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Iranian Cinema Through the Eyes of the Press: 1950s–1990s (Case Study: Khurāsān Newspaper)

Milad Parniani Javad Abbasi Last updated: March 9, 2026

62 min read

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Milad Parniani Javad Abbasi Last updated: March 9, 2026

62 min read

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Introduction

From its early beginnings to the present, Iranian cinema has continually experienced major shifts, and the press has chronicled every turn. In the three decades between 1950 and 1980, leading up to the 1979 Revolution, the industry moved through three defining phases: identity formation, diversification, and thematic and stylistic deepening. In the decades that followed, it underwent further transformations, including periods of stagnation, revolutionary reorientation, and continued efforts at recovery and renewal. During this period, silent film shifted to sound film, and commercial popular cinema emerged. Fīlm-fārsī developed its own identity, and film criticism appeared and gradually became more serious. The Iranian New Wave also took shape and influenced film criticism. Over time, intellectual critiques replaced moral critiques, and cinema shifted from popular entertainment to a medium for social and artistic expression.

On the eve of the Islamic Revolution, criticism returned to moral concerns. After the Revolution, Iranian cinema first entered a period of stagnation, and at the same time a new cinematic discourse with a religious–revolutionary character (committed cinema) was formed. With the decline of the revolutionary atmosphere in the second half of the 1980s, a movement emerged among Iranian filmmakers that transformed Iranian cinema, but it soon faced government intervention and once again fell into stagnation. During the Reform period (dawrah-yi islāhāt) in the mid-1990s, limited openings emerged in Iranian filmmaking.

In this context, the media in general, and newspapers in particular, played not only an informational role but also promotional, supportive, and even guiding roles. Accordingly, Khurāsān newspaper, as the oldest continuously published newspaper in one of Iran’s most populous and culturally diverse cities—Mashhad—served as an important source for reflecting these transformations. Therefore, this article examines the trajectory of Iranian cinema over a forty-year period as reflected in Khurāsān newspaper.

Given the nature of the subject, this study adopts a primarily descriptive approach, with the data set derived from systematic searches of the indexed archive of Khurāsān newspaper using the keywords “film” and “cinema.” On this basis, no subjective selection criteria were applied. At the same time, it is acknowledged that the newspaper’s coverage itself was shaped by the prominence of filmmakers and the historical significance of particular films within Iranian cinema. Nevertheless, every effort has been made to present as comprehensive a picture as possible.

The 1950s

In the 1950s, Iran’s commercial popular cinema flourished, a trend that later came to be known as Fīlm-fārsī cinema. At the same time, film criticism began to appear more regularly in newspapers. Earlier examples were limited but notable: the newspaper Ittilā‛āt published a review in 1931 of the first Persian sound film, Dukhtar-i Lur; Īrān newspaper reviewed the same film in 1933, as well as Hājī Āqā Aktur-i Sīnimā; and in 1948, Kayhān printed a review of Tūfān-i Zindagī.¹

Khurāsān newspaper began its dedicated cinema section in 1954. One of the first films covered was Mīhan’parast (The Patriot), produced with the army’s budget and recognized as the first action and war film in Iranian cinema. The film was directed by Major Muhammad Diram-Bakhsh, a military officer, who employed ten thousand members of the Iranian army in its production. In August 1954, the film premiered in Mashhad in the presence of Mustafā Qulī Rām, Governor of Khurāsān, and Lieutenant General ʿAbd al-Rizā Afkham, Commander of the Khurāsān Division; the event was reported in Khurāsān newspaper.²

Six months after this report, the first film critique appeared in Khurāsān newspaper. A writer using the pen name “Nāzim” published a note on the state of Iranian cinema, which can be considered the newspaper’s first film critique.³ In this note, the author criticized Western cinema’s influence on Persian films, called on filmmakers to address the real issues of Iranian life and history, and judged the only historical film of the period, Khāb’hā-yi Talā’ī (Golden Dreams), to be weak.⁴

Two weeks later, in the same column (Cinema Discussion), another critic, ‛Abbās Mustawfī, praised Nusratallāh Muhtasham’s first film, Āqā Muhammad Khān Qājār (1954), as well as his own performance in the lead role, recognizing Muhtasham as a skilled artist in his field.⁵ The film, which depicted the life of Āqā Muhammad Khan, the founder of the Qājār dynasty, from before his accession to the throne until his assassination in Georgia, continued to be screened in Iranian cinemas for up to a decade afterward.

Figure 1: Advertisement published in Khurāsān newspaper (November 29, 1963) promoting the film Āqā Muhammad Khān Qājār, directed by Nusratallāh Muhtasham, 1954.

From that point on, the column “Bahs-i Sīnimāʾī” (Cinema Discussion) continued as a weekly feature in the newspaper Khurāsān. In 1955, a person using the pen name Shahrzād wrote an article titled “Cinema Is a School of Education,” addressing the philosophy of cinema for the first time in Khurāsān.⁶ In this piece, the author criticized vulgar films and the public’s enthusiastic reception of them. From that point forward, the issue of vulgarity in Iranian cinema sparked daily debates for the following two decades, particularly in the years preceding the Revolution.

In 1955, the first Iranian film festival was held, and Khurāsān’s expanded “Cinematic Discussion” column on page 2 published a report titled “A Reportage from the First Iranian Film Festival.”⁷ After introducing the guests, the report briefly presented the festival films. About two weeks later, another report referred to the closing ceremony of the festival and to the selection of the films Chahār’rāh-i Havādis (Crossroads of Accidents), directed by Samuel Khāchīkiyān, and Pāyān-i Ranj’hā (The End of Sufferings), written and directed by Mahdī Raʾīs-Fīrūz.⁸

In the following year, the “Cinematic Discussion” column focused more on Western cinema, introducing it along with Western cinematic figures and concepts, and provided information about film dubbing and the history of the formation of the Oscar award, as well as cinema industry in other countries. In 1956, a critique by a certain Īraj condemned movie theater owners for neglecting their social responsibility and ignoring artistic and intellectual films.⁹ That same year, additional reviews appeared for films such as Zindagī Shīrīn Ast (Life Is Sweet) by Majīd Muhsinī and Yūsuf va Zulaykhā (Joseph and Zulaykha) by Siyāmāk Yāsamī.¹⁰

In 1957, the film Bulbul-i Mazraʿah (The Farm Nightingale) was reviewed in the newspaper Khurāsān. An anonymous critic criticized the director, Majīd Muhsinī, for technical flaws but still described the film as a national work because it drew on Iranian folklore and culture and avoided vulgarity.¹¹

Another film praised by the newspaper was Tūfān dar Shahr-i Mā (Storm in Our City), made by Samuel Khāchīkiyān, which was screened in two cinemas in Mashhad in 1957. The Khurāsān columnist, writing under the name Farīdūn, attributed part of the film’s success to Āzhīr Studio, which he regarded as one of Iran’s well-equipped studios, established by a group of Tehran notables and, despite high costs, distinguished by avoiding vulgar and populist productions—something he considered a source of pride.¹²

Although Khurāsān newspaper tried to guide public taste by criticizing purely entertaining films and praising noble and national works, changing popular preferences was not easy. At the same time, Indian films became a serious rival to Iranian cinema, and Khurāsān’s critics sometimes—even ironically—presented certain Indian films as models for Iranian filmmakers. Thus, in 1957, an anonymous critic in Khurāsān praised the Indian film Boot Polish (1954), by Raj Kapoor, and stressed the importance of paying critical attention to the lives of ordinary people in filmmaking.¹³ At the same time, Khurāsān also noted the public reception of Italian films in Mashhad cinemas, describing them as “artistic and moral” works.¹⁴

In 1958, Khurāsān reviewed the film Nardibān-i Taraqqī, (Ladder of Progress, 1957), directed by Parvīz Khatībī. Although the review criticized the complexity of the story and screenplay, it ultimately judged the film positively, describing it as instructive and humorously engaging, and noting that audiences left the cinema satisfied.¹⁵

By the late 1950s, the first generation of Iranian cinema celebrities had emerged, and as cinema expanded in Iran—including in Mashhad—popular figures occasionally traveled to the city. In 1959, several Iranian actors visited Mashhad. In June, Majīd Muhsinī, a director and accomplished actor, traveled to the city for the opening of the film Lāt-i Javānmard.¹⁶ In September, Mashhad hosted another actor from the same film, Taqī Zuhūrī, whom Khurāsānintroduced as “the father of Persian films.”¹⁷

Figure 2: Taqī Zuhūrī with his two daughters in Mashhad.

