Echoes of Illusions: Mythical Reverberations: Exploring Folklore and Ta’zieh in Ballad of Tara

Cherike-ye Tārā (Ballads of Tara, 1979), the fourth feature film by Bahram Beyzaie,¹ encountered an unusual fate. Shortly after the commencement of filming, a tragic fire at Abadan city’s Rex cinema claimed numerous lives. The incident not only marked a sombre event but also heightened the flames of the Iranian revolution. While the film crew had settled in a northern Iranian village, the escalating turmoil in the capital demanded their attention, leaving them concerned for the safety of their families. The pervasive unrest disrupted the filming process, leading to a hiatus and protracted production, which extended beyond the triumph of the Iranian revolution.²

This film stands as a unique one in Beyzaie’s filmography, marked by its screening in the Un Certain Regard section of the Cannes Festival. Despite garnering attention at Cannes and the San Sebastian Festival in Spain, the film faced challenges in participating in around 40 other festivals which had invited it. The tumultuous circumstances stemming from crises and political transformations in Iran at the time thwarted the film’s participation.³ Regrettably, the film suffered neglect within Iran, remaining unreleased to the public. In reflecting on Beyzaie’s body of work, Ballad of Tara emerges as arguably the most desolate chapter in his esteemed career.

Nevertheless, the sparse reviews penned by European critics shed light on the film’s ability to captivate their attention despite its limited screenings. Notably, Olivier Assayas penned an engaging article in the Cahiers du Cinéma report of the 1980 Cannes Festival. Assayas lauded the film for its authentic, lyrical quality, highlighting Manouchehr Farid’s compelling performance. He recognised the movie’s relation with a well-established and venerable theatrical tradition and commended its deliberate slowness, deeming it effective in eliciting a subtle enchantment.⁴ 

Fortunately, after nearly 45 years, advancements in digital technology in Iran facilitated the restoration of the film by Roshana Studio. Subsequently, it has been showcased in prominent venues such as Bologna and New York, offering audiences the long-awaited opportunity to experience it anew. The film unfolds the narrative of Tara, a widow portrayed by Susan Taslimi, who, accompanied by her two young children, returns to her cottage. The villagers inform her about her grandfather’s demise who left an old sword amongst his personal belongings.

Susan Taslimi (Tara) and Manuchehr Farid (warrior)

Days later, she encounters a peculiar man (Manouchehr Farid), donned in historical attire, swiftly making his way down the road before quickly disappearing. Initially attempting to wield her grandfather’s sword as a scythe, Tara quickly discovers its impracticality for such a purpose and casts it into the river. Once again, she encounters the historical man, a commander-in-chief hailing from the lineage of extinct warriors, claiming to be sent through time to retrieve the sword. After discovering the sword during low tide, Tara eventually presents it to him.

Enamoured with Tara, he finds himself unable to return to his world. In addition, a villager named Ghelich (Reza Babak) vies for Tara’s affection. Simultaneously, Ashub (Siamak Atlassi), Tara’s late brother-in-law, makes a proposal, but Tara rejects him, accusing him of fratricide for personal gain. In response, Ashub leaves the village. Tara confronts the historical man, challenging the authenticity of his narratives, asserting that they are mere fabrications lacking any legitimate lineage or tribal connection. During this confrontation, a vast army emerges from the sea. Tara declares her intention to entrust her children to Ghelich and accompany the historical man who in turn eludes her, fleeing to the sea with his wounded horse. Tara launches an assault against the sea waves with her sword, desperately attempting to reclaim him. Despite Tara’s valiant efforts, the relentless sea waves overpower her, forcing her retreat. In this moment of defeat, Ghelich approaches Tara, who sits alone on the beach. United by shared determination, the two stand poised to embark on a new chapter together, ready to forge a fresh life.

Upon analysing the folk tales and local legends of Iran through a morphological lens, a recurring theme emerges: narratives often revolve around a captive or sorrowful woman harbouring dreams of a courageous warrior arriving from a superior realm astride a white horse, destined to liberate her from anguish. While this narrative is universal and extends beyond Iran, with diverse renditions found across the globe, its resonance is notably pronounced in the oral culture of Iran, particularly within the tales commonly referred to as “grandmothers’ stories”. It seems that this story was written by women in response to patriarchal societies; Women tired of a loveless and boring life were looking for a saviour in their dreams who would appear to them in the form of a brave warrior. 

