A star you have never heard of. The sex symbol of her era. A pioneer in acting, singing, and dancing in almost a hundred movies.
Her film entrance usually takes place on a stage in a café. She snakes her arms in the air, rotates her hips, gestures boastfully toward her breasts, and cuts the air with her body’s curves. She then performs a symbolic, sensual, seductive walk across the stage, making slow or quick passionate whirling movements. Each voluptuous move incites the audience, and each feigned look of innocence in her eyes rivets them to their seats.
She is Forouzan, a name that means “shining star.” The film heroine who vanished without a trace while still in her prime.
I had been largely unaware of her cinematic works apart from Croesus’ Treasure, a popular black-and-white film in which she played a leading role. Being able to work remotely throughout the pandemic years and having more time on my hands, I made a hobby of watching movies from the sixties and seventies known as Filmfarsi. Forouzan had a recurring presence in the genre, and her talent seemed to jump right off the screen. She was regularly cast as the leading lady, possessing impeccable dramatic and comedic timing. Her trademark was the sexual suggestiveness in her eyes.
In Filmfarsi, female leads often sang and danced, usually portraying the role of a raghaseh or cabaret dancer. However, the dancer was not fully appreciated for her art, as the term raghaseh had a double connotation. A cabaret girl was seen as a harlot. Although the men’s eyes were always on her, she was never considered “pure” enough to take home—in the film plots, the male protagonist would often “save” her from cabarets and “corruption.” She would have to abandon her artistic persona to become a wife.
Female performing artists who embodied subversive sensuality or sexual desire were deemed a threat to traditional society. In the wake of the Islamic revolution in 1979, they were denounced as temptresses and slapped with a sentence of perpetual silence. Movie theaters showing images of female sex symbols were set on fire. Condemned on a cultural, social, and political level, these women paid the price of their artistry by being relegated to the margins.
Banned from the silver screen at the onset of political upheaval, Forouzan’s career was cut short. Never giving an interview or appearing in public again, she ultimately died in isolation. January 21 of this year marked her ninth death anniversary.
Perhaps the most tragic part of the story is that Hollywood studios had considered recruiting her shortly before she disappeared into oblivion.
To be sure, actresses still thrive in Iran, albeit within designated frameworks. They have attained celebrity status and gained widespread recognition for their artistic contributions. Post-revolution Iranian films have won numerous international awards and even Oscars. While mostly relegated to the private sphere, song and dance remain inseparable from the lifestyle of many Iranian women. Yet the likes of Forouzan, who once graced the cabarets and silver screens, have never reappeared.
For girls like me who were born after the revolution and grew up in the diaspora, it meant that no one in the media resembled us. This absence can impact our identity construction, as we have grown up seeing no one like us on television or in movies. A scarcity of women of our kind in popular culture can make us feel nonexistent and insignificant.
Arguably, no star from the Middle East—male or female—has gained massive international prominence since Omar Sharif, the late Egyptian actor who starred in epic films such as Lawrence of Arabia and Dr. Zhivago.
This realisation hits me every year during Oscar season. Amidst the star-studded affairs, I wish an artist from my part of the world could cross over into the mainstream and become a household name. I wish someone like Forouzan, who once shone like a star and left her mark in show business despite the constraints of a society that often pressured her to cover up her hair, body, and voice, could finally receive the recognition she deserves.
They may be gone, but their art lives on; the magic lingers. I dare to imagine a future where the women who came after them can honor their gifts, embrace their creativity, and live out the fullness of their identities. Art is a way to express the inexpressible and convey the language of the soul. Yet much has remained unexpressed with female artists who could have been role models for my generation.
Recent events in the Middle East reflect how the tide is turning, particularly with how women seek equality, empowerment, and democratisation through digital media platforms. Their number in the U.S. media has also increased in recent years. Yet their presence remains limited, and stereotypes prevail. U.S. media has traditionally lacked representation of Middle Eastern women in general and their diversity in particular. This has significant implications, as American popular culture wields considerable influence over global audiences. Therefore, structural transformations within mass media are critically important for such representation.
Equally crucial is the understanding that cultural, social, and financial constraints can impact their onscreen presence and hinder them from fully prospering in the performing arts or the film industry.
Over four decades have passed since the Filmfarsi divas commanded the stage, captivating audiences with their burlesquing bodies and sultry voices. Their legacies need to be honored.
It’s up to us, the next generation, to change the narrative. We need to pick up the pen and continue writing where their stories came to a sudden halt. Even in the face of structural challenges and cultural barriers, the show must go on.
