Unveiled

Immigration is everywhere. Migrants are invading “our” fair shores on a daily basis, with a voracity that knows no bounds and an eagerness that knows only of a desire to rape and pillage. Whether or not this is a truism depends on your interpretation of what makes multiculturalism a healthy, functioning organism, as well as to a more than substantial extent, your choice of everyday newsworthy literature. But for all the discussion surrounding immigration throughout the media, little attention has been paid to the less than tangible reality of displacement: the genuine motivations and perturbations, the forced set of oppressive circumstances that prompt change, the emotional cloth wringing that venturing into uncharted territory can entail. Casting aside a lifetime’s worth of assimilated values, traditions and familial ties can be a hugely destabilising experience, almost uniquely so, in its unpredictability and its potential to catalyse untold measures of psychological turmoil and strain. The media favour the precision and convenience that comes with neat typecasting, eschewing any consideration of the aforementioned emotional reasoning that forms the raw nerve of the immigration issue, particularly in an age where punctual prose wins prizes.

Within the first opening scenes of Unveiled, the curtain behind this vacuum of emotional storytelling is gradually drawn open. A young lady of Iranian descent is seen peering out the window of an aeroplane, using the captain’s relayed message of departure from Iranian airspace almost as a first act of freedom – lifting her veil and retreating to the confines of the aircraft toilet for a much needed nicotine fix. Her anxiety, and that of others journeying with her, is palpable, no less so when she arrives at an unnamed German airport to be subjected to interrogation at the hands of the local authorities, where she is subsequently tossed into an airport-site detention centre along with a clutch of refugees facing a similar wearisome plight. Even at this stage, Tabatabai’s portrayal of a woman reluctantly thrust into this estranged circumstance is resolute – her demeanour and delivery evoke a character of strength and determined disposition, aware of the implication of her transgression and the strength of will needed to survive in her new surroundings. Much of this owes not only to her tight-lipped, terse statements but also to her support of a fellow Iranian, a figure almost feverishly preoccupied with the fate of his brother, whom he fears may pay the price for an act of tragic brotherly sacrifice back in the homeland.

Just when all hope is seemingly lost and a sharp-butted denouement to her escape seems near, she finally confides in her compatriot, informing him of the true reason behind her getaway, which we now find is not due to political non-conformism but the societal complications of same-sex relations back in her native Iran. No sooner has the snippet of information been divulged, than she finds her compatriot dead one morning, overcome by guilt at the news of his brother’s death. It is at this point, the veritable axis upon which the film essentially spins, that the story takes on a slightly sub-credible twist, as Tabatabai is seen to don the fallen man’s clothing in an effort to assume the man’s identity. At a hearing with an immigration official two days later, she is granted temporary residence in the Republic of Germany and the film begins to truly gather pace.

Or so one would expect. But for all its commendable socio-political exasperations, Unveiled never really manages to dissect the issues it so painstakingly attempts to bring to the table. There is very little reach into anything that comes close to depicting the head-spinning, emotional tribulations inherent when having to confront identity and sexuality within the suffocating confines of acclimatisation to new surroundings. While Tabatabai’s laconic responses can occasionally be mysterious and exotic within the context of her relationship with the German lady she finds herself gradually attracted to, this same approach lays the foundation of a relationship that itself is wholly formless and unconvincing. Tabatabai has seemingly traded the destructible tendencies of a lesbian relationship compounded by familial entanglements in her native land, with a similarly troublesome affair with a young mother working in a cabbage factory in her newly adopted Germany. Were this a forgivable failure in character alone, it could be allowed to pass, but as the bedrock of the story, it seems difficult to conceive of a character that allows lust to dominate within such sharply consequential conditions.

The willingness to confront issues of identity and sexuality, as well as ill-conceived prejudices towards the East on the part of the West, is so deeply-ingrained attitudinally, that many film makers either shy away from such matters completely or skirt around them in a manner that demonstrates a certain thematic timidity. Angelina Maccarone has unfortunately fallen, albeit gracefully, into the latter. The instances of genuine tenderness and reflection that come with a much longed-for moment of intimacy between Tabatabai and her lover are worthy of graceful commendation and much of the intense character dynamic is similarly pulsating. However, there is a moment right at the film’s end that summarise its shortcomings succinctly. Having lifted the veil on the story completely, a scene unravels with all four main protagonists, providing an opportunity to portray a unique snapshot of the differing perceptions of sexuality, religion, identity and nationality, in a way that no other scene in the film could perhaps have provided with such luminosity. As it happens, the resultant quarrel sparks briefly until the dutiful intervention of the police, who behave with requisite askance at the sight of Tabatabai’s character brawling and jostling out on the street. No sooner has the viewer caught his/her breath, than the film’s final credits roll.

What the film unfortunately lacks is a little more depth, both in character and dialogue. Stripping away a layer of misconception is all very well, but like all those who appreciate the human body in all its forms, what we really want is not just to unveil, but to declothe.