At the Venice Film Festival, Iranian actress Laleh Marzban accepted an award for best actress and dedicated it to the women of her country — a gesture of solidarity that, upon reaching home, was met not with celebration but with the full machinery of state condemnation. Her film, a story of women imprisoned within their own household across three generations, had already named something the Iranian authorities preferred unnamed. In dedicating her prize aloud, she crossed a threshold that art alone had not yet crossed. The response reveals an enduring truth: that in certain political climates,
Iranian actress faces regime backlash after dedicating Venice award to women's freedom
Iranian women face systemic imprisonment and oppression within families, as depicted in the film and referenced in the actress's speech about women paying 'the highest price for even the smallest measure of freedom.'
We can only make one step at a time, one step towards our objective.
Mark
So she won an award for acting in a film about women being imprisoned by their father, and then she dedicated that award to women in Iran. That seems like a straightforward connection.
Mimi
It is. The film is about patriarchal control—three generations of women locked in their rooms. She played a woman trying to escape. And in her speech, she said Iranian women had paid the highest price for freedom. It's a direct line.
Luke
But did she say anything explicitly political? Did she name the government, or specific policies?
Mimi
No. She spoke in generalities—women paying a price, Iranians living through difficult days. She didn't attack anyone by name.
Mark
So why did the Iranian government respond so harshly?
Mimi
Because the implication was clear enough. A film about a father imprisoning his daughters, accepted by an Iranian actress who then frames it as a statement about her country—that reads as a critique of how Iran treats women.
Luke
The government statement said she presented a "one-sided narrative." Is that fair? Does the film show the father's perspective, or is it entirely from the women's point of view?
Mimi
The source doesn't say. But the government's complaint wasn't really about the film's balance. It was about the narrative being told outside Iran, to a Western audience, in a way that makes Iran look bad.
Mark
And the state media went much further than the official statement.
Mimi
Much further. They called her despicable, said she'd been deceived by enemies, demanded she be banned from working. One outlet even tried to redirect attention by saying she should have mentioned a U.S. missile strike instead.
Luke
That last move is interesting—it's not defending the film, it's saying she picked the wrong victims to care about.
Mimi
Exactly. It's a way of saying: your concern for women is selective, therefore illegitimate.
Mark
What happens to her now?
Mimi
That's unclear. She's won an international award, which gives her some protection. But she may not be able to work in Iran, and the government has made clear she's on the wrong side of a line.
Luke
And we don't know if she's still in Venice, or if she's gone home, or what her actual situation is right now.
Mimi
No. The reporting ends with the backlash. What comes next is still unfolding.
Il Polso
- Marzban's acceptance speech at Venice — a quiet dedication to Iranian women paying 'the highest price for even the smallest measure of freedom' — ignited an immediate and coordinated backlash from Iranian state institutions.
- Iran's Supreme Council of the Cultural Revolution issued a formal condemnation, accusing her of reducing Iranian women to 'western stereotypes' and framing her words as a betrayal of art's social responsibility.
- State media personalities escalated the attack with personal invective, calling her hypocritical and despicable, while others demanded she be barred from working in Iran or prevented from re-entering the country.
- The backlash echoes a parallel case from the same festival, where a documentary about Gaza prompted Israeli legal threats against its directors — suggesting a widening global pattern of states punishing artists for naming inconvenient truths.
- Marzban herself had anticipated the stakes, framing her work before the storm as 'one small step' toward a common objective — the language of someone who understood that hope and risk are inseparable.
At the Venice Film Festival, Iranian actress Laleh Marzban accepted an award for best actress and dedicated it to the women of her country — a gesture of solidarity that, upon reaching home, was met not with celebration but with the full machinery of state condemnation. Her film, a story of women imprisoned within their own household across three generations, had already named something the Iranian authorities preferred unnamed. In dedicating her prize aloud, she crossed a threshold that art alone had not yet crossed. The response reveals an enduring truth: that in certain political climates, the act of bearing witness is itself treated as a form of transgression.
Laleh Marzban stood at Venice last Saturday and accepted the best actress prize in the Orizzonti competition for her role in Falling House, a film by Mohsen Gharaei about three generations of women locked inside their home by a controlling patriarch. In her acceptance speech, delivered in Farsi, she dedicated the award to the women of Iran who have paid the highest price for even the smallest measure of freedom, and urged her compatriots not to abandon hope.
In the film, Marzban plays Ensi, a young woman who tells her family she intends to leave Iran for modeling work in Turkey. Her father responds by locking the women of the household in their rooms — a last, desperate grip on an authority already slipping. The story spans three generations, each caught in the same domestic trap.