On one hand, the trajectory of Ballad of Tara resonates with this enduring feminine dream: Tara is also a widow who must raise the two children alone. Therefore, it is not strange if the warrior suddenly appears in front of her and she falls in love with him and wishes to run away from the village with him. On the other hand, the film delves into the tradition of Ta’zieh from the realm of oral culture. In the backdrop, villagers engage in Ta’zieh rituals – a religious and traditional Iranian performance depicting the struggle between good and evil, portraying a heroic battle and, in essence, narrating the epic of rivalry among men. This ceremonial event is intertwined with mourning, evoking tears from the audience as they witness the tribulations of men of God. It is noteworthy that Ta’zieh is a male-dominated domain, with women having no role, their characters even portrayed by young men.⁵ 

Through the juxtaposition of the film’s two central characters, Beyzaie skilfully intertwines the feminine dream with the epic and masculine domain of Ta’zieh. This intellectually stimulating and deconstructive exploration of long-standing elements of oral culture results in a piece that draws inspiration from Ta’zieh while simultaneously engaging in a challenging dialogue with it. Beyzaie appears to have approached Ta’zieh from a contemporary perspective, reorganising its elements and, notably, placing the woman at its core. Beyzaei, a distinguished researcher and university professor, has devoted significant time to the study of Ta’zieh, as evidenced by his extensive exploration in his book Iranian Theatre. In this comprehensive work, he meticulously describes and formulates the structure and aesthetics of Ta’zieh. Beyzaei posits that Ta’zieh boasts ancient roots, tracing its origins back to the rituals of matriarchal societies, a viewpoint he passionately advocates. According to historical accounts, Ta’zieh traces its origins to ancient fertility celebrations and ceremonies deeply ingrained in the cultural fabric of Iran, Mesopotamia, and Western Asia, dating back centuries before the advent of Christ. These rituals, dedicated to awakening the generative forces of nature, evolved into theatrical performances conducted during various agricultural seasons. These compelling plays symbolised the cyclical themes of death and rebirth in nature, mirroring the profound interconnectedness between the life cycle of the land and the celebration of the union of generative forces. He asserts that “the traces of this ceremony are evident in various phallic elements, such as the vexillum and banner” (Alam and Kotal), as well as in the use of cedar and palm. In this context, the former was incorporated into the blade of the vexillum, while the latter took the form of a wooden coffin. These allegories, while devoid of explicit moral implications, carry inherent significance in their natural interpretation, symbolising blessings and abundance. Every ancient wedding served as a symbolic reference to this sacred marriage, seen as a conduit to fertility. In pre-Islamic Iranian wedding traditions, young girls and boys adorned themselves in green attire. The choice of the colour green signified not only fertility and blessings but also served as an emblem of agriculture. This symbolism persists in the present day, observable in the green attire worn by the saints in Ta’zieh. Conversely, the use of red colour held distinct connotations, representing the military and organised forces – a visual representation of the dominant culture in contrast to the dispersed majority of farmers.⁶

Bahram Beyzaie directing Reza Babak (Ghelich) and Susan Taslimi (Tara)

It appears that Beyzaie has incorporated the essence of Ta’zieh in the construction of Ballad of Tara, guided by the perspective outlined above. The film unfolds against the backdrop of the harvest season, during which the villagers opt to stage Ta’zieh, recognising its association with blessings. In this cinematic creation, the acts of cultivation and Ta’zieh celebrations seamlessly intertwine, establishing a profound connection between them. The film skilfully weaves together the agricultural activities and the communal Ta’zieh gatherings, highlighting the intrinsic link between these elements in the narrative. 

