Pegah Ahangarani’s documentary shows Taraneh Alidoosti’s post-prison body as political testimony, and records her irreversible break with Iran’s official cinema under compulsory hijab.
This documentary, directed by Pegah Ahangarani—well-known actor and documentary filmmaker—was produced exclusively for BBC Persian. Ahangarani, who previously collaborated with Alidoosti in films such as Atomic Heart Mother, has in recent years followed a distinct path through documentaries centered on social and political issues. This work continues that trajectory. Filming likely took place in the months leading up to December 2025, since it captures Alidoosti’s first public appearance after a long period of illness and isolation. The documentary was released on 24 December 2025 (3 Dey 1404) via YouTube and the BBC Persian website, and it quickly became a news event.
The production style is intimate and centered on personal narrative. The core of the work is a direct, unguarded face-to-face conversation with Taraneh Alidoosti, complemented by images from her everyday life (such as driving without hijab) and archival clips. There is no sign of a large production team or complex techniques; this simplicity adds to the authenticity and impact of the story. Given the sensitive conditions of filming—Alidoosti’s recovery from a severe illness and Ahangarani’s recent residence outside Iran—it appears the production was handled carefully and likely in private or secure spaces. While technical details such as budget or production challenges have not been disclosed, the film’s unsparing focus on presenting a truthful and historical account of Alidoosti’s decision to withdraw from Iran’s official cinema under compulsory hijab elevates it beyond a personal portrait and turns it into a political document.
In the film, Alidoosti, referring to women’s rejection of compulsory covering, says that more than ever she feels, as an actor, “like the people.” In a scene where she is driving without hijab, she explains that with this same appearance (without a headscarf) she sits in cafés, takes selfies with people, and says: “They are like me, and I am like them.”
Elsewhere in the documentary, Alidoosti emphasizes:
When “Woman, Life, Freedom” happens, if I show the Iranian woman in that way [in cinema, with compulsory hijab], then I’m no longer like society. This is no longer cinema. Something that lags behind the people is not cinema.
And then, with clarity and courage, she declares that under no circumstances will she act with hijab—even if it costs her a complete withdrawal from Iran’s cinema.
This section is among the most moving moments of the film. It shows her conscious choice to stand with the people rather than return to a cinema that, in her view, no longer reflects the reality of society.
From 15-Year-Old Taraneh to a Slap Against Patriarchy
Alidoosti believes cinema must be “ahead of society,” not behind it. The roles she has chosen portray women not as passive victims, but as active and resistant. I’m Taraneh, 15 (2001/1380, Rasoul Sadr Ameli) was Alidoosti’s first leading role. She plays a solitary, independent teenage girl who faces the challenges of an unwanted pregnancy and the pressures of family and a patriarchal society, and who makes courageous decisions. This film is often seen as a symbol of young women’s voice in Iranian cinema.
In About Elly (2009/1387, Asghar Farhadi), Alidoosti, in the role of Elly, challenges norms around marriage and gender relations; her disappearance exposes the hidden layers of a patriarchal society. In The Salesman (2016/1394, Asghar Farhadi), she plays Rana, a survivor of sexual assault, who resists sexual violence and the social/familial pressures around it, and pursues revenge or justice—themes directly connected to women’s rights and critical of patriarchy. In Leila’s Brothers (2022/1400, Saeed Roustaee), Alidoosti plays Leila, the family’s only daughter, who stands up to a domineering father and brothers, manages the family, and fights for a future. In the film’s unforgettable scene—recorded as a first in Iranian cinema—a woman slaps her father. That scene, too, is now tied to Alidoosti’s name.
In Taraneh, Alidoosti refers to the film Orca (2022/1400, Sahar Mosayebi), her last cinematic role before her arrest and withdrawal from cinema. In this film, she plays Elham Asghari (the real Iranian swimmer who holds a Guinness record), and her swimming scenes in the sea are shown with hijab and full coverage (due to Iran’s cinema regulations). The scene is clearly unrealistic and imposed, because swimming with a headscarf and fully covered clothing appears practically impossible.
Alidoosti points directly to this limitation and says:
At that time [when Orca was made], people understood and accepted this limitation. They knew this hijab wasn’t real; it was compulsory and part of cinema’s rules.
But she continues with emphasis:
But not anymore. After the “Woman, Life, Freedom” movement, people do not accept that we show the Iranian woman in films with compulsory hijab, while in the streets millions of women live without headscarves. Now, if I act in such a scene, I’m no longer like the reality of society.
There is a symbolic scene near the end of the documentary Taraneh in which Taraneh Alidoosti swims alone, in a swimsuit, in a pool in Tehran. After getting out of the water, she looks at the camera with a calm smile.