¹⁸

During these trips, reporters from Khurāsān conducted interviews with cinema professionals about the state of Iranian cinema, sometimes adopting a critical tone. For example, in one such interview, Taqī Zuhūrī offered the following critique:

As long as producers and actors have different tastes, the situation will not change, and Iranian cinema will not make real progress. At present, there are more than fifty large and small studios in Tehran, each producing films every year. Because most of these studios lack proper technical equipment, they face many problems, and their films have little artistic value. If studio owners were to cooperate and share their equipment, Iranian films could compete with foreign productions.¹⁹

In April 1960, the well-known comedian Nusratallāh Vahdat visited Mashhad for the opening of his film Āsmūn’jul, which received strong public attention.²⁰ Despite this, Khurāsān’s cinema critic complained about the general lack of audience interest in Persian-language films. In May of the same year, the anonymous critic interviewed ʿAtāʾallāh Zāhid, a director visiting Mashhad, asking why the public paid more attention to Western films and showed little interest in Persian cinema. In response, Zāhid compared making a good film in Iran to raising a whale in a household pond and said:

Another reason for the success of cinema in European countries is that reading newspapers and watching films are not seen just as entertainment, but as part of everyday life. As a result, directors and filmmakers are encouraged to create works that reflect people’s lives.²¹

Zāhed then addressed moral issues in Iranian cinema, which seemed to be a main concern for Khurāsān’s critics. In articles such as “A Few Words about Iranian Films,” “The Role of Film in the Morale of Youth,” and other cinema discussions in 1960, topics like morality in cinema, protecting young audiences, and purifying Iranian films from corruption were repeatedly debated.²²

Figure 3: Pictorial report in Khurāsān of the closing ceremony of the inaugural Persian Film Festival, attended by Empress Farah Pahlavī, held at Rūdakī Hall, 1970.²³

The 1960s

In the 1960s, the column “Cinematic Discussion” was discontinued, and Khurāsān published film reviews only occasionally. During this decade, new filmmakers and ideas emerged, and the Iranian New Wave began to take shape. Cinema criticism in Khurāsān became more in-depth, but moral concerns remained the main focus in the first half of the decade.

The 1960s began with several cinema restrictions. In September 1961, Khurāsān reported that the governor of Khurāsān, Shams al-Dīn Jazāyirī, had ordered cinema owners to censor immoral parts of films.²⁴ In October of the same year, the newspaper published an article titled “Cinema Is Highly Effective in the Progress of Culture and the Moral Refinement of the People.”²⁵ One month later, a nationwide regulation was issued, showing that these concerns were not limited to Mashhad but were being addressed across the country. According to this regulation, it was forbidden to screen films that opposed religion, the constitutional monarchy, or national traditions, promoted illegal ideologies, encouraged rebellion or prison uprisings, or incited workers, students, farmers, and other social groups.²⁶

Figure 4: New cinema regulations published in Khurāsān newspaper (1961).

From the 1960s onward, government involvement in cinema became increasingly visible, reflecting the consolidation of the Shah’s regime following the 1953 coup.

In 1962, Prime Minister ‛Alī Amīnī and several cabinet members attended a gathering of Persian film producers and actors, stating: “The government will fully support this profession because, with leadership and supervision over film production, we can use it to benefit the people.”²⁷

At the same time, moral and social issues in cinema continued to draw attention. For example, a German magazine article was translated into Persian, emphasizing that in every film, good should lead to good consequences and evil to evil; otherwise, the film would be deemed unsuitable.²⁸

In February 1964, Khurāsān published a positive review. A writer using the name F. Shuʿlah, reviewing the film Parastū’hā bih Lānah Bar’mī’gardand (The Swallows Return to their Nest), directed by Majīd Muhsinī, noted the lack of development in Iran’s film industry. The reviewer described the film as a hopeful work compared to earlier Fīlm-fārsī productions and as a humane effort that honored human dignity.²⁹ Nevertheless, it appears that audiences still preferred entertaining films. For example, one week after this review, when the actors of the film Talāq (Divorce), directed by Gurjī ʿIbādiyā, traveled to Mashhad, they were warmly welcomed by the public.³⁰

In 1964, Khurāsān generally took a passive stance toward Iranian cinema. However, in April 1965, the newspaper published a harsh critique of Āqā-yi Qarn-i Bīstum (Mr. Twentieth Century) and Qahramān-i Qahramānān (The Champion of Champions), both directed by Siyāmak Yāsamī. Writing under the name “Prince,” the critic emphasized the importance of authentic art and suitable Iranian stories, while condemning the films’ promotion of alcohol, bullying, and moral laxity.³¹ Even at the time, such one-sided critiques were being questioned. In May of the same year, Khurāsān’s film critic admitted that earlier reviews were more personal opinions than true criticism. These opinions had sparked opposition and even hostility, while the real goal should have been to cultivate an understanding of cinema. He also emphasized that Iranian cinema was in a seriously problematic state.³²

Pessimism toward Iranian cinema reached a peak in 1966, when a Khurāsān critic, writing under the name M. Gulistān, disregarded professional journalistic standards and personally attacked female actors. Among those targeted were Parvīn Khayrbakhsh, known as Furūzān, and Surayyā Bakiyāsā, known as Suhaylā.³³

Another harsh critique by Manūchihr Jān’nisārī in 1966 targeted the film Hāshim Khān, directed by Muhammad Zarrīndast. He not only accused the film of moral vulgarity but also criticized it politically, calling its exploitation of the abolition of the landlord–peasant system a “betrayal of the Shah and the nation.”³⁴ This was despite the fact that Hāshim Khān was primarily a commercial, entertaining film, and any political content actually opposed the landlord–peasant system rather than supporting it.³⁵ Such criticism was itself questioned within Khurāsān:

“Film criticism in our press is in a pathological state, where the purpose of criticism is no longer evaluation. Instead, because of personal friendships or rivalries with the film’s producer or the movie theater showing it—or for other reasons—criticism becomes either uncritical praise or outright insult, neither supported by proper reasoning.”³⁶

Nonetheless, in early February 1967, a review similar to earlier critiques was published about the film Gidāyān-i Tihrān(The Beggars of Tehran), directed by Muhammad-ʿAlī Fardīn. Writing under the name Mīm Jīm Shitāb, the critic described the film as lacking value.³⁷

Figure 5: Advertisement for the film Sultān-i Ghalb’hā (King of the Hearts), directed by Muhammad ‛Alī Fardīn, 1968.³⁸

These critiques often approached Iranian cinema from an intellectualist perspective, failing to consider the larger segment of society that did not share this viewpoint. They overlooked the fact that methods for conveying moral and human messages differ for non-elite audiences, and that Fīlm-fārsī could instead serve as an effective tool for doing so.³⁹

In 1968, Khurāsān, under the headline “Outstanding Iranian Cinematic Works to Be Screened at the Central Youth Palace,” highlighted two films by Nusratallāh Karīmī: Dil-i Mūsh, Pūst-i Palang (the first Iranian puppet film) and the animated film Malik Jamshīd (the first Iranian animated film). At the end of its report, the newspaper wrote: “By organizing a film week, the Central Palace seeks to introduce outstanding works of Iranian cinema and to carry out examinations of the value of cinematic art.”⁴⁰

Throughout the years that the newspaper Khurāsān criticized Fīlm-fārsī, educational and documentary films were consistently praised. Khurāsān published numerous reports on the screening of these documentaries across Iran, particularly for children and rural communities, and this coverage continued until 1979.

Figure 6: Gossip on Iranian cinema in Khurāsān.⁴¹

In 1968, continuing the earlier harsh critiques, a new critic named Akbarī (Sāghar) published a piece titled “Nonsense Called Fīlm-Fārsī,” in which he fiercely attacked the Fīlm-fārsī genre, using terms such as “lower-body display” and “filthy.”⁴²

Later in the same year, Khurāsān published a report on the burning of movie theaters in the capital. From the beginning of the year, within less than two weeks, three cinemas in Tehran were set on fire. The report did not address the causes of these incidents; however, the paper’s harsh critiques of the vulgarity of fīlm-fārsī may have provided extremist groups with a pretext for such acts. The trend culminated in the burning of Cinema Rex in Ābādān on August 19, 1978. Khurāsān asked: “What has happened that recently a kind of ‘cinema burning,’ occurring at such short and ever-shorter intervals, has become prevalent?”⁴³ Concern over this issue rose to such a level that, beginning in October 1968, authorities stationed fire department personnel in Mashhad’s cinemas and required the General Office of Labor and Social Affairs, together with the Mashhad Fire Department, to inspect and monitor workshops and shops surrounding the cinemas.⁴⁴

These events coincided with the implementation of censorship policies in the production of Iranian films by supervisory authorities. Accordingly, in April 1969, Khurāsān published an article titled “The Issue of Oversight in the Production of Iranian Films Has Received Increased Attention.”⁴⁵

The year 1969 was also significant from another perspective: it marked the release of two films that became landmarks in the history of Iranian cinema—Gāv (The Cow), directed by Dāryūsh Mihrjūyī, and Qaysar, directed by Masʿūd Kīmiyāʾī. Both films are widely regarded as initiators of the Iranian New Wave, and together they shaped this cinematic movement. Qaysar, with its emphasis on popular culture and the construction of heroic figures, resonated more strongly with general audiences, whereas Gāv offered a more intellectual and artistically oriented approach. Accordingly, the Iranian New Wave is often seen as beginning with both films, though Gāv is commonly regarded as its more official starting point due to its artistic depth.