Beyzaie’s endeavour to question established myth and ritual, coupled with his effort to portray his era through the lens of a primitive society, shares similarities with Pasolini’s approach. Furthermore, his attempt to employ the techniques and components of ritual plays and creating a contemporary and cinematic rendition of traditional theatre bears resemblance to the way several luminaries in Japanese cinema (particularly Akira Kurosawa) as they grappled with classical Japanese dance-drama, including forms such as Noh and Kyōgen. His approach to folk culture and local performances, particularly in the context of Ta’zieh, is far from exoticising. Rather than merely documenting its appearance, he engages in a thoughtful exploration of the ritual play, delving into its profound meaning. In contrast to a straightforward portrayal, Beyzaie opts for a reflective dialogue with Ta’zieh within the cinematic narrative. 

The film masterfully employs a minimalist and abstract approach to depict the villagers’ Ta’zieh, depicting essential elements such as flags, vexillum, horns, and the actors’ attire. The deliberate use of closed frames in the scenes depicting the villagers’ Ta’zieh is a cinematic choice that encapsulates and isolates the essential elements of the ritual. By framing the events in this manner, the film emphasises a focused connection with Tara’s story. The editing techniques, such as synchronising the sounds of trumpets and drums with Tara’s narrative, further reinforce the idea that the primary Ta’zieh unfolding in the film is intricately interwoven with Tara’s personal journey and the historical figure. While the villagers anticipate the final scene of Ta’zieh, the audience, in turn, is treated to the last sequence of the film. This creates a parallel between the villagers’ Ta’zieh and a more expansive, metaphorical Ta’zieh led by Beyzaie himself. In contrast to the enclosed frames of the villagers’ ritual, the larger Ta’zieh unfolds in open shots and long perspectives. This deliberate shift in cinematography suggests a broader, more encompassing narrative. 

Tara appears to serve as a cinematic representation of Beyzaie himself in the film. Diverging from the passive role of the villagers, she actively engages with the Ta’zieh, refraining from confining herself to the immediate stage area. Notably, upon learning about the narrative of the 40-people castle, she moves away from the scene, heading towards the castle itself. While the Ta’zieh evokes a collective sense of mourning for the villagers, for Tara, it prompts probing questions and dreams. The villagers “seek tools to embellish the presentation of the ritual play, yet the ancient essence of Ta’zieh solely manifests to Tara.”⁷ In some instances throughout the Ballad of Tara, the camera’s movements and the orchestrated motions of individuals evoke the imagery of a circle, mirroring the circular platform traditionally associated with Ta’zieh performances. For example, the first time the villagers set out to perform Ta’zieh, their procession unfolds in a continuous take, suggesting a circular pattern in their movements. Moreover, on multiple occasions, Tara assumes a central position reminiscent of the hub of a circle, with the historical man walking behind her, creating an impression of circling her (this mise en scène is particularly prominent in the castle sequence). In Ta’zieh, where the boundaries of time and spatial logic are intentionally shattered, individuals from different eras coexist. Similarly, Tara and a historical man confront each other, bridging centuries of time, and in the castle sequence, Tara is deliberately placed in two different positions within the frame, defying the conventional logic of exposition. Furthermore, the dream and the invocation of the spirits of the deceased, pivotal elements in Ta’zieh, stand at the core of the narrative here. Often, the narrative creates an impression that we are witnessing the contents of Tara’s dream. Beyzaie harmoniously incorporates these elements with symbols of sacred marriage, celebrating nature, women, and the earth at every turn. The film invites admiration for the fields, the sky, the sea, the woods, and the plains, facilitating a profound connection with the warmth of the sun and the moisture of the earth. Tara, in this portrayal, emerges as a figurative goddess, embodying the reverence for nature and femininity. 

Through his camera lens, Beyzaie’s admiration for Tara is palpable, employing four elements to establish a profound connection between her and nature. In expansive long shots, Tara is the heart of the earth, positioned at the centre of the natural world. In contrast, close-ups depict her as a captivating and rebellious goddess, exuding a seductive allure. These intimate shots portray Tara as a figure capable of confronting the sea single-handedly, engaging in battle with the mightiest waves, emphasising her strength. During the night, the wind’s howling rekindles Tara’s longing to encounter the historical man within her, and the flames of the fire symbolise the awakened and ignited desire. As the sea water envelops her body, she transforms into a moist earth poised for fertilisation. 

