Ali Asgari’s Venice competition entry threads a needle between morose humor and gentle naturalism. Although its story unspools on the precipice of the U.S.-Iran war, Ali Asgari’s gentle family drama “A Bit of Light” was filmed in the conflict’s wake, under shellfire in Tehran. The production was eventually forced to relocate to Turkey, where Asgari and his team staged the numerous interior spaces that would serve as points of inflection for the tale of a doctor who has decided, in no uncertain terms, to take his own life.
However, as the title suggests, the process of wrapping up his affairs illuminates political, professional and personal contours previously unseen, in remarkably surprising ways. Co-written by “It Was Just An Accident” scribe Shadmehr Rastin, the film begins with the balding, middle-aged Arash (Missagh Zareh), shot at a languid distance, staring vacantly at his espresso machine, as its rising steam lets off a hiss of all-consuming white noise. It’s a fleeting moment, but presented with the kind of stark isolation and apathy that defines much of Arash’s tale, in which his lonely frames are intermittently invaded by loved ones.
It’s also the first of many scenes where sound design plays a subtle but indispensable part in the drama — in this case, to accentuate Arash’s numbness. Subsequent scenes find Arash closing up his home, before having an assistant drive his numerous houseplants to various beneficiaries. His younger brother Maziar (Ramtin Daghigh), meanwhile, weeps at his dining table, as he tries convincing Arash to give in to the temptations of sex, drugs and alcohol, if only to change his mind.
From the get-go, “A Bit of Light” harbors a bleakly comedic streak that carries through its economical 87 minutes, though it’s hard to classify it as a tragicomedy. The film is completely serious about its subject matter: a doctor who’s had his practice shut down and his license revoked by the authorities — for political reasons gradually revealed — as he plans to inform his three younger siblings, and eventually his mother, that he can no longer live under these circumstances. His strategizing, however, is interrupted on occasion when duty calls, even though there’s only so much he can do for desperate patients, given his suspension.
Still, it acts as a reminder of his place in the world, a confrontation he sorely needs, as he shuffles morosely between Maziar’s bribes, the new-age wisdom of his youngest sister Mahsa (Sadaf Asgari), a yoga teacher who dolls out spiritual advice, and the more straightforward objections of his other sister, middle-aged teacher Massi (Forouzan Jamshidnejad). These various pillars not only shape what we see of Arash’s life, but act as a microcosm of a society evolving slowly under pressure trapped between a strict, theocratic regime, and ultimatums from President Donald Trump. These micro and macro dramatic concerns buoy Arash’s decision, which Zareh — who played the terrifying patriarch in “The Seed of the Sacred Fig” — internalizes in sympathetic ways, through a quietly captivating performance that avoids tipping over into sad-clown territory.
His restrained vocal work is especially of note: There are times when the sound mix has to be turned up a notch to capture his measured dialogue delivery, which has the uncanny effect of granting him a voice that’s both alluring in its wisdom and concerning in its tone, as though he were running on fumes. In tandem with the consistent far-away framing, it also makes each line feel like it emanates from somewhere outside of him, imbuing the movie’s overarching realism with an ethereal quality. Every interaction becomes a hurdle for Arash, if only because the imperfections of life in modern Iran reinforce the sensation of being truly alive, in all its rankling complexity.
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