Figure 7: Newspaper advertisement announcing the screening of art films at the Farah Pahlavī Sports Hall, November 1968.⁴⁶

In the same year, Khurāsān published an article titled “A Review of Iranian Cinema in the Year 48,” in which Mahmūd Ahmadmīrī criticized Qaysar and praised Gāv. A noteworthy aspect of this critique is that, whereas earlier complaints had focused on vulgarity in Iranian cinema, Ahmadmīrī now reacted negatively to the newly introduced censorship, which the government had implemented in part for political reasons. He used expressions such as “being torn to pieces” to describe the films and observed that, as a result of this policy, the number of films produced had fallen from seventy-seven in 1968 to thirty-nine in 1969.⁴⁷

Figure 8: Satirical commentary on fīlm-fārsī and the cinemas of Mashhad, as featured in Khurāsān, 1969.⁴⁸

Nevertheless, alongside the aforementioned critiques, the newspaper also conveyed more hopeful news about Iranian cinema. Among these reports was the opening of the House of Cinema Artists (Khānah-yi hunarmandān-i sīnimā) in 1970, which was attended by Empress Farah Pahlavī, along with the publication of excerpts from her remarks delivered at the ceremony.⁴⁹

Overall, by the end of the 1960s, critiques expressing a negative view of Iranian cinema had gained the upper hand. In 1970, Khurāsān published remarks by the film actress Āzar Shīvā, in which she described the “deceptive nature of Iranian cinema,” along with the subsequent responses to her statements.⁵⁰

A critic named Rāmīn Āzarmihr, citing Āzar Shīvā’s remarks, once again criticized Iranian cinema for issues such as sex, violence, and imitation. He argued that Iranian filmmakers did not even deserve to produce a proper imitation of Indian films and claimed that actors such as Muhammad-ʿAlī Fardīn and Manūchihr Vusūq relied more on their physical appearance than on their talent. At the same time, he praised films such as Qaysar and Rizā Muturī (both directed by Masʿūd Kīmiyāʾī), Gāv and Āqāy-i Hālū (directed by Dāryūsh Mihrjūyī), and Hasan Kachal (directed by ʿAlī Hātamī).⁵¹

Figure 9: Gossip on Iranian cinema in Khurāsān.⁵²

In a later review, Āzarmihr gave a class-based reading of Rizā Muturī, arguing that Iranian society was completely divided by class and that trying to rise above one’s social class was similar to death.⁵³ In another article, he directed his criticism toward the critics of Qaysar themselves. He described the critics of Qaysar—including some of his own colleagues at Khurāsān—as insincere and corrupt. Regarding the film’s sexual scene and the character of Suhaylā, a cabaret dancer, he did not offer a moral critique; rather, he viewed it as the result of crafting a character type that, unlike other dancers in Iranian cinema, was not merely intended to attract audiences.⁵⁴

By this time, Āzarmihr had become the newspaper’s main film critic, praising some films while dismissing others as worthless. For example, he described Hasan Kachal (directed by ʿAlī Hātamī) as “a return to traditions and history,” but labeled Mard-i Jangalī (directed by Kamāl Dānish) as “garbage, vulgar, and repulsive.”⁵⁵ He described certain Iranian filmmakers as “money-worshipping, ugly, thuggish, and worthless,” asserting that the production of such films was unsurprising given the absence of competent oversight in the system.⁵⁶ The last film he praised was Khānah-yi Kinār-i Daryā (A House by the Sea), directed by Hūshang Kāvūsī, which he regarded as an Iranian film that embodied human values.⁵⁷

Figure 10: Cinema programs in Mashhad, September 1961.⁵⁸

The 1970s

The 1970s began with encouraging news for Iranian cinema, which was also reflected in Khurāsān. In September 1971, the film Gāv won the award of the International Federation of Film Critics at the 32nd Venice International Film Festival. In November 1971, ʿIzzatallāh Intizāmī received the first international acting award in the history of Iranian cinema for his leading performance in this film.⁵⁹

Figure 11: International award coverage for the film Gāv (The Cow), directed by Dāryūsh Mihrjūyī, 1968.⁶⁰

The second news item concerned the Venice Film Festival award received by the short film Rahāʾī (1971), directed by Nāsir Taqvā’ī, produced by the Institute for the Intellectual Development of Children and Young Adults (Kānūn-i Parvarish-i Fikrī-i Kudakān va Nawjavānān).⁶¹ Taqvā’ī won first prize at the 13th edition of the festival. According to Khurāsān, the film was deemed worthy of this distinction because of its noble human emotions and poetic tone.⁶²

A few months later, in 1972, Nāsir Taqvāʾī also received the Best First Work award at the Venice Film Festival for his film Ārāmish dar Huzūr-i Dīgarān (Tranquility in the Presence of Others), marking another honor for Iranian cinema.⁶³

In addition to Nāsir Taqvāʾī, another young filmmaker, Bahrām Bayzāʾī, entered the Iranian New Wave in 1971. In January 1973, Khurāsān published a laudatory review of Bayzāʾī’s film Ragbār (Downpour), praising both its form and content.⁶⁴ The newspaper’s new critic, Majīd Qavāmzādah, expressed hope that Bayzāʾī would soon create another masterpiece. This prediction proved accurate, and one year later Bayzāʾī stood out at the 9th Chicago International Film Festival, where his film Safar (Journey), produced by the Kānūn, won first prize in the short film section.⁶⁵

After a few years, Iranian children’s and youth cinema was able to participate in international festivals and win awards. For example, the film Tars dar kūchah, directed by Parvīz Mahdavī, won a prize at the 10th Milan International Short Film Festival for Children and Youth in 1972. Three hundred films from around the world competed at this festival.⁶⁶

Another notable achievement was the film Dār, produced by the Kānūn and directed by Rizā ʿAllāmahzādah. The film that won first prize at the 12th International Film Festival in Spain is set in a village in northern Iran, and its music is based on local melodies.⁶⁷

Figure 12: Opening of the 6th International Children’s and Youth Film Festival in Mashhad, attended by Empress Farah Pahlavī.⁶⁸

While children’s and youth cinema had received much praise in the early 1970s, films considered “vulgar” continued to face criticism. By the end of 1973, this issue had once again drawn attention in Khurāsān newspaper. At the same time, Italian Westerns—called “bankrupt European films” by one critic—were also criticized by an anonymous critic in the newspaper: “According to the newspaper, the officials of the Union of Cinemas of the Holy City of Mashhad, by screening vulgar and warehouse-stock films, have normalized every form of indecency. This is not cinema; it is blatant vulgarity and propaganda promoting the corruptions affecting our young generation.”⁶⁹

Such critiques continued throughout the 1970s and up to the revolution of 1978–1979. In May 1973, a review entitled “Is This What Cinema Means?” appeared in Khurāsān, opening with the statement: “For a long time, the screening of vulgar and superficial films has exhausted cinema lovers in Mashhad.” The review went on to criticize theater owners, arguing that “they have accustomed audiences to watching vulgar films to such an extent that a good film no longer has any meaning for them.”⁷⁰

In December of the same year, a critic named Mahdī Ghafūrī published a review titled “A Discussion on Film and Cinema, the Agents and Transmitters of Spiritual and Moral Cancer in Society,” in which he discouraged audiences from watching sexualized films while praising Dāryūsh Mihrjūyī’s films, such as Gāv, Pustchī (The Postman), and Āqā-yi Hālū, as exemplary works of national cinema.⁷¹

Figure 13: A page of film criticism from Khurāsān, featuring an image from Dāyirah-yi Mīnā (The Cycle), directed by Dāryūsh Mihrjūyī, 1974.⁷²

These critiques were not limited to Khurāsān or to the city of Mashhad; newspapers in other cities also addressed similar issues to varying degrees. The pressure generated by such criticism grew to the point that, in 1973, the Union of Iranian Film Producers imposed a two-year ban on the production of “vulgar” films—a measure that a columnist in Khurāsān regarded as a step toward the moral improvement of Iranian cinema.⁷³

While moral criticism persisted, Iranian cinema in the early 1970s experienced notable innovations and transformations—developments that were likewise reflected in Khurāsān. In 1973, two notable auteur films were produced:⁷⁴ Yak Ittifāq-i Sādah (A Simple Event), directed by Suhrāb Shahīd-Sālis, and Mughūl’hā (The Mongols), directed by Parvīz Kīmiyāvī. These films formed part of the continuation of Iranian auteur cinema, which had begun in the 1950s with Farrukh Ghafārī’s Junūb-i Shahr (South of the City) and continued in the 1960s with Dāryūsh Mihrjūyī’s Gāv.Khurāsān published a laudatory review of Mughūl’hā, describing the film as innovative.⁷⁵

It appears that, despite sustained criticism, Iranian cinema was flourishing overall and had begun to attract attention beyond Iran’s borders. In this context, the “Iran Film Week in Moscow” in 1974 also received coverage in Khurāsān, which reported on the screening of a documentary about the 2,500-year celebration of the Persian Empire, held in Persepolis in 1971.⁷⁶ In 1973, Shiraz witnessed the first Young Filmmakers Festival, attended by representatives from various countries.

