A 12-year-old orphan with a habit of seeking out his potential parents takes his friend along on a journey through the wastelands on the outskirts of Tehran. Seemingly a children’s folk tale, Safar is so visually singular that it evades easy breakdown. It is allegorical, but allegory is the engine; visual density the result. When one speaks of Bahram Beyzaie, one speaks of a maze of citations. While along the way, various forms of image- making are evoked – movie posters, peep show, photography – the search for parents becomes a search for the primal image from which the film has emerged: steps for Eisenstein, architecture for Murnau, a crippled man for Buñuel, wheels for John Ford. An agonizing dream bordering on a nightmare, the film overflows with excess. Objects and people multiply rapidly, growing like mushrooms in a landscape so devastated by dirt and pollution that it becomes an environmental plea. In the smoggy, hazardous zones of abandoned objects – old wooden doors, carriages – a country has discarded its history at a frantic pace without replacing it with anything new.

Ehsan Khoshbakht

In the Colombian-Venezuelan Andes, a peasant works the land under exploitative conditions to ensure the survival of his family. His son is ill, his wife is pregnant, and he reproduces the violence that surrounds him. With no money for medical treatment, one night he gets drunk and is arrested. In jail, in a burst of fury, he rebels against the town’s political boss in the only way he can. La paga is a pioneering work of Latin American social and political cinema, released in 1962 – the same year as Glauber Rocha’s debut film Barravento – and anticipating movements such as the Third Cinema of Getino and Solanas. Influenced by Italian Neorealism and Soviet cinema, it uses the archetypal representation of characters and the social and economic forces they embody, drawn from director Ciro Durán’s own childhood observations. Upon its completion, La paga was denounced by the government of Rómulo Betancourt as “subversive”, with “moral, anti-religious, and political objections” and accused of going “against the constitutional order prevailing in Venezuela”. These accusations led to a boycott that prevented the film’s screening at international festivals. This restoration is dedicated to the memory of Esther Durán and, of course, to our father Ciro Durán, who with this film began a lifelong commitment to Colombian and Latin American cinema through directing, producing, union organising, promoting public policy, and fostering co-productions across the region.

Vladimir Durán