others. With video equipment still illegal and public screenings banned, resourcefulness was key. He began taping films off satellite broadcasts late at night, building a collection to satisfy the burgeoning curiosity among his peers. Basements and unused spaces became ad hoc theaters.

Reconstructions breathe life into those formative years. We glimpse Khoshbakht and friends huddled in the dark, enthralled at the discoveries of Kurosawa or Keaton. Politics seemed a world away in those flickering moments. But a growing sense of unease is also apparent, as authorities see such gatherings as threats.

At just 17, Khoshbakht formalized his efforts with a film club. Now, digitized tapes could reach wider audiences. But one screening had unexpected consequences. When a religious zealot loudly denounced the film, tensions boiled over. Soon after, shuttering orders were imposed from above.

While his passion persisted, danger accompanied it in those turbulent times. Through perseverance and creativity, Khoshbakht kept cinema’s spirit alive, even if only in cellars or between trusted friends. His story shines a light on both life’s joys found in reels of celluloid and the repression that made such private screenings an act of subtle defiance.

A Cineaste’s Sanctum

For years, Ehsan Khoshbakht had eagerly tried contacting the renowned film hoarder Ahmad Jurghanian. Only fragments of rumors existed about this mysterious figure who dared defy the regime through his collections. When Jurghanian finally called, offering a meeting, excitement swirled within the young cinephile.

Arriving at the apartment, Khoshbakht’s anticipation gave way to astonishment. Shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, stuffed with canisters bearing treasures from every corner of the cinema. Thousands upon thousands lined the rooms. Where others saw cramped clutter, he viewed an expansive anthology.

Jurghanian proudly guided him through domains thoroughly inhabited by celluloid. Kitchens and bathrooms housed extra stock, with no place left unused. Among the piles, glimpses appeared of classics restored to fully realized forms instead of censor-struck shadows. Here, Kurosawa sang in glorious hues rather than muted tones.

As they explored hidden histories on display, Jurghanian recounted his motivations. Protecting each reel became more vital than his own safety in that oppressive world rejecting creativity. Through his sanctuary, the soul of cinema endured when others conspired against its demise.

Khoshbakht listened intently to the keeper of this priceless cache. In those crowded quarters filled with faces of forgotten stars, he rediscovered a passion fed in youth but dimmed by disillusion. Jurghanian’s commitment rekindled the first magical glimpses known under beds long ago. Their shared fellowship flourished in that underground salon, which was as enriching as any film.

A Cinephile’s Sacrifice

Jurghanian lived only for his films. Within a small Tehran apartment, tightly packed from floor to ceiling, resided over five thousand reels—a collection few could comprehend. There, he quietly worked to preserve endangered treasures while the regime sought their destruction.

Ehsan gazed in wonder at the crammed shelves disappearing into shadows. How did one manage such an overwhelming task in a place where private ownership meant danger? Jurghanian spoke little, but his eyes gleamed, recalling each rescued title. He related how meticulously cataloging entries provided an escape from a world growing ever more bleak.

When questioned about close calls with authorities, Jurghanian shrugged. Two arrests and torture meant nothing compared to losing even one reel. His various storage sites were a game of cat and mouse, yet he smiled, remembering tricks played on interrogators. Safety meant nothing next to ensuring La Dolce Vita would greet future eyes, not burn in a pyre.

Though space grew tighter, Jurghanian crammed in more—daring greater risk to house rarities, unaware how much longer his sanctuary may stand. The kitchen and bathroom housed surplus stock, and every crevice was filled. A bedroom closet contained programs and lobby cards, each treated as treasures in their portrayal of vanished worlds.

Jurghanian lived for his films and them alone. Cooking ceased years prior; meals were replaced by passion. His worn frame showed the effects of this singular devotion—health dismissed for history’s guardianship. That Ehsan watched undiscovered gems in such a setting only deepened his reverence for a man who so wholly sacrificed all in cinema’s name. Here was a scholar who embraced life’s purpose—ensuring beauty survived even the darkest of storms.