Figure 14: The first Young Filmmakers Festival in 1973, held in Shiraz, with participation from representatives of various countries.⁷⁷

In 1975, Khurāsān devoted little attention to cinema. The following year, it published a review of Ghazal (1975), directed by Masʿūd Kīmiyāʾī. An anonymous critic, writing under the title “A Sad and Regrettable Voice,” praised the film’s formal qualities but argued that its content reflected the same vulgar perspective. The critic employed terms such as “prostitute” and “brothel” to express disapproval.⁷⁸

Although the new generation of film critics also paid attention to form and content—for example in a 1976 review by a critic named Musāfir of the film Shīr-i Khuftah (The Sleeping Lion, 1976), directed by Mahmūd Kūshān⁷⁹—moral criticism was still very important. As noted earlier, this form of criticism became increasingly prominent in the years leading up to the 1979 Revolution. During this period, a critic named Mahdī Ahmadī published an article entitled “Where Is Our National Cinema Going?”, in which he argued that from the outset of cinema in Iran, filmmaking lacked a clear plan, institutional structure, and solid foundation. He further criticized the limited number of Iranian films achieving success at international festivals and maintained that appropriate institutional structures should have been created to foster and support national films with the capacity for global recognition.⁸⁰

One month later, Ahmadī wrote about Parvīz Kīmiyāvī’s film The Mongols, clearly describing what he believed to be an ideal film. He saw The Mongols as both a continuation of the French New Wave and, at the same time, a truly national film.⁸¹

In March 1978, two reviews of ʿAlī Hātamī’s film Sūtah Dilān (Burnt Hearts, 1977) were published ten days apart in the newspaper Khūrāsān. Both reviews adopted a laudatory tone. In the first, Musāfir wrote that all the film’s dialogue was inspired by Iranian traditions.⁸² A newly appointed critic at the newspaper, ʿAlī ʿArab, identified rhythm as the defining characteristic of Hātamī’s films and described each of his works as a brief yet profound pause in the past.⁸³

In 1977, Masʿūd Kīmiyā’ī made Safar-i Sang (The Journey of the Stone, 1977). Later, some commentators argued that the film anticipated the 1979 Revolution, citing its strong symbolic structure: it depicts a conflict between a landlord and peasants that culminates in an uprising against the landlord and was produced at a moment when revolutionary tensions were already intensifying in Iran.⁸⁴ ʿAlī ʿArab wrote an article in Khurāsān entitled “In Memory of Men Who Carry the Weight of the Earth,” in which he argued that Kīmiyā’ī’s heroes create a hopeful space for cooperation and collective action leading to victory.⁸⁵ The newspaper regarded the film as sufficiently significant to warrant the publication of an additional review by Hasan Zahīrī, which reflected leftist ideals.⁸⁶

Three years earlier in 1974, Kīmiyā’ī had already generated considerable controversy with his film Gavazn’hā (The Deer, 1974). The publication of a renewed review of the film in Khurāsān in 1977 was thus significant. In this review, ʿAlī ʿArab characterized the film as a record of the lives of a specific social group during a particular historical period and portrayed Kīmiyā’ī as a filmmaker who utilized cinema as a serious and effective medium for engaging with the public.⁸⁷ At the same time, ʿAlī ʿArab criticized films such as Bū-yi Gandum (Scent of Wheat, 1977), by Amīr Mujāhid, and Yārān (Companions, 1974), by Farzān Diljū, subjecting them to mockery and censure.⁸⁸

Figure 15: Excerpts from ʿAlī ʿArab’s revolutionary reviews in Khurāsān.

In 1978, Khurāsān published a note titled “It Was Not Meant to Support a Vulgar Film,” criticizing Parvīz Sayyād’s Dar Imtidād-i Shab (Along the Night, 1977). An anonymous critic noted that although rules governing morality in cinema had been established, they were not enforced, and described the film as follows: “It cunningly presents sexual content under the guise of an apparently human story to the public.”⁸⁹ In the months leading up to the 1979 Revolution, moral criticism against the perceived vulgarity in cinemas grew increasingly intense, and revolutionary fervor began to outweigh critical judgment. Amid this climate, the Āryā Cinema was set on fire by extremist groups, resulting in the deaths of three workers and further heightening tensions. A newspaper described the incident as an act of “sabotage.”⁹⁰ This event occurred just one day before the Cinema Rex tragedy in Abadan, where 377 people lost their lives. Coverage of the incident, along with a separate arson attack at the Paramount Cinema in Shiraz, was reported by Khurāsān newspaper.⁹¹

Figure 16: Report in Khurāsān newspaper on the arson of the Āryā Cinema in 1978.⁹²

Following the Revolution, efforts aimed at revolutionary reform and combating vulgarity escalated, with authorities implementing more tangible measures. Sādiq Husaynī Shīrāzī, one of the city’s prominent religious leaders, stated in a meeting with the Governor of Khorasan that cinema must observe sharia requirements and be fully Islamic, in line with the foundations of the faith. He emphasized that cinema and other media must abandon their former, colonial form and instead promote religious truths and Islamic morality.⁹³ On April 30, 1979, the Deputy for Culture and Arts, Parvīz Varjāvand, said the following in an interview:

We have established a provisional Film and Cinema Council made up of reputable figures with recognized expertise in technical fields and cultural affairs. We hope that, with resources secured from the Plan and Budget Organization, we can create the conditions for cinema—one of society’s most significant instruments of cultural communication—to fulfill its proper cultural role. Our objective is to empower cinema while preventing the resurgence of a vulgar form of filmmaking.⁹⁴

On May 8, 1979, Muhammad ‛Alī Najafī, head of the Office for Film Supervision and Exhibition, stated:

Cinema must gradually become nationalized so that it can genuinely reflect the role of the people in shaping this culture. We do not practice censorship in a general sense, but we take a firm stand against vulgarity. What censorship means in this context is that we evaluate directors and screenplays from a cultural and popular perspective. We cannot allow just anyone who wishes to become a director to do so. ⁹⁵

Due to the new circumstances, film criticism in the Khurāsān newspaper slowed down for a while. Only in July 1979 was an article published under the headline “The Disordered State of Cinema in Mashhad: mass-produced Karate Films and Old Testament Movies Have Taken Over Mashhad’s Screens!”, in which criticism of vulgar films gave way to criticism of karate (martial arts) films. According to an anonymous critic, “preventing the screening of karate films should be regarded as one of the most important measures toward the advancement of film exhibition in Iran.”⁹⁶

In August 1979, the newspaper’s film critic, ‛Abdalsamad Kāzirūnī, reflected on his pre-revolutionary cinema visits in a memoir recounting his viewing of the film Ganj-i Qārūn (Qarun’s Treasure, 1965). Adopting a revolutionary perspective and drawing on the ideas of ‛Alī Shari‛atī, he concluded that the film’s ultimate message was discouraging for the underprivileged.⁹⁷ In fact, Ganj-i Qārūn, directed by Siyāmak Yāsamī, showed the poor as having higher moral values than the rich and ultimately showed the rich being attracted to them.⁹⁸

As revolutionary measures were gradually implemented, by April 1980 several actors, including Rizā Karam Rizāʾī, Masʿūd Asadallāhī, Zhālah ʿUluv, ʿAlī Tābish, Asghar Simsārzādah, and Farīshtah Jinābī, had been summoned to court.⁹⁹ In June of the same year, ‛Alī ‛Arab resumed writing film criticism in Khurāsān newspaper. In his first post-revolution column, he highlighted a few revolutionary films he considered satisfactory but criticized the Film Supervision Committee’s actions as insufficient, since they were limited to removing certain scenes.¹⁰⁰

The 1970s concluded with the closure of the country’s cinemas, which remained shut until a dedicated organization for overseeing film and cinema was established on June 22, 1980.¹⁰¹

The 1980s

Figure 17: The logo of Khurāsān newspaper after its confiscation by the Bunyād-i Mustazʿafān.

After the Islamic Revolution, Khurāsān newspaper, like many other institutions, was also confiscated by the Bunyād-i Mustazʿafān (the Foundation of the Oppressed).