In the realm of Iranian cinema, not only up until that point but also persisting to the present day, there exists a scarcity of portrayals featuring a woman of such enviable depth. Perhaps only in a few films by Beyzaie himself can one encounter such a distinctive and multifaceted representation of a woman. The intensity of her love is so profound that she is willing to forsake her maternal duties, leaving her children behind to be with her beloved. She asserts the authority of her own will and desires, embodying more the role of a lover than that of a mother. In keeping with the narratives surrounding sacred marriages, the prospective partner is obligated to demonstrate his merits, echoing a tradition where worthiness is tested and proven.⁸ The men engaged in a competition to marry the “goddess” have established a symmetrical dynamic reminiscent of the aesthetics found in Ta’zieh, which often unfolds in a dichotomy of good and evil. Ghelich and the young boy align themselves on one front of this contest, while on the opposing side stand Ashub and the historical man. The young boy radiates youthful energy, while Ghelich embodies a profound connection with the land and cultivation. In contrast, Ashub wields an axe, symbolising a destructive force, and the historical man belongs to the realm of the deceased. Ghelich’s attire, coloured to echo the earth and soil, signifies his rooted connection, whereas Ashub, clad in black, resembles a harbinger of death. The historical man’s association with metal is evident in his helmet, shield, and iron robe, further emphasising the distinct attributes each character brings to the competition. In essence, one facet of this symmetrical portrayal evokes themes of life, fertility, and birth, while the opposing side is intricately linked with the concept of death. 

Ballad of Tara

The setting of Ballad of Tara unfolds in the northern region of Iran, characterised by its lush and fertile coastal landscapes. Undoubtedly, the depiction of nature in this area is marked by kindness and gentleness. Ashub and his family, as depicted by their clothing, originate from the arid south of Iran, marked by a stingy, harsh, and desert climate. The mise en scène crafted by Beyzaie, with Ashub and his family clad in black, draws parallels with the messengers of death portrayed in Gharibeh va Meh (Stranger and The Fog, 1974). Beyzaie elucidates the background of Ashub’s family, explaining that they have migrated from the desert and persist in preserving their enclosed space and unyielding beliefs. He contrasts 

…the perception of death in the north of Iran, where it is likened to planting a seed with the hope of new life, to the view in the desert. In the desert, death is not integrated into the benevolence of nature to anticipate rebirth. Death in the south is portrayed as a punitive act, akin to life itself – a retribution for an illusory sin.”⁹ 

This perspective emphasises the stark contrast in attitudes towards life and death between the northern coastal area and the harsh southern desert region. A visual representation of the profound distance between the worlds of Tara and Ashub is captured in a long shot, portraying them on opposite sides of the landscape. Initially, it seems that Tara prefers the historical man. He represents a world aligned with Tara’s rebellious nature – an expansive realm transcending the confines of rural life. The film presents a dichotomy between two contrasting figures: one, a warrior intricately tied to historical events, dedicated to grand “ideals”; the other, a captivating and seductive woman immersed in the practicalities of everyday life. The former is a man of the battlefield, rigid, cold, and austere, while the latter embodies the warmth and vivacity of nature found in the fields. One is characterised by inflexibility and solemnity, while the other exudes playfulness, warmth, and wit. Moreover, one is deceased, and the other is alive. The vast and unbridgeable gap that exists between these two characters renders their connection seemingly impossible, despite their mutual desire for each other. 

In the competition for Tara’s affections, Ghelich emerges as a serious and determined contender against the historical man. A revealing scene unfolds when Tara urges Ghelich to deceive her and secretly lead her to the forest. Unexpectedly, the historical man appears to observe Ghelich’s physical prowess.

Responding to Tara’s request, Ghelich engages with swift and enthusiastic agility, chasing after a wayward horse to rein it in and mount it. He falls and gets up, runs and sweats, but he does not stop. On the other hand, the historical man, burdened by the weight of his steel battle uniform, appears to have forgotten the vigour and excitement of such movements. Standing with apparent regret in his eyes, he remarks to Tara, pointing at Ghelich: “He could be one of my thousand subordinates.” This statement raises questions about his attitude, suggesting a tinge of defeatism or a cover to conceal an underlying inferiority complex. 