Archive of Defiance

Filming this story posed unique challenges. Years had passed since exile, with Ehsan determined to leave the past buried. Returning meant facing painful memories while seeking Ahmad. His devotion remained unmatched.

This collection’s vast scale shocked even Ehsan. How was such a risk sustained for so long in isolation? Ahmad welcomed cameras into his world, sharing treasures with a candor defying belief. Reckless endangerment had become a way of life, yet he spoke passionately and proudly of each rescued gem.

Ehsan captured Ahmad and his kingdom in intimate detail. Though physical conditions deteriorated, Ahmad shone with joy, discussing favorites and reciting histories memorized. Celluloid provided comfort through endless hardships, as precious companions kept loneliness at bay.

Behind grime-coated shelves, posters vibrantly contrasted grey anonymity. Gorgeous imagery hinted at worlds denied outside these walls yet cultivated within, nourished by devoted guardians. Despite secrecy’s importance, Ahmad wished future generations experiencing wonders preserved through his sacrifices.

This archive gave voice to the silenced, faces to the nameless through individual defiance. Ehsan’s images ensured their light continued to guide others to beauty that transcended oppression. Some passages may reopen wounds, yet overall, they illuminate humanity’s ability to find connection even in isolation, redeeming the bleakest moments through compassion and shared dreams.

Memories in Exile

To leave or stay—that question plagued Ehsan and Ahmad. After the revolution, continuing their love of film came at great personal cost. Ehsan witnessed this firsthand while assisting Ahmad’s underground screenings. But escaping offered an uncertain future away from all they knew.

Eventually, Ehsan chose exile in London. Though safety from oppression meant separating from homeland and family and blocking out a painful past, Attempting a fresh start, he buried thoughts of Ahmad and their efforts to keep cinema alive under censorship. But Ahmad remained, guarding treasures accrued over years in hidden vaults, constantly moving reels to evade discovery.

Ahmad dreamed not just of personal collection but of ensuring future generations knew a culture that was near-lost. This led to ignoring threats to continue rescuing films from bonfires lit by instigators of narrow views. Though sometimes brash, he fiercely defended something nourishing his soul against rising tides of control. Even torture couldn’t tear away his secret locations; his passion was that deep.

Time abroad gave Ehsan distance yet sparked a new understanding. He came to see Ahmad not just as an acquaintance but as a hero—someone who stayed and fought when it was easier to flee. This spurred traveling back to document their intertwined histories. What began as Ehsan distancing further revealed intimate bonds between men fighting censorship in their own ways.

Celluloid Underground tells of individual resilience within societal pressure. Its scenes burrow deep as Ehsan, and we discover treasures in spaces once threatening. In cataloging the joy of past screenings and mountains of aged film, it shines light on identity held intact despite bans intended to erase outside influence. Some leave birthplaces in the body, while others make them living temples of expression. Both honor where they came by nurturing memories in lingering sights and sounds.

Lives Entwined in Celluloid

Khoshbakht’s documentary offers a lasting tribute to the bond he shared with Ahmad. Though censorship divided them, cinema was their common language across distance and time. Both refused to give up on films even when facing prison or exile, believing so deeply in movies’ power.

Ahmad’s immense collection gave Ehsan exposure to treasures otherwise lost. Those early experiences sparked a flame that still burns brightly in his extensive work preserving films. Even after leaving Iran, he made it his mission to keep its cinema alive through programs worldwide. Their fates remain woven together through stubborn acts of hope.

Viewers now enjoy the freedoms these men risked everything for. We must not take celluloid’s enduring influences for granted and remember that others are still facing bans on artistic expression. Though regimes aim to divide through isolation, stories like Khoshbakht and Ahmad’s remind us that passions transcend borders. Their legacy serves as a reminder to fight restricting creativity and to spread inspiration wherever repression exists. By immortalizing cinephiles who endured censorship’s depths, Celluloid Underground ensures their light shines on.