In June 1981, a review titled “An Analysis of the Film Dānah’hā-yi Gandum: The Story of the Village Uprising Against the Lord’s Oppression” was published by the Cinema Affairs of the Foundation of the Oppressed (Umūr-i Sīnimāʾī-i Bunyād-i Mustazʿafān), emphasizing the greater importance of content over technique in revolutionary cinema.¹⁰² The film Dānah’hā-yi Gandum (1980), directed by Hasan Rafīʿī, tells the story of a young villager who revolts against the local lord and is subsequently imprisoned. According to the critic’s analysis, the protagonist symbolizes the struggles of the people during the pre-revolutionary years. He then kills a police officer, takes his weapon, engages in armed resistance, and, as the critic notes, confronts the tyrannical feudal lord of his village, delivers him to the villagers, and opens the grain storage to them.¹⁰³

Other similar films were also produced, and their reviews by the Cinema Affairs of the Bunyād-i Mustazʿafān appeared in Khurāsān newspaper. However, these films apparently did not gain much popular support, and in a column in Khurāsān, the Cinema Affairs criticized the public’s “Tāghūt-influenced” culture in response to criticisms regarding the quality of these cinematic productions.¹⁰⁴

Figure 18: Film critique column in Khurāsān newspaper on post-Revolutionary cinema.¹⁰⁵

In 1983, it was announced that “Cinema Jihad” would be implemented in the Bunyād-i Mustazʿafān centers across the country’s provinces. Khurāsān newspaper reported that this Jihad aimed at full alignment with the “line of the Supreme Leader.”¹⁰⁶ On February 28, 1983, the Friday Imam of Mashhad, during a meeting with a group of cinema staff from Khorasan’s Bunyād-i Mustazʿafān, stated: “When a country’s cinema is aligned with Islamic and human values, it is clear that the culture of that society is alive.” In this meeting, the head of the cinema department of the Foundation referred to pre-revolutionary films such as Muhallil (by Nusrat Karīmī) and Khar-i Dajjāl (by Kamāl Dānish) as works intended to distort the religion of Islam and the beliefs of Muslims. He also described pre-revolutionary cinema as a plot by imperialism to exploit and deceive the oppressed masses.¹⁰⁷

On April 20, 1983, with the publication of a review in the newspaper Khurāsān entitled “The Film Tawbah-yi Nasūh: The Beginning of a Committed and Islamic Cinema,” focusing on a single film. The newspaper’s new critic, Hamīdrizā Suhaylī, in his review, adopted a tone close to a manifesto than a conventional review, first attacking several post-revolutionary films—among them Barzakhī-hā (Īraj Qādirī), Sarbāz-i Islām (Amān Mantiqī), and ʿUsyāngarān (Jahāngīr Jahāngīrī)—which he dismissed as vulgar. He then turned to praise Tawbah-yi Nasūh, directed by Muhsin Makhmalbāf, describing it as a forceful slap in the face of those who, through employing “tāghūtī” actors, sought to undermine the art of cinema in the eyes of hizballāhī audiences.¹⁰⁸

In the later years of the 1980s, filmmaking focused on the early history of Islam began to gain prominence. Safīr(1982), directed by Farīburz Sālih, is widely regarded as the starting point of this trend. The film received a favorable review in the newspaper Khurāsān, where it was described as a work that “gives off the scent of a new approach.”¹⁰⁹ Safīr was also the first film produced by the Cultural Department of the Bunyād-i Mustazʿafān. The foundation’s second production, Parvandah (The Case, 1983) continued the cycle of films centered on themes of lordship and peasantry—depictions of oppressors and the oppressed—and was warmly received by Khurāsān’s revolutionary critic, Hamīdrizā Suhaylī.¹¹⁰

In the 1980s, revolutionary and anti-Pahlavī film reviews continued to shape the Iranian cinema landscape. Films such as Mīrzā Kūchak Khān (Amīr Qavīdil) and Shīlāt (Rizā Mīrlawhī) received praise in Khurāsān, though explicitly anti-Pahlavi works like Sinātur (Mahdī Sabbāghzādah) were judged negatively.¹¹¹

As filmmakers such as Sīrūs Alvand and Rasūl Sadrʿāmilī entered the scene with socially themed films, critics began paying closer attention to their work. In 1985, the newspaper’s new critic, Hūshang Jāvīd, reviewed Gulhā-yi Dāvūdī(Rasūl Sadrʿāmilī), noting that while it partially filled the gap left by Indian films, it lacked substance and a clear message.¹¹²

The release of Davandah (The Runner, 1984), directed by Amīr Nādirī, which evoked the pre-revolutionary New Wave, prompted positive coverage in Khurāsān. In December 1985, film critic Amīr Kumaylī described the film as “breaking the barrier of repetition,” praising its vitality and depiction of real life, while reviewing Nādirī’s artistic career.¹¹³ Davandah’s first-prize win at the 1985 Nantes Film Festival, among 60 films from Asia, Latin America, and Africa, also drew attention from the newspaper.¹¹⁴

Despite these developments, concerns over vulgarity in Iranian cinema persisted. In 1987, a review of Samandar(Muhammad Kūshān) labeled the director “an elder of vulgarity” and a founder of “a cinema without identity and impartiality.”¹¹⁵

The decade also saw the rise of films centered on the Iran-Iraq War (the Sacred Defense Cinema). The first in this genre, Marz (The Border, 1980), directed by Jamshīd Haydarī, premiered in 1981, and over the following six years more than 20 similar films were produced. In a two-part note in 1987, Khurāsān examined Iranian war cinema, criticizing works that focused solely on action while emphasizing that the front was not only about killing, but also about elevating spirituality.

An anonymous critic described Diyār-i ʿĀshiqān, directed by Hasan Kārbakhsh, as the best Iranian war film produced up to that point (1987).¹¹⁶ In 1990, Khurāsān published another review of war cinema, this time focusing on Parvāz dar Shab (Rasūl Mullāqulīpūr), noting that the director had reached a high standing in the genre by making everything fit together naturally and maintaining a steady rhythm, achieving what the review called “an inward exploration of war.”¹¹⁷ From the perspective of Khurāsān’s critic Muhammadrizā Sabbāgh, such an inward exploration reached its peak with Muhājir (Ibrāhīm Hātamīkiyā), where, in his view, the film’s subject ultimately took precedence over its form.¹¹⁸

In the 1980s, veteran filmmakers gradually stepped back from Iranian cinema. Though some continued making films after the Revolution, their work largely went unnoticed. New restrictions and rising pessimism took their toll on these directors. Even Samuel Khāchīkiyān, who directed the well-known war film ‛Uqāb’hā (The Eagles, 1984) about the Iran-Iraq War, failed to draw critical attention, though the film achieved popular success.¹¹⁹ Shāhpūr Gharīb also continued making socially themed films, but Khurāsān’s critic dismissed him as a “Fīlm-Fārsī maker of the old days,” producing work aimed solely at general audiences.¹²⁰

Among the pre-Revolution New Wave filmmakers, the situation was largely the same. For example, Bāshū, Gharībah-yi Kūchak (Bahram Bayzā’ī) was banned for four years. This repression led to the decline of New Wave cinema in Iran. The most notable filmmaker to experience a steady fall in the years immediately following the Revolution was Mas‛ūd Kīmiyā’ī. In 1987, Khurāsān characterized Kīmīyā’ī’s film Tīgh va Abrīsham (The Blade and the Silk, 1987) as comparatively less cohesive than his pre-Revolution works, such as Qaysar and Dāsh Ākal.¹²¹ Nevertheless, most New Wave filmmakers sought to remain creatively vibrant despite the prevailing restrictions. In 1988, Nākhudā Khurshīd (Nāsir Taghvā’ī) won an award at the Swiss International Film Festival.¹²² Dāryūsh Mihrjūyī’s Hāmūnreceived the Bronze Prize at the Houston International Film Festival, and Hājī Vāshīngtun (ʿAlī Hātamī) was both well received and positively reviewed.¹²³

Meanwhile, the Revolution ushered in a wave of new filmmakers who approached cinema ideologically, seeking to dominate the New Wave and establish a new cinema aimed at shaping the ideal human. In 1987, an interview with Muhsin Makhmalbāf in Khurāsān highlighted a new generation of filmmakers—aligned with the Islamic regime and, in some cases, even more radical, a trait the newspaper’s critic called “genius” (Figure 19).

Figure 19: Interview with Muhsin Makhmalbāf in Khurāsān (1987) with a painted portrait.¹²⁴

In 1988, the newspaper Khurāsān, in a review of the film Dastfurūsh (The Peddler), directed by Muhsin Makhmalbāf, praised the work and focused on its philosophical dimensions.¹²⁵ Another critic, identified as M–S, likewise described the film as one of the most symbolic and allegorical works in Iranian cinema.¹²⁶

Another event reported in Khurāsān during the same year was a protest by the Khorasan nursing community against the screening of Parastār-i Shab (The Night Nurse), directed by Muhammad-ʿAlī Najafī. The nurses described the film—whose plot centers on a patient falling in love with his nurse—as deviant. In a petition, they wrote that the production of such films should involve consultation with professionals in the field; otherwise, the films would lack credibility.¹²⁷

Another cinematic milestone covered by Khurāsān in 1989 was the long-anticipated opening of the Mashhad Film House (Khānah-yi Fīlm-i Mashhad), an event preceded by months of public expectation. The ceremony, held at Quds Cinema in Mashhad and attended by members of the Film House alongside invited guests, concluded with a screening of Bāysīkil’rān (The Cyclist), directed by Muhsin Makhmalbāf. The film was warmly received by the audience, and the event continued with a critical discussion and review of the screening.¹²⁸

In September 1989, Khurāsān published an interview with one of the few female directors working in Iran at the time. In this conversation, Rakhshān Banī-iʿtimād—then regarded as a novice filmmaker—addressed the role of women in Iranian cinema, observing that “the women we see on the screen are a reflection of the dominant current’s perception of female character in cinema—a portrayal that shows women not as they are, but as they are thought to be better.”¹²⁹

Figure 20: An image of Rakhshān Banī-iʿtimād published in Khurāsān (1989).

