Soheil Beiraghi’s new film Outcry (Bidad) is not merely a cinematic work; it is the echo of silenced voices, a record of resistance. Set in an Iran where women are forbidden from singing solo in public, the story begins with a young woman named Seti taking her voice to the streets, illustrating how an individual act can transform into a collective symbol. Sarvin Zabetian’s performance, imbued with rage and vulnerability, elevates Seti from a character to the voice of a generation.
The film’s production process is as striking as its subject: scenes shot clandestinely without state permission reflect the director’s courage and the boundless energy of independent cinema. This approach lends the film not only political weight but also a sense of tension; viewers feel the looming threat of an unseen surveillance beyond the camera’s frame. Beiraghi’s raw and unpolished aesthetic reinforces the story’s authenticity, opting for the cold, hard truth over exaggerated dramatization.
Outcry depicts an individual struggle for freedom evolving into a societal resistance. It shows how a single voice breaking the silence can connect different generations, culminating in a collective outcry. On one side, the quiet submission of older generations to authority; on the other, the defiance of younger ones, amplified through the tools of the digital age. This contrast transforms the film into not just a portrait but a document of its era.
The awards and praise it has garnered at international festivals prove Outcry’s powerful resonance with global audiences. Some critics describe it as “a hymn full of rage and passion”; others note that it is “not polished, but all the more sincere for it.” Ultimately, the film does more than tell a story—it imposes a responsibility on its audience: to perpetuate the silence or amplify the voice.
