falling house

For several years, I chose not to make films under the restrictive and censorial conditions of my country. In that silence, I kept asking myself: can one truly speak of freedom when the very tools of storytelling are controlled? I have decided to make a film without compromise: a film about lost freedom, about women whose bodies are not their own, about choices buried under fear and imposed destiny. Falling House is not only the story of a family; it is the story of a society reflected in its most intimate unit: the home. A place meant to protect slowly transforms into a prison. A father, once a prison guard, becomes the embodiment of the very system he once served. Fear is disguised as honor, and control is justified in the name of love. The film does not attempt to draw a simple binary between oppression and freedom. The young woman at its center is not only seeking autonomy over her own body; she is also drawn toward a world that can reproduce new forms of pressure and control. In a society where fundamental freedoms are restricted, even the idea of freedom itself can become fragile, contradictory, and uncertain. In today’s Iran, women have become the driving force of change, yet they continue to carry the heaviest burden of oppression. In the streets, they are the voice of resistance and freedom; inside the home, they remain bound by invisible and deeply rooted rules. In recent years, Iranian society has lived through both rage and hope. Waves of protest, repression, forced migration, and widening generational divides have reshaped the structure of families. Young women are demanding ownership over their lives: their bodies, their appearance, and their future, even if the cost is leaving behind their home, their family, or their country. Falling House does not only reflect a local crisis. In a world where women’s rights remain under threat, and where control over women’s bodies is once again debated even in so-called progressive societies, this story resonates far beyond its borders. Yet Falling House is not a slogan. It is a warning, a quiet but urgent alarm about the collapse of a society: about the moment when care turns into captivity, when love suffocates, and when the private space of a home mirrors a larger structure of oppression.