At the International Film Festival Rotterdam (IFFR), reality hit harder than fiction. Actress Soheila Golestani, a jury member and star of The Seed of the Sacred Fig, was barred from leaving Iran -accused of spreading propaganda. Turkish editor Erhan Örs also couldn’t attend; despite his film being co-produced by the Netherlands, his visa was denied without explanation. But the reasons for their absence go beyond bureaucracy - all knew why they were not there.

Is there a better way to talk about the rise of authoritarianism in cinema than by confronting its harsh reality?

Four directors did just that – one by one they all brought a hostile perspective that made everyone in the hall quiet in disbelief, on an early morning in the Van Chapellen Hall at the International Film Festival Rotterdam (IFFR).

The first to speak was the actor and producer Pier Giorgio Bellocio (U.S. Palmese, 2024) from Italy. At first glance, European cinema seems immune to censorship. Yet, as Italian producer explained, the country's rising conservatism is tightening its grip - especially on independent and low-budget productions. While freedom of speech technically exists, films that challenge the ruling party or lack commercial appeal face increasing barriers. So much so, that attempts were made to alter the law to restrict the types of movies, allowed for funding and production – if before national funding was elected by an unbiased commission, now a jury selected and hired by the government are the ones to green light film productions. Therefore, small movies propagating liberal ideas have been sent to the back seat, while large-scale films, especially those that present the former glory of Italy and its politics are offered generous funding.

As concerning as this sounded, in South America, matters are a bit worse. “Our president is – in fact – a bully.” Albertina Carri (¡Caigan las rosas blancas!, 2025) carried on the conversation to reveal the means of censorship in Argentina, “The government is not governing for the people, it is governing for commercialism." The director is known for her independent, political, outspoken films that shed light on marginalized stories – safe to say not the favourite form of filmmaking for the Argentinian system. Everything that does not bear huge financial profits and international success is being punished for it – the government restricts funding to extinguish them, not only the production but each person individually. However, as Carri grew up under dictatorship, those restrictions are something she is used to. Instead, she and her colleagues find other ways to thrive – either through co-productions, international funding, or even modifying the language and stories, so they conceal the rebellious ideas she likes to convey. Although this makes her part of a 5th New Argentinian Film Wave which differs from its predecessors with its outreach and exposure internationally, Carri concludes that cinema, especially art cinema, is turning into a luxury, which sadly causes people to become culturally poorer.

In Turkey, as Fırat Yücel (Seen Unseen: An Anthology Of (Auto)Censorship, 2024) puts it, there is multifaceted censorship not only of funding, but ideas, people, and identities. “You never know what will happen if you screen a movie you have made without permission – sometimes nothing happens, other times they put you to jail for 18 years.” Film festivals and freedom of expression also take a toll – many Kurdish and LGBTQIA+ are cancelled, and each effort to bring them to life might cost you prison or exile. Yücel also listed for what reasons a person working in film can be put to prison – from even only thinking about producing one like in the case of the producer Çiğdem Mater who was sentenced to 18 years in prison, to putting up a poster or merely watching it. He even shares an anecdote of how a colleague of his was accused of being an investigator for a terrorist organization just because she briefly captured a policeman in the distance of a shot in her documentary. And when it comes to the judicial system – “the conversations held in the court are more professional than the ones here – the judges know everything about dolly ins and outs, ISO, quality, and so on”, the filmmaker jokes. The censorship conditions the producers to self-censor not only to keep themselves and their crews safe but also to silence them in an Orwellian style which few dare to oppose.

“It is nice how we started from ‘Yes, we don’t get any funding’, to ‘Ah, yeah, prison, it is very normal for here” the Iranian director Mohammad Rasoulof of the Oscar-nominated for Best International Film The Seed of the Sacred Fig (2024) takes the mic with a smile. “As a filmmaker, I have been to prison a few times”, and he continues to inform that this has taught him how to get around the prison community – knowledge that he has applied when making his movies. He shares how his career has been 15 years of struggles with the Iranian jurisdiction, and he accepts that he is neither the first, nor the last, but emphasizes that he is proud to be a part of this persisting force.

As he puts it, there are three routes that an Iranian filmmaker can take – the safe and legal way, where permission for producing, and later, distributing the movie is granted by the cultural minister. Second, you write a movie that you know goes against the beliefs of the government, so you just decide to put it back in the drawer. And the last one – you know the government won’t like it, but you make it anyway. While Rasoulof was writing the script, he kept telling himself that it was impossible to make – the script handles taboo topics in Iran in too direct of a manner, and it is too long which increases the risk for his crew and the chances of getting caught by police. Hence, he created an alternative script – one that is easier to execute. He showed both scripts to all his colleagues – and they were unanimous that the original script was the one that should be produced.

The director shares that during production, they felt like criminals – no phones and calls or card transactions were allowed on set to prevent tracking from the government. A fake script was always ready to replace the actual one, and the director shot some of the scenes hiding in a car two streets away, in case someone came to investigate. Additionally, the 'Women's Life Freedom' uprising gave the crew not just courage - but a cause worth risking everything for. In fact, the actresses oppose the censorship by refusing to wear a hijab, which is compulsory for any woman appearing on screen.

Now, the movie has travelled all over the world and has shed light on situations in Iran that would otherwise remain untold. As a result, the entire cast is accused of spreading propaganda and is either in exile or waiting on their verdicts, on which the government will decide after the outcome of the Oscars. When asked if the film winning would make any difference, Rasoulof responds: “I don’t know what the reaction to the regime would be. However, the problem is not in what we said in our film, the problem is that rebellion is contagious and inspiring which gives people hope.”

This hope always lingers in Iranian art but is too silent to be heard. “Usually, people under a long time of oppression develop a new language, ‘an aesthetic of oppression’. For example, I used to like using metaphors in my movies, thinking they are poetic, but I realized that I was using them as a shield of what I wanted to say - I was feeding into the aesthetic” – shares the filmmaker. To counter this, now he has become way more direct in his storytelling, only using metaphors as a token of courage and bravery, rather than a shield.

When making movies is not only for the sake of art, but it is weaponized as a tool to persevere the repression, we should put an effort to do something about it before the pure form of art is lost, and voices drowned in censorship.

Support filmmakers at risk. Visit the International Coalition for Filmmakers at Risk, sign a petition, and amplify their voices. In the fight against censorship, silence is not an option.