This scene has drawn much attention, and many have taken it as an echo of Alidoosti’s role in the banned film Orca. The image becomes a symbol of freedom, resistance, and victory over limitations—one of the documentary’s boldest moments.
In the documentary, Alidoosti speaks about her experiences in solitary confinement in Evin Prison (Ward 209) and recounts a deeply affecting moment. She says that in solitary, she spoke through the bars with other women who had spent days (or even weeks) without any news reaching their families. When these women realized they were speaking to Taraneh Alidoosti (a famous actor), they became hopeful, thinking that because of her fame she would be released sooner and could pass their names to their families or let them know they were alive and where they were being held.
Instead, those women, to support her, began singing “Soroode Zan” (Mehdi Yarrahi’s song) from behind the doors, to spread the news of Taraneh’s arrest to other prisoners: “Instead of her, hit my heart; the world becomes Taraneh.”
This part is one of the documentary’s profoundly human moments—one that brings tears of joy and makes the heart tremble with the epic undertones of a tragic yet pride-inducing scene. Alidoosti recounts it with strong emotional force and emphasizes that these experiences are part of why she has chosen to stand with the “Woman, Life, Freedom” movement. This moment not only highlights the condition of women’s wards in Evin, but also becomes a symbol of hope and resistance under isolation.
A Body that Testifies: Illness, Trauma, and the Politics of Visibility
The documentary Taraneh (Pegah Ahangarani, BBC Persian, December 2025) is one of the most important visual documents of the “Woman, Life, Freedom” movement to date. This film is not merely a personal portrait of Taraneh Alidoosti; it is also a historical record of a pivotal moment: Alidoosti’s firm and irreversible decision to step away entirely from Iran’s official cinema as long as compulsory hijab is imposed on women actors. This moment marks a historical point in the relationship between art and power in post-revolutionary Iran.
Alidoosti sits in front of the camera for the first time with a face that still bears the signs of her severe illness (DRESS syndrome and widespread skin shedding). She does not try to hide these changes—except for relatively heavy makeup—nor does she complain about them. This choice itself carries a powerful message: I no longer want to hide anything—neither my face, nor my beliefs, nor my experience of prison.
DRESS syndrome (Drug Reaction with Eosinophilia and Systemic Symptoms) is a rare drug reaction that typically appears weeks to months after starting a medication (such as antibiotics, anticonvulsants, or anti-inflammatory drugs). It can involve high fever, widespread skin rash, and internal organ involvement; in severe cases, the skin peels extensively, transforming the patient’s appearance. In Alidoosti’s case, the illness emerged about six months after her release from Evin Prison. From a psychosomatic perspective, the severe and prolonged stress of imprisonment—solitary confinement, interrogation, fear of the future, and the psychological pressure of political detention—can profoundly weaken the immune system and make a person prone to extreme reactions to ordinary medications. In other words, prison, as a deep bodily-psychic trauma, may have created the groundwork for, or indirectly triggered, this severe autoimmune reaction, even if the direct cause was pharmaceutical.
By recording Alidoosti’s injured and suffering body (neither covered nor turned into an object of pity), the documentary transforms the artist’s body into the main text of struggle and into a political-artistic statement. This image presents Alidoosti’s face not as that of a passive victim, but as a living document of the link between bodily pain and political repression. Her rare, appearance-altering illness—rooted in trauma and immune-system weakening caused by arrest and prison—expresses this truth: state violence is not merely psychological or temporary; it can persist for years, embodied in a destructive and lasting way, as the immune system turns against the body itself. Here, Taraneh’s body leaves the realm of the private and the purely aesthetic and becomes a battlefield, where the marks of illness narrate resistance and carry the meanings of the collective suffering of thousands of political prisoners. This is yet another historical document the film places before us.
A Simple and Brave Document of Resistance and Separation from Power
The film is largely single-voiced: we hear only Alidoosti’s account, and other perspectives (for instance, family, close friends, or other filmmakers and actors, and their reactions to her arrest) are absent. This is a conscious choice that adds to the film’s intimacy, though some may see it as one-sided.
Because of security conditions, the filming is very simple and limited, with little visual variety or extensive archival material.
All these shortcomings are not only understandable; they themselves carry documentary value, showing the challenges Iran’s underground cinema confronts.
Overall, Taraneh goes beyond a personal documentary: it is a record of civil resistance, a loving confession to the people, and a declaration of official separation from an imposed cinematic structure. The film shows how a well-known actor, accepting all the costs (prison, illness, isolation, the possible end of a career), decided to stand with ordinary people and become “like them.”
This documentary will almost certainly be recognized in coming years as one of the most important visual works connected to the “Woman, Life, Freedom” movement—not because of complex cinematic technique, but because of its courage, honesty, and human depth.