Tara aspires to a joyous marriage with a man who possesses the ability to sing, dance, and laugh. In contrast to Ghelich, whose face radiates vitality, warmth, and a passion for life, the historical man maintains a stony countenance, devoid of any discernible emotion. In a final attempt, Tara leads the historical man into the woods to subject him to the same seductive and testing play she employed with Ghelich. However, it becomes evident that the historical man does not embody the fertilising force Tara yearns for. His demeanour resembles that of a robot, forged solely for swords and bows, lacking the ability to connect with the tangible realities of life.

Reza Babak (Ghelich) and Susan Taslimi (Tara)

While the term “robot” might seem initially disconnected from the rural and ritualistic ambiance of Ballad of Tara, a closer examination of the film’s structure reveals that Beyzaie subtly employs a familiar pattern found in science fiction genres. In the typical science fiction or horror pattern, something from the realm of the deceased or “aliens” is left among the living, prompting the summoning of a ghost to retrieve it. In Ballad of Tara, this pattern is subverted. Instead of a conventional science fiction narrative, the film uses this thematic structure to underscore the vast gap between the worlds of its two main characters. The historical man, in his detachment and seeming lifelessness, is metaphorically likened to a robot – a being out of place in the rural and ritualistic context. 

The ghost, much like many depictions of aliens, struggles to comprehend the straightforward aspects of the lives of grounded individuals. Despite his affection for them, he ultimately faces no alternative but to return to his former world. Indeed, the inherent contrast between Tara and the historical man, stemming from their belonging to two different eras, lends itself to the creation of humorous moments in Ballad of Tara. As is often the case in films exploring the love between individuals from vastly different backgrounds, the funny elements emerge, adding an overall ironic mood to the narrative. 

Beyzaie employs deliberate techniques in many two-shot scenes, alternately rendering Tara and the historical man out of focus. This intentional blurring serves to depict them as vague, distant, and almost unreal figures to each other. In the majority of their close-up shots, Tara gazes in one direction while the historical man looks the other way. Notably, the historical man frequently averts his gaze from Tara, as if unable to meet her eyes directly. This avoidance hints at a potential sense of shyness or shame, perhaps stemming from his difficulty in effective communication and connection with Tara. Beyzaie subverts the traditional narrative of warriors and their strength by highlighting the psychological weaknesses of the historical man in Ballad of Tara. From childhood, the historical man has been armed with a sword, leading him to neglect his daily, human, and earthly needs throughout his life. The arrow embedded in his body serves not only as a reminder of days of war but also symbolises his internal conflict with his own body. This portrayal challenges the conventional notion of strength associated with warriors and delves into the complex psychological struggles that can accompany a life devoted to combat. Helpless to forge a physical bond and objective connection with the reality of life, the historical man finds himself with no alternative but to retreat to his illusory world – the realm of death. For someone who has consistently fought with honour, the prospect of humiliation is intolerable. Joining the army of spirits offers a means for him to transcend his individual weakness, seeking solace in collective pride. In doing so, he aims to confer a sense of “glory” and “meaning” upon his departure from Tara, attempting to salvage his dignity within the context of a broader, otherworldly narrative. Undoubtedly, Ballad of Tara presents a challenge to the patriarchal aspects embedded in an age-old feminine dream. The long-awaited warrior has finally arrived, yet he proves incapable of meeting even the simplest needs of a woman. In traditional epics, male figures on the battlefield exhibit steely determination, avoiding displays of weakness or distraction by matters of love in pursuit of greater goals. However, the historical man undergoes a sudden awakening, realising that he has been deprived of experiencing the true essence of life throughout his existence. At times, he even assumes the role of a victim, evoking a sense of pity and pathos. This portrayal disrupts the conventional narrative of stoic, unwavering warriors and introduces vulnerability and the acknowledgment of personal shortcomings.

