With Inside Amir, which earned the GDA Director’s Award at this year’s Giornate degli Autori in Venice, filmmaker Amir Azizi offers a poignant meditation on memory, love, and the pull between departure and belonging. The story centers on a young man in Tehran, lingering between unfinished conversations and the weight of a choice he has yet to make: whether to leave his homeland or remain. His bicycle, ever-present on the city’s streets, becomes both anchor and witness, holding the traces of his past. As the prospect of reuniting with his girlfriend Tara in Italy draws closer, the narrative reveals how their relationship once spared him from a family trip that ended in tragedy, binding her presence to the very life he was given. AM: Inside Amir is a meditation on the choice between staying and leaving. What drew you to explore this liminal space, and why did you choose to tell the story through such a quiet, reflective lens?
Amir Azizi: Yes, you are absolutely right. This film is like a meditation. Inside, Amir is calm and at peace, but on the outside he appears restless and anxious, much like the visible face of our society and daily life in Tehran, full of tension and unease. Every day Amir copes with unpleasant and discouraging news, yet within himself he struggles to keep a sense of calmness and hope alive for the future. That is why I preferred to tell a story different from the usual turbulent narratives coming from this geography. Here, alongside the daily turmoil, uncertainty, and anxiety, there is also calmness. We live, and we try to hold on to hope more than ever. Because what we truly have is hope, and I do not want our lives to be consumed by fear and anxiety.
AM: You describe the bicycle as Amir’s one constant companion, a symbol of memory and survival. How did you use this object to embody both personal history and emotional resilience?
Amir Azizi: For me, the bicycle symbolizes being in motion. And movement means living with hope and continuing on despite difficulties. Like the path of life itself, one must keep moving, and at times even move faster, to pass through everything, both the bad and the good. What lies ahead of us is salvation. I believe that with this constantly moving bicycle, the characters in the film one by one reach a kind of salvation; they are able to witness, process, and regulate their deep emotions, and then continue living. In the end, Amir’s personal history is distilled into three elements: Tehran, his friends, and his bicycle, which at once carry the past and make the future possible.
AM: The film swings between past and present. What cinematic language or techniques did you use to reflect this fluidity of time and emotion?
Amir Azizi: In portraying past and present, I deliberately avoided using any specific or striking technique, because the film journeys into a past that is not too distant. I did not want to draw a rigid line between past and present, but rather to focus on a sense of continuity and flow. I believed it was important to show that Amir is wrestling with wounds and memories from a recent past, one that is still close enough to feel present. He must stand strong and move forward. That is why past and present in the film are experienced as a single current, not two separate realms. The past gently seeps into the now, and the present still bears the colors of the past.
AM: You’ve said the film avoids slogans or overt political statements, focusing instead on human vulnerability and presence. Was it challenging to maintain that simplicity in a context where migration is often politicized?
Amir Azizi: Yes, it has certainly been and still is challenging. In this story, we see a human being who is not overly concerned with politics, who stays away from clichés, and who is instead deeply entangled with his human attachments: his friends, the streets of his city, his sense of belonging to a place he loves, and all the bonds that were formed there, bonds from which detaching is immensely painful and difficult. Ultimately, politics remains in the background for me and for Amir, the protagonist. What comes to the forefront is human vulnerability and lived experience; that of a person born and living in a geography where leaving eventually becomes inevitable. This very separation, this quiet act of detachment, becomes the most powerful political statement of all.
AM: The relationship with Tara carries both love and a sense of fate, as she became tied to the life Amir was spared. How did you approach this delicate balance between intimacy and destiny?
Amir Azizi: As you mentioned, love often means a transformation of both destiny and essence. Tara is not only Amir’s savior, but she has also played a vital role in shaping his humanity. The balance you refer to, in my view, lies in the sincerity of this love. A deep and genuine love between these two characters, and indeed any such love between two people, can elevate the human condition and destiny to a higher level. In that space, one becomes a better human being. The world, too, can learn from such love, perhaps becoming a more beautiful place, and ultimately a lasting balance can be restored.
AM: What does it mean for you to present such a deeply personal yet universal story at Venice, and how do you hope audiences, Middle Eastern and international, will connect with Amir’s inner journey?
Amir Azizi: I am truly glad that this profoundly human film will have its premiere at such a prestigious festival as Giornate degli Autori in Venice. For me, it carries a very special and personal meaning. As for the audience, I believe that when a personal story is told sincerely and without clichés, it can be compelling. If, through Inside Amir, an inner journey begins even for a small number of viewers, then this film will have served as a beginning, a step toward clarity within each person who gazes at the cinema screen and witnesses this story. Whether in Venice or anywhere else the film is shown, I hope this will be the case.