Twenty-two minutes is all The House Is Black needs to knock the wind out of you. Set inside an Iranian leper colony, it sounds like the sort of thing you brace yourself for, yet Forough Farrokhzad approaches it with startling tenderness. Her camera refuses both pity and spectacle. Instead, it finds faces, gestures, small moments of stubborn life.
The poetry and narration could have tipped into pretension, but it doesn’t. It lands like a quiet moral challenge: look properly, and keep looking. By the end, the film feels less like reportage and more like a humane act of witness—gentle, furious, and somehow hopeful.