The Ballad of Tara Poster

By referencing Ghelich’s efforts to restrain the swift horse as a symbolic representation of her desire, Tara intentionally provokes the historical man, questioning what he has. Shielding his face behind the shield, the historical man says: “honour”. Tara even exhibits a degree of scepticism towards the authenticity of the warrior. A sceptical audience also may entertain the notion that the man could be an impostor donned in a battle uniform, playing a role. To instil certainty in both Tara and the audience regarding the supernatural elements portrayed, a legion of warrior men emerges dramatically from the heart of the sea. Nevertheless, the warrior laments that his “wounds” no longer “smell of honour.” As he returns to the sea, claiming not to have heard the cry of his heart to reunite with his comrades, there’s a palpable sense that his departure is not a choice he can proudly label as a “sacrifice.” Instead, he is left with regret, recognising that he squandered his life by neglecting the feast of life. While Ghelich, as acknowledged by his parents, can adeptly satisfy women, the historical man ultimately says: “This is my fallen sword as a sign of surrender”. One might interpret his ineffective and “fallen sword” as a phallic symbol, symbolising his inability to make love. In the end, Tara learns the value of “ordinary life” through her experiences, and she is now ready to marry Ghelich, recognising the richness and fulfillment that can be found in the simplicity of everyday existence.

In Ballad of Tara, stagnation and death are intertwined, and it seems that the “epics” the historical man clings to have become frozen at a certain point, rendering them ineffective and unable to connect with the present. The scene where the warrior and Tara explore the remaining historical ruins is akin to a visit to a museum. Acting as a “guide,” the historical man narrates stories about this “historical place” for Tara: “This is where my head broke. This is the door that collapsed. This is the hole through which we were driven to the shore.” It’s as if heroic pragmatism has become a static and “museum” concept, merging with history but lacking the lifeblood that once coursed through its veins. The narratives of past heroism now seem distant, detached, and incapable of resonating with the vitality of the present. 

Ballad of Tara should be regarded as the second instalment in a trilogy that commences with Stranger and the Fog and concludes with Bāshu, Gharibeh-ye Kuchak (Bashu, the Little Stranger, 1986). All three films unfold in the northern regions of Iran, weaving ritualistic and mythological motifs into narratives intertwined with fertility cult rituals. The thematic progression is noteworthy, evolving from an ethereal and elusive ambiance in Stranger and the Fog to Ballad of Tara where historical concreteness gains significance, to Bāshu, a film firmly grounded in a specific village in northern Iran where the inhabitants speak the local dialect. A chronological examination of the trilogy reveals the transformation of abstract elements, such as the messengers from the world of death in Stranger and the Fog into tangible components of objective reality (Ashub`s family).

When viewed today, Ballad of Tara – created in the final days of Iran’s imperial history on the eve of the revolution – serves as a metaphor for a bygone era. The film’s narrative holds a significant connection to the historical backdrop. The historical man within the film can be interpreted as an allegory for the last king of Iran who was deeply attached to the imperial history. Much like the historical man, the last king was immersed in an illusory and fantastical vision. During a period when parts of the country grappled with poverty and hardship, the king organised expensive and glamorous celebrations, such as the “2500-year celebration of the Persian Empire,” to glorify this history. He failed to recognise that his bond with the people was gradually eroding, leading to consequences that unfolded during the revolution. 

Examining Tara and her connection to the earth allows for an allegorical relationship to be drawn between her character and Iran, shedding light on the men surrounding her from this perspective. However, it’s important to acknowledge that such an interpretation may necessarily simplify the film’s expansive and multi-layered world. In the era of politics and ideology, the king was not the sole individual immersed in grand illusions and ideals, disconnected from the tangible, everyday needs of the people. During such times, numerous individuals may embark on a path toward lofty goals, yet as time passes, they risk losing touch with the dynamic and ongoing life around them. The once-vibrant goals may become stagnant and isolated, lacking the living essence that once animated them. “Their movement is no longer to achieve lofty goals but to protect the honors they have gained, and they can no longer establish a relationship with the people they fought for.”¹⁰ 

Ballad of Tara, when viewed through the lens of its historical context, emerges as a reaction to such a period. It delves into the psychological and mythological aspects of the time, ultimately sings the song of life. 

The unforgettable close-up of Tara, soaked from her fruitless struggle with the sea of illusions, captures a profound moment. The radiant sea behind her symbolises a sweet and grand dream that Tara has turned her back on or left behind. Now, with her feet firmly planted on the beach of reality, her gaze is directed towards a life adorned with small joys along this shore.

Endnotes