If pop culture is a measure of cultural visibility, then Iranian Americans have been invisible for decades. Of course, there was Iran itself, hardly invisible. But as a teenager, I knew my reality, one far from hostage crises and contra trials, was never going to make it pop culturally; in fact, I would have bet my little hyphenated life against the very moment of pop cultural breakthrough we're finally reaching now cartier love bracelet price 2017.
Back then, every time a bit of Iran broke through cartier love bracelet knock off, it was an event. In 1991, when I was 13, "Not Without My Daughter" came out the true story of American Betty Mahmoody (played by Sally Field) who was essentially kidnapped by her abusive Iranian husband while on a visit to Iran. I still remember my family's nave moment of rejoicing at the trailer Gidget had married an Iranian! But after 45 seconds the voiceover's tune changed: "He swore they would be safe. They would be happy. They would be free to leave. He lied." Apparently Gidget's "crime of being an American" was being met with the horrific punishment of living in Iran forever! On the screen were suddenly bombs, women in veils screaming. It was a horror movie about Iran. We were Freddy Krueger. I went to school the next day filled with shame, as if everyone would be thinking I was a Gidget killer.
The next time I caught mention of Iran in any cinematic sense was four years later, when "Clueless" came out, about the life and times of a spoiled 90210 Valley Girl, Cher. I still remember doing a mental happy dance when Cher, pointing to a cloud of Cartier, Armani and Aqua Net, declared, "And that's the Persian mafia. You can't hang with them unless you have a BMW." What a point for the team, I thought!
By then I knew Beverly Hills High was filled with "Tehrangelenos" denizens of Westwood and Beverly Hills colonized by Iranian culture but to have Hollywood say this, well, take that, Gidget! Iran had gone from the land of blood and bombs, prayers and veils, to Iranian America, a haven of big hair, bling, allah who alla wha ing, material girls and boys.
In the mid to late '90s the closest Iran US relations came to a golden age since the '70s, thanks to moderate mullah Khatami's reign there were few other popular movie references, but the big city indie set was hot on Iranian arthouse cinema: Kiarostami, Majidi, Panahi and Makhmalbaf. Quick to become Cannes critics darling cartier silver love bracelet, much of the novelty of the 90s Iranian arthouse was a cinema of restriction, the artistry of necessity, what happens when a government won't allow its greatest minds to visit, say, the simplest expressions of female sexuality. My father made them mandatory viewing and I'd often fall asleep in the theater, immune to anything that didn't involve MTV editing, hunks, or Terminators. Plus, none of the kids at school knew about these bleak yet beautiful arty knockouts. The tree was falling in the woods, but only Iranians and the film critics who love them were around to hear the sound.
Iranians, left outside of the 9/11 conversation, began to leak fairly seamlessly into the best and worst of pop culture. In 2003, veteran Iranian actress Shohreh Aghadashloo starred in "The House of Sand and Fog," for which she became the first Iranian nominated for an Academy Award (although two years later the pendulum swung back when she played a member of a terrorist family on the hit TV show "24"). In 2005, the best picture winner, " Crash," featured Persian characters and Persian dialogue. Two years later, MTV's "The Real World: Sydney" included a whiny Iranian American cast member, and even "90210" cast an Iranian.
Worst moment yet: 2006 action film mess "300" outraged Iranians around the world for its depiction of demonic Persian warriors. Best moment yet: In 2007, "Persepolis," the French animated film based on Marjane Satrapi's graphic novel about her Iranian childhood, was released to widespread, deserved acclaim.