By Thursday, the Iranian state had responded. The Supreme Council of the Cultural Revolution issued a formal statement condemning her remarks as a one-sided narrative that reduced Iranian women to stereotypes desired by western circles. The language was bureaucratic and absolute. State media then sharpened the attack considerably: one IRIB journalist called her 'two-faced, hypocritical, despicable and miserable.' An IRIB actress criticized her for not dedicating her speech instead to children killed in a U.S. missile strike. A Qur'an expert on state television said she had been deceived by the enemy. The Student News Network called for the ministry of culture to bar her from re-entering the country.
Before the storm broke, Marzban had spoken carefully at the Venice premiere about what her work might mean at home. She described her contribution as a small step toward a common objective, the language of someone who understood that hope and exposure travel together.
Her case is not isolated. At the same festival, the directors of NAZA — a documentary about Israeli mass killing of civilians in Gaza — faced Israeli government threats of new laws to strip citizenship from those who 'smear' Israeli soldiers. The mechanisms differ: one state reaches for legal instruments, the other for media denunciation and professional exclusion. But the intent is the same — to establish that certain stories cannot be told by people who wish to remain in their homelands.
Laleh Marzban stood at the Venice Film Festival last Saturday and accepted an award for best actress in the Orizzonti competition, a sidebar dedicated to emerging talent. She had won the prize for her role in Falling House, Mohsen Gharaei's film about three generations of women locked inside their own home by the family patriarch. In her acceptance speech, delivered in Farsi, Marzban dedicated the award to "the women of my country who have paid the highest price for even the smallest measure of freedom." She spoke of Iranians living through some of their most difficult days, but urged them not to abandon hope.
The film itself is a portrait of patriarchal collapse and resistance. Marzban plays Ensi, a woman in her twenties who tells her family she intends to leave Iran, to pursue modeling work in Turkey. Her father, Rashid, responds by locking her and the other women in the household into their rooms—a final, desperate assertion of authority over a family structure he can no longer control. The story moves across three generations, each trapped in the same domestic prison.
By Thursday, Iran's Supreme Council of the Cultural Revolution, a conservative body appointed by the supreme leader, had issued a formal statement. The council condemned Marzban's remarks as "presenting a one-sided narrative of Iran's proud society." Without naming her directly, referring only to "recent statements and behaviour made at the Venice film festival," the statement argued that reducing Iranian women to "the stereotypes desired by western circles" violated art's responsibility to raise awareness and serve society. The language was measured, bureaucratic, and absolute.
But the official condemnation was only the beginning. State-affiliated media outlets amplified the attack with language far sharper. Zahra Chekhmaghi, a journalist and presenter for the Islamic Republic of Iran Broadcasting, called Marzban "a two-faced person, self-interested, hypocritical, despicable and miserable." Another IRIB personality, actress Zhila Sadeghi, criticized Marzban for not instead dedicating her speech to children killed in a U.S. missile strike on an elementary school in Minab on February 28. On state television, a Qur'an expert said the actress had been "deceived by the enemy" and called on the government to prevent her from working in Iran. The Student News Network urged the ministry of culture to bar her from re-entering the country.
When asked at the Venice premiere how Falling House would be received at home, Marzban had offered a measured response. "This question is very important for me as an actress, and as all other women in Iran, whether they be doctors, artists, whatever profession women can perform," she said. "We can only make one step at a time, one step towards our objective. I have made my small part. I have given my contribution. I really hope many other people can make small steps towards our common objective." She had framed her work as incremental, collaborative, hopeful—the language of someone aware of the stakes.
The backlash against Marzban mirrors a broader pattern emerging from this year's Venice festival. Another film, the Guardian-produced documentary NAZA, about Israeli mass killing of civilians in Gaza, prompted Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu to announce plans for new laws allowing citizenship to be stripped from people who "smear" Israeli soldiers. The directors, Yuval Abraham and Rachel Szor, have faced a parallel campaign. Both cases involve filmmakers addressing geopolitical wounds through art, and both have triggered state-level responses designed to silence or punish. The difference in scale and mechanism is significant—one involves legal threats, the other media denunciation and professional exclusion—but the intent is the same: to establish that certain stories cannot be told, or at least not by people who wish to remain in their home countries.
Citazioni salienti
We can only make one step at a time, one step towards our objective. I have made my small part. I have given my contribution.— Laleh Marzban, when asked how the film would be received in Iran
Reducing Iranian women to the stereotypes desired by western circles is not in line with the awareness-raising mission and social commitment of art.— Iran's Supreme Council of the Cultural Revolution
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