Mahnaz Mohammadi, an Iranian film-maker and women's rights activist, has survived multiple arrests, solitary confinement, and torture at the hands of the Iranian regime. Her new fictional drama Roya, which she wrote and directed, draws directly on her own and others' lived experiences of prison. The film is a harrowing but not graphic portrayal of a university professor accused of inciting students to burn their headscarves, held for months in solitary confinement in Evin prison. Mohammadi describes her identity as shattered after imprisonment: 'The Mahnaz who went to prison was a different person. When I came out, my identity was shattered.'
Survival and Defiance
Mohammadi recalls meeting one of her first interrogators years after an early arrest. 'Do you know what he said to me?' she says. 'He said he told his colleagues that after doing all those things, if I were going back behind the camera, it meant they couldn't do anything with me. When I heard this from his mouth, I thought: “He’s right! Nobody can hurt me.”' Despite this, she remains constantly vigilant, having left Iran to finish her film and now living in Europe on a three-year visa. A journalist recently disclosed her city of residence, prompting her to consider moving again. 'I’m not afraid of dying but I don’t feel safe,' she says.
The Making of Roya
For years, Mohammadi wanted to make a film about prison but hesitated, partly due to reactions from friends who rolled their eyes or questioned her motives. 'They’d say: “Do you want credit for being in prison?” I’d say to them: “You don’t have any idea of what happened in there.”' This left her more isolated. Now, Roya—starring Turkish actor Melisa Sözen to avoid endangering an Iranian actor—depicts the terrifying reality of solitary confinement and torture. The first 20 minutes are shot entirely from Roya's point of view, with the audience under the chador, barely able to see. Details include blood smeared on lift buttons and a prisoner begging to breastfeed her newborn. The sound design is battering. Throughout, Roya utters not a word.
Autobiographical Details
The film opens with Roya reading graffiti on her cell walls, a detail Mohammadi describes as autobiographical. 'It helped me get through isolation,' she says. 'Then one day, I stole a pen from my interrogator and I started writing for the next woman – “I was here. Now I’m not. You will not stay for ever. I’m gone. You will be gone. Don’t worry.”' After her release, a woman imprisoned in the same cell later approached her and said, 'Mahnaz, you saved my life!'
The Cost of Imprisonment
During one interrogation, Mohammadi was informed that her father had died—he was told she had died and was arrested. 'They tortured both of us at the same time,' she whispers, her eyes filling with tears. 'I felt so guilty. I was thinking I should kill myself. Because if I get out, how can I look into the eyes of my family?' After release, she spent almost two years at home, barely seeing anyone, supported by a few friends—mostly women. Prison destroyed her trust; during interrogation, she learned that some friends and colleagues had informed on her, and she was played recordings.
Defying the Regime
Banned from making films since her 2019 debut feature Son-Mother, Mohammadi is not alone among Iranian directors risking everything. Earlier this month, Tehran's revolutionary court upheld a one-year prison sentence for Oscar-nominee Jafar Panahi. Mohammad Rasoulof escaped to Germany in 2024 after being sentenced to eight years and flogging. Mohammadi shot exterior scenes for Roya in Iran without official permission; prison scenes were shot in Tbilisi, Georgia. She prefers not to discuss how she worked, fearing for colleagues. 'I never think about limitations,' she says. 'As a woman, since you are born, they put the scarf on your hair. And they don’t put just a scarf on our heads. They put limitations on our way of thinking. That’s why I never think about the limitations and censorship. I only think about what I can do.'
Personal Background and Future
Mohammadi grew up in a cultured, middle-class home; both sides of her family are teachers and university professors. Her father, a businessman, welcomed her after her first release, saying, 'Amazing Mahnaz. Now you’re really my daughter.' She got a taste of independence early: at 15, she won a story competition on children's radio and worked there for four years. At 18, she moved out on her own in Tehran. She studied psychology and later worked at a film company. Her debut documentary, Women Without Shadows, about a women's homeless shelter, was released in 2003.
Hope for Iran
Mohammadi plans to return to Iran. 'I’m not a refugee in Europe. My visa is for three years,' she says. When asked about seeking asylum, she replies, 'But I’m not just a film-maker. For so many years, I have been fighting for women’s rights.' She tells her mother: 'Mum, just imagine I’m a soldier, but I don’t have a gun; I have a pen and I have a camera.' She is hopeful about the future, citing a student who said, 'Don’t worry Mahnaz. We are gaining power for the last attack on them. Now is our time. We will do it.' Mohammadi concludes, 'The new generation has such a big will to get rid of them. It will definitely happen. The Islamic republic is finished.'