In the late 1980s, Iranian cinema witnessed the emergence of another defining phenomenon: ʿAbbās Kiyārustamī. Having begun his artistic career in 1970 with the short film Nān va Kūchah (Bread and Alley) and having produced nearly all his works—apart from the feature-length Guzārish (The Report, 1977)—within the Institute for the Intellectual Development of Children and Young Adults (Kānūn-i Parvārish-i Fikrī-i Kūdakān va Nawjavānān), Kiyārustamī was by this time entering the broader public sphere of Iranian cinema. In 1989, Khurāsān, in its review of Khānah-yi Dūst Kujāst? (Where Is the Friend’s House?, 1987), published a report on Kiyārustamī’s career, characterizing him as an auteur filmmaker and a realist.¹³⁰

Figure 21: Muhammad-Rizā Niʿmatzādah, played by Bābak Ahmadpūr, in Khānah-yi Dūst Kujāst? (Where Is the Friend’s House?), directed by ʿAbbās Kiyārustamī, 1987. The film was screened at the Mashhad Film House in 1989.

The international successes of Iranian films in the late 1980s also drew the attention of Khurāsān. Khānah-yi Dūst Kujāst? won third prize at the 42nd Locarno Film Festival (1989) and, in late 1990, received an award at the Cannes Film Festival in France.¹³¹ In the same period, Nār va Nay (Pomegranate and Cane, 1988), directed by Saʿīd Ibrāhīmīfar, won second prize at the Mannheim Festival in West Germany and, in 1990, was awarded the Golden Tulip at the Istanbul Film Festival.¹³²

Despite their international achievements, these films were not well received by revolutionary filmmakers and critics. For example, actor and director Majīd Majīdī, in an interview with Khurāsān in 1990, stressed in reference to Nār va Nay that art must serve the people, the revolution, and the values and ideals of society.¹³³ This divergence between domestic and international reception can be seen as a prelude to the increasing international visibility of Iranian cinema—a development that would later foster the flourishing of Iranian cinema in exile.¹³⁴

In 1990, Close-Up by ʿAbbās Kiyārostamī once again drew international attention, winning an award at the Montreal Film Festival. The film, which blended documentary and narrative forms, received critical acclaim for dissolving the boundary between reality and fiction.¹³⁵ In the same year, Parandah-yi Kūchak-i Khushbakhtī (The Little Bird of Happiness), directed by Pūrān Dirakhshandah, won a Golden Award at the North Korean Film Festival, as reported in Khurāsān. This festival was the second gathering of Non-Aligned and developing countries, and its awards were presented by the Prime Minister of North Korea.¹³⁶

Overall, the final two years of the 1980s, following the end of the war with Iraq, proved productive for Iranian cinema. Nevertheless, many films screened in Iran during this period drew sharp criticism from Khurāsān’s reviewers. Kafsh’hā-yi Mīrzā Nawrūz (Mirza Norooz’s Shoes), directed by Muhammad Mutavassilānī, was dismissed as a shallow and discredited work.¹³⁷ In a review of Grand Cinema (1989), directed by Hasan Hidāyat, critics lamented, “What a waste of the subject, and what a waste of the talent of ʿIzzatallāh Intizāmī,”¹³⁸ while Duzd-i ʿArūsak’hā (Thief of Dolls, 1990), directed by Muhammad-Rizā Hunarmand, was condemned as a pickpocket of its audience.¹³⁹

The dynamism of Iranian cinema and efforts to move beyond a strictly revolutionary outlook at the end of the 1980s also sparked controversy. In 1990, the head of the cultural division of the Fārābī Cinema Foundation spoke of the possibility of exploring freedom of hijab in Iranian cinema—a statement that raised a response from Khurāsān, as illustrated in the image below.

Figure 22: Immature Cinema / A Discussion on Hijab in Iranian Cinema.¹⁴⁰

The 1990s

In 1991, Khurāsān published an interview with screenwriter Farīdūn Jayrānī, in which post-revolutionary cinema was praised as ethical and idealistic. He urged young people not to be swayed by the false attractions of cinema and, at the conclusion of the interview, commended filmmakers such as Sīrūs Taslīmī and Kiyānūsh ʿAyyārī for creating Parandah-yi Kūchak-i Khushbakhtī (The Little Bird of Happiness) and Ānsū-yi Ātash (Beyond the Fire).¹⁴¹

Nevertheless, alternative perspectives also emerged. In 1992, Khurāsān published an interview with actor Bihrūz Baqāʾī, in which he reflected on other dimensions of Iranian cinema. He emphasized the direct relationship between art and culture and the economic, political, and social conditions of the country. Baqāʾī described the state of Iranian cinema in these terms as rudimentary—an environment that encouraged “easygoing” tendencies and “simplistic” thinking in filmmaking.¹⁴² Existing evidence in Khurāsān points to a stagnation in Iranian cinema at the beginning of the 1990s. In 1992, the newspaper published a full-page report titled “Noticeable Stagnation in Cinema,” directly addressing this issue.

Figure 23: Statement by the President of the University of Art, Tehran, in 1992 on the Stagnation of Iranian Cinema.¹⁴³

Despite the circumstances, Khurāsān’s cinema column continued to flourish. In August 1992, the paper interviewed the actor Ahmad Najafī, who had played in Mas‛ūd Kīmiyā’ī’s film Gurūhbān (The Sergeant, 1992). Najafī criticized the film’s censorship, noting that “this was not our gurūhbān,” and revealed that 17 minutes of key scenes had been cut. When asked about the future of Iranian cinema, he simply replied: “None.”¹⁴⁴ Later that year, in December, Khurāsān published a review referencing Khānah-yi Dūst Kujāst, arguing that a film’s screening at festivals does not justify its broadcast on the Islamic Republic’s television.¹⁴⁵

Figure 24: Support for filmmakers promoting Islamic values (1992).¹⁴⁶

In January 1993, Abu’lfazl Āhanchiyān, a screenwriter from Mashhad, said: “The problem of cinema in Iran is weak screenwriting.”¹⁴⁷ In February 1993, Rakhshān Banī-iʿtimād, in an interview with Khurāsān about the film Nargis, noted: “Nargis is the result of all the films that were never made and the screenplays that were rejected one after another.”¹⁴⁸ Finally, in March 1993, the headline “Chaotic Economy in the Film Industry Reduces Art to Vulgarity,” quoting Ghulāmrīzā Mūsavī, head of the Central Council of the Iranian Film Producers and Distributors Association, drew attention in Khurāsān. The article criticized the neglect of specialized producers.¹⁴⁹

In 1993, the film Sārā (Dāryūsh Mihrjūyī), while receiving generally positive reviews from Khurāsān critic Bihrūz Tāhirniyā, was simultaneously considered inferior to Mihrjūyī’s previous works.¹⁵⁰ At the same time, Khurāsānreported on the film receiving the Golden Shell (Concha de Oro) award at the San Sebastián International Film Festival in Spain. However, the reporter expressed dissatisfaction with the way some Spanish media outlets covered the film, concluding: “The differing positions of Spanish media on this matter demonstrate how even the artistic success of the Islamic Republic is painful and indigestible for Western audiences.”¹⁵¹ In reality, the Islamic Republic’s policy has been to impose restrictions on filmmakers and their works at home, while appropriating their achievements abroad under its own name.¹⁵²

In 1993, an article titled “Types of Film Criticism in Iranian Cinema” addressed the subject of film criticism, categorizing different types of reviews and highlighting the fundamental problem of criticism and analysis in Iran.¹⁵³ This can be seen as confirming the earlier claim that film criticism was regarded as having its own ups and downs alongside the film production itself. Nevertheless, this did not imply a lack of serious criticism in Khurāsān. For example, in 1994, a review titled “A Look at Bahrām Bayzā’ī’s Dramatic Works in Iranian Cinema” was published, in which the author, identified as A. Rūhpūr, offered a detailed analysis of Bayzā’ī’s works and discussed the constraints on filmmaking in Iran and their role in undermining the status of filmmakers.

