Film has the power to capture moments and preserve them for eternity, but anyone who goes back to watch can only see what takes place within the frame of the camera. There isn’t necessarily context about the person holding the camera and choosing what to shoot, or about the world in that particular moment that has brought everyone to where they are. In her latest documentary and first feature, Iranian filmmaker Pegah Ahangarani examines her childhood and the formative experiences she had that led her to the work she does and a great understanding of what she went through as a child which couldn’t possibly have made as much sense to her then as it does now.
Ahangarani grew up idolizing her father, whose passion for filmmaking was replaced by a strong support of Ayatollah Khomeini in 1979, only to become disillusioned when he realized that the man and movement he had worked so hard to help to power wasn’t what had been promised. She’s haunted by memories of “performances” she put on befriending a teacher who was later fired and the loss of her uncle to suicide after his arrest following participation in 1999 student protests. As she becomes a mother herself, she reflects back on what drove her parents, both filmmakers, to make the choices they did and how their allegiances and commitments in turn both rewarded and betrayed them.
As someone who spent much of her youth as an actress, Ahangarani is a fascinating figure with a true insight into what it’s like to play a part. That’s how she treats everything she’s been through, describing how she wanted a particular role and therefore stepped into it, aware of what a close relationship with a kindly teacher might mean for her and how making friends with the right kids could enable her to gain additional parents who would be more present and doting, longing for a perfect child that she could pretend to be. In her narration, she doesn’t offer explicit judgment on her behavior, but it’s hardly something she seems proud of, instead reflecting on how that opportunism ultimately benefited her but brought consequences for other people, namely the teacher who lost her career as a result of behavior deemed objectionable (though certainly nowhere near problematic in progressive societies).
Ahangarani uses a great deal of archive footage to piece together a narrative that’s assisted by the sound of her own voice, breaking her story into five distinct chapters. What she doesn’t include is just as critical as what she does, as she agonizes over having precious few photos of her uncle Rashid and searches desperately for a glimpse of her in recordings of the protests where he might have passed by in any given frame. She’s aware that what lives on is only what someone chose to pause and capture, and that she wasn’t the one making those decisions, trusting instead what the people who taught her everything about filmmaking opted to deem important.
Being in Iran over the course of Ahangarani’s life has not been easy, and she in fact no longer lives there, yearning for the chance to return and clinging to memories of places and senses to fully remember. Her film is an insightful and stirring meditation on what it means to be an active participant in something, whether it’s a movement or a movie, and she’s well aware that she’s not going to be able to answer all her questions or achieve a comfortable degree of satisfaction from looking back at the relics she has left of the past. Rehearsals for a Revolution is extremely specific but also quite potent and relatable to anyone watching who doesn’t have a completely accurate record of their histories, even if what they’ve endured is far less harrowing and painful than what Ahangarani and Iranian society have been through over the past half century.
Movie Rating: 8/10
Rehearsals for a Revolution makes its Canadian premiere in the Centrepiece section at the 2026 Toronto International Film Festival and is set to open theatrically at the end of 2026.