Figure 25: Excerpts from Khurāsān critics’ views on the works of Bahrām Bayzā’ī.¹⁵⁴

In 1994 Khurāsān devoted an entire page to celebrating the works of Mas‘ūd Kīmiyā’ī, reflecting his own complaints.¹⁵⁵ In 1996, Khurāsān’s cinema column published a note by Bīzhan Ashtarī on Kīmiyā’ī’s film Ziyāfat (The Feast, 1995), which echoed the director’s own viewpoint:

“Life held a grudge against me
I smiled at life
The earth was my enemy
I lay upon the earth”¹⁵⁶

Figure 26: Mas‘ūd Kīmiyā’ī (center) on a dedicated page of Khurāsān, behind the scenes of Radd-i’pā-yi Gurg (The Wolf’s Trail, 1994).¹⁵⁷

In January 1995, during a meeting with artists and cultural officials, ʿAlī Khāmanah’ī, the Supreme Leader of the Islamic Republic, characterized film and cinema as a powerful medium for “presenting the truth of religion,” a session that Khurāsān reported in full.¹⁵⁸ Three weeks after this speech, the newspaper wrote: “Our cinema follows a wave / We have not yet reached ideal cinema.”¹⁵⁹ The goal of cinema in the Islamic Republic, like that of the revolution itself, was to shape an ideal human being—an ideal that increasingly seemed out of reach. The article featured several interviews, including one with actress Afsānah Bāyigān, who discussed both the uncertainty surrounding Iranian cinema’s future and the need to reduce censorship, giving the “children of the revolution” greater freedom in creative initiative.¹⁶⁰

Figure 27: A page from the cinema section of Khurāsān (1993).¹⁶¹

Khurāsān reported several achievements in Iranian cinema in 1994, including ʿAbbās Kiyārustamī’s first prize at the Valladolid International Film Festival in Spain for Zīr‑i Dirakhtān‑i Zaytūn (Through the Olive Trees) and Ibrāhīm Furūzish’s Grand Prix at the Ciné Junior Festival in France for Khumrah (The Jar). That year also saw the emergence of a new figure in Iranian cinema: Ja‛far Panāhī, who won first prize at the Tokyo International Film Festival in 1995 for his film Bādkunak‑i Sifīd (The White Balloon).¹⁶² That same year, this film won the Caméra d’Or at the Cannes Film Festival in France. Khurāsān republished the news, citing Le Monde: “The White Balloon is one of those compelling, understated films that transforms a child’s tale into a story both real and universal.”¹⁶³

Coverage in Khurāsān and other outlets at the time reveals two distinct cinematic currents in Iran during the 1990s. One current operated without government backing and found its primary recognition at international festivals. The other, despite enjoying official support, attracted less enthusiasm at home and abroad. In 1995, Khurāsān ran a report headlined “The Dominant Atmosphere in Iranian Cinema Is Not a Cultural One,” featuring comments by the revolutionary filmmaker Farajallāh Salahshūr. He argued that contemporary audiences had grown accustomed to formulaic, superficial, commercial, and action-driven films, showing little interest in war films and value-oriented cinema. He called for a state-led effort, supported by revolutionary forces, to reshape public taste.¹⁶⁴

In July 1995, another article appeared under the title “The Crisis of Cinema Lies in Behind-the-Scenes Games.” Quoting the war documentarian Murtazā Āvīnī, it stated: “Cinema is not particularly ‘Islamizable,’ but it can be placed in the service of Islam.” The unnamed critic went on to lament the state of Iranian cinema, attacking commercial, popular, and action genres and denouncing nepotism among actors and artists as a sign of ongoing vulgarity.¹⁶⁵

On the same page, in an interview with filmmaker Kayūmars Pūrahmad described contemporary Iranian cinema as little more than the old Fīlm-Fārsī—minus its sexual content. Another filmmaker, Ahmad Ṭālibī-Nizhād, remarked: “In our country, cinema is treated less as a cultural instrument than as a form of entertainment, a way to fill leisure time.” Director Muhammad-ʿAlī Najafī added: “Until 1990, our cinema followed an astonishing and unparalleled trajectory. After that, however, the economy and its impact on cultural outlooks became somewhat troubling. At present, we are at a midpoint—it could move toward decline or toward progress.” Production manager Habīballāh Kāsah’sāz concluded: “If policymaking undergoes transformation, then one can say cinema has undergone transformation.”¹⁶⁶

While some commentators focused on what they viewed as a stagnant, state-backed cinema and criticized popular films, others continued making socially focused works based on artistic standards, largely ignoring these attacks—and gained recognition at international festivals. In 1995, Rakhshān Banī-iʿtimād won the Bronze Leopard at the Locarno Festival for Rūsarī-i Ābī (The Blue Veil). Reporting extensively on the festival, Khurāsān concluded: “We can discern a clear line and policy in the selection of Iranian films. A film that seriously expresses the nature of the system and the Revolution, and that stands in defense of its values, does not make its way into such festivals.”¹⁶⁷

Figure 28: Conceptual depiction of cinema as an art form in Khurāsān, 1995.¹⁶⁸

Official frustration soon escalated. Early the following year, the Iranian government announced a boycott of the Academy Awards. According to Khurāsān, the Deputy for Cinematic Affairs at the Ministry of Culture and Islamic Guidance, ‛Izzatallāh Zarghāmī, condemned the U.S. Congress’s approval of a $20 million budget bill against Iran and declared: “In light of this action by America, the Islamic Republic of Iran will boycott the Academy Awards film festival.” The announcement came even as festival organizers had selected, from among 45 non-American films, Jaʿfar Panāhī’s The White Balloon for Oscar consideration.¹⁶⁹ The film was ultimately barred from participation, despite ranking seventh among the highest-grossing films in London cinemas that year, according to Khurāsān, and being widely considered a strong contender for the award.¹⁷⁰

In 1996, another significant cinematic controversy dominated the pages of Khurāsān. Īraj Qādirī—an actor before the Revolution who later turned to directing—had secured a production permit for his film Āvā-yi Kūhistān (Sound of the Mountain). Production, however, was abruptly suspended after authorities invoked a rule barring director from making more than one film per year. Khurāsān called the decision unprecedented, emphasizing that once a production permit had been granted, it was ordinarily considered irrevocable.¹⁷¹ This episode, along with growing revolutionary criticism of the film industry, highlighted the rising influence of hardliners in Iranian cinema. Cultural figures from before the Revolution continued to face unofficial restrictions.¹⁷² One of the most prominent was Muhammad-ʿAlī Fardīn, a major star of pre-Revolution cinema. In 1996, a source at the Ministry of Culture and Islamic Guidance said that Fardīn had not submitted a formal request to return to acting.¹⁷³

Two years later, amid early policy shifts following the election of moderate President Muhammad Khātamī, Khurāsānreported that Fardīn had sought permission to appear on screen one final time.¹⁷⁴ The request was denied. Sixteen months later, he died. News of his death appeared not in the arts section but on the sports page of Khurāsān, under the headline: “Fardīn, former national team wrestler, dies.”¹⁷⁵ Only two days later—on April 10, 2000—did coverage of his funeral describe him as both a former national team wrestler and a film actor. The newspaper reported that the ceremony drew officials from the Physical Education Organization—the state body overseeing sports—as well as veteran wrestlers and coaches, athletes, artists, and large crowds of mourners.¹⁷⁶

In June of that year, the Deputy Minister of Culture for Cinematic Affairs, Sayfallāh Dād, effectively closed the door on a broader return of pre-Revolution stars. “A system based on star-centered filmmaking, or a type of film that connected only with the lower strata of society, is not viable under current conditions,” he said.¹⁷⁷

By August 1997, shortly before the reformist government of Muhammad Khātamī took office, Iran’s cinematic climate had grown markedly restrictive, and calls for meaningful change were intensifying. Screenwriters felt the pressure of censorship and oversight more than others in the film production process, and filmmakers openly acknowledged this. In 1997, Khurāsān published a piece titled “Cinema in 1996 and the Decline in Film Quality,” attributing the downturn primarily to supervision and evaluation policies, as well as weak scripts.¹⁷⁸ Just a week later, however, in its coverage of the Fajr Film Festival, the newspaper quoted the Director General of Supervision and Evaluation at the Cinematic Affairs office as asserting: “Iranian cinema moves toward value-based films.”¹⁷⁹

The surprise election of Muhammad Khātamī—himself a former Minister of Culture and Islamic Guidance—as president in 1997 defied the expectations of the political establishment’s hardline factions and signaled broad public demand for change across multiple spheres, including culture and the arts. Many believed that this shift would inevitably be reflected in the country’s cinema as well.

It was under these circumstances that some films were granted permission for screening. Among them was Ādam Barfī (The Snowman, 1995), directed by Dāvūd Mīrbāqirī, which was released in 1997 after three years of being banned. At the same time, however, there were still films that did not receive screening permits. Muhsin Makhmalbāf’s Nawbat-i ʿĀshiqī (A Moment of Innocence, 1990) and Shab’hā-yi Zāyandah Rūd (Zāyandeh Rūd Nights, 1990) were among them.

In January 1998, the newspaper Khurāsān published the following statement by Makhmalbāf:

If these two films receive screening permits, that would be very good. But one must wait and see how much sensitivity remains. Lifting the ban on these films, as in the case of The Snowman, would mark a positive development in the country’s cinematic community. That said, the Minister of Culture and Islamic Guidance has criticized my film A Moment of Innocence in two published articles.¹⁸⁰

These two films never received screening permits. In 1999, director Abu’lfazl Jalīlī told Khurāsān that despite making eight feature films, only two had been cleared for release.¹⁸¹ Ultimately, none of Jalīlī’s works obtained official approval.

As a result, the reputation of Iranian cinema continued to rest largely on independent artistic filmmakers, whose work was being recognized and awarded at international festivals. In 1999, Khurāsān published a translated report by international film critic Laura Mulvey, describing President Muhammad Khātamī’s tenure as a “spring of Iranian cinema” compared with previous years. The report opened by praising ‛Abbās Kiyārustamī’s Taʻm-i gīlās (Taste of Cherry, 1997), which had won the Palme d’Or at the 1997 Cannes Film Festival.¹⁸²

Despite ongoing restrictions, the global recognition of Iranian cinema often overshadowed these limitations, with some even citing them as a factor that spurred creativity in the country’s film industry.¹⁸³ At the same time, hardline factions expressed dissatisfaction with the state of Iranian cinema. In an interview with Khurāsān, director Javād Shamaqdarī complained that the film industry’s economic engine did not revolve around “value-based” films.¹⁸⁴

Beginning in 1998 with Farīdūn Jayrānī’s film Qirmiz (Red), discussions of women’s rights in Iranian cinema gained momentum, frequently highlighted in Khurāsān through interviews with female actors and filmmakers. In October 1999, the newspaper featured an interview with actress Āzītā Hājiyān, who, when asked about the role of women in Iranian cinema, said: “Human rights—and the concept of the human being in their entirety—have not yet been fully and definitively addressed in our cinema… Our filmmakers do not have the courage to depict women’s rights.”¹⁸⁵ A month later, in November 1999, screenwriter and actress Mīnū Farshchī added: “Women in Iranian cinema remain trapped by stereotypes.” ¹⁸⁶

At the same time, debates over hijab emerged as a point of tension between hardline and reformist factions. In 2000, at the “Women and Cinema” (Zan va Sīnimā) conference, a religious scholar warned that “filmmakers should not depict the private sphere of the family.”¹⁸⁷ At the same event, the Deputy for Cinema and Audiovisual Affairs at the Ministry of Culture and Islamic Guidance emphasized that the conference “is not limited to issues such as hijab.”¹⁸⁸ Later that year, director Pūrān Dirakhshandah added: “We have not had the courage to address the fundamental challenges faced by women.”¹⁸⁹

In September 2000, Khurāsān republished portions of a Financial Times report on the success of Iranian cinema at the Venice Film Festival. Alongside praise for Jaʿfar Panāhī’s Dāyirah (The Circle, 2000), the report acclaimed Iranian cinema as a whole and posed the question: “Do we need any more evidence to consider Iran among the most exciting film-producing countries in the world today?”¹⁹⁰

In 2000, Iranian cinema saw the emergence of a new figure, Bahman Qubādī, whose film Zamānī barāyi mastī-i asb’hā(A Time for Drunken Horses) attracted significant attention both domestically and internationally. In November 2000, Khurāsān published a report from a Greek newspaper titled “Iranian Cinema Is Not Limited to Kiyārustamī,” which praised Qubādī’s film and, more broadly, Iranian cinema (Figure 29).¹⁹¹

Figure 29: Report on Iranian films in the Greek newspaper Ta Nea.

In 2000, the debate over vulgarity in Iranian cinema was reignited by director Majīd Majīdī, prompting responses from fellow filmmakers. Abu’lfazl Jalīlī countered, saying: “The only goal that can be attributed to these films is making money; otherwise, if they aim to address the challenges facing the younger generation and the future of society, they are not vulgar at all—in fact, they are commendable.”¹⁹²

Khurāsān closed the 1990s with a report titled “Cinema, one ‘sīn’ of the Haft-Sīn,”¹⁹³ reflecting on the film community over the past decade. Director Dāryūsh Mihrjūyī remarked: “I hope the new year [1380 SH] will bring a revival for Iranian cinema—a cinema that, over these long years, has seldom experienced a true spring of vitality. The spring of cinema lies in its economic growth and flourishing.”¹⁹⁴ Director Pūrān Dirakhshandah added: “Undoubtedly, the new year can begin with the portrayal of the real face of women in Iranian cinema… Hopefully, in 2001, all the promises of officials, policymakers, and those involved in Iranian cinema will be fulfilled, rather than remaining mere slogans.”¹⁹⁵

Word Frequency Chart

Conclusion

As the most significant local media outlet in eastern Iran, the Khurāsān newspaper covered Iranian cinema from the 1950s to the 1990s, actively shaping public perceptions. During this period, the newspaper addressed cinematic transformations through news coverage, moral-social critique, and cultural analysis. In the 1950s, coinciding with the rise of popular Fīlm-fārsī productions, Khurāsān engaged with cinema through technical and moral critiques, often condemning Western imitation and vulgarity while praising nationally and ethically grounded works. The philosophy of cinema and its role in public education also formed part of its early agenda.

During the 1960s, the critiques became more profound. With the emergence of the Iranian New Wave, the newspaper shifted its focus from overt moral concerns toward more intellectual and artistic criticism. Although critics continued to denounce the vulgarity of mainstream commercial films, altering popular taste proved challenging. Coverage of film festivals, the introduction of Western cinema, and recognition of artistically significant films remained consistent editorial priorities. By the 1970s, intellectual discourse had increasingly permeated Iranian cinema, transforming it from a form of entertainment into a medium for articulating social and artistic concerns. In response, Khurāsān evolved into a platform for debate and for cultivating a more informed audience, although some critiques reflected partisan motivations and political agendas. In the years leading up to the 1979 Revolution, moral criticism intensified once again, influenced by the broader revolutionary climate.

According to the newspaper, Iranian cinema underwent a period of stagnation in the 1980s, coinciding with the ascendancy of revolutionary discourse. Following the revolution, the Islamic regime confiscated the newspaper and redirected it toward the promotion of state-oriented cinema. Several journalists were dismissed, and filmmakers were compelled to alter their professional trajectories. Despite censorship and government control, the late 1980s saw a group of filmmakers trying to change Iranian cinema. However, continued government interference prevented the movement from lasting long. During this period, Khurāsān attempted to reflect diverse viewpoints. During the Reform Era of Muhammad Khātamī in the 1990s, the cultural climate became relatively more open, granting filmmakers greater creative latitude. During this period, Khurāsān sought to examine the causes of both stagnation and growth in Iranian cinema through a series of interviews with filmmakers. Nevertheless, Iranian cinema once again entered a period of decline due to renewed political restrictions, technical limitations, and censorship.

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Abbasi, J. & Parniani, M. (2026). Iranian Cinema Through the Eyes of the Press: 1950s–1990s (Case Study: Khurāsān Newspaper). In Cinema Iranica. Encyclopaedia Iranica Foundation https://cinema.iranicaonline.org/article/iranian-cinema-through-the-eyes-of-the-press-1950s-1990s-case-study-khurasan-newspaper/

Abbasi, Javad and Parniani, Milad. "Iranian Cinema Through the Eyes of the Press: 1950s–1990s (Case Study: Khurāsān Newspaper)." Cinema Iranica, Encyclopaedia Iranica Foundation, 2026. https://cinema.iranicaonline.org/article/iranian-cinema-through-the-eyes-of-the-press-1950s-1990s-case-study-khurasan-newspaper/

Abbasi, J. & Parniani, M. (2026). Iranian Cinema Through the Eyes of the Press: 1950s–1990s (Case Study: Khurāsān Newspaper). In Cinema Iranica. Encyclopaedia Iranica Foundation. Available from: https://cinema.iranicaonline.org/article/iranian-cinema-through-the-eyes-of-the-press-1950s-1990s-case-study-khurasan-newspaper/ [Accessed March 9, 2026].

Abbasi, Javad & Parniani, Milad. "Iranian Cinema Through the Eyes of the Press: 1950s–1990s (Case Study: Khurāsān Newspaper)." In Cinema Iranica, (Encyclopaedia Iranica Foundation, 2026) https://cinema.iranicaonline.org/article/iranian-cinema-through-the-eyes-of-the-press-1950s-1990s-case-study-khurasan-newspaper/

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Iranian Cinema Through the Eyes of the Press: 1950s–1990s (Case Study: Khurāsān Newspaper)

Iranian Cinema Through the Eyes of the Press: 1950s–1990s (Case Study: Khurāsān Newspaper)

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