Why Jafar Panahi Will Return to Iran After the ‘It Was Just an Accident’ Oscar Campaign — Even as a Prison Sentence Awaits Him

In November, Neon, the North American distributor behind It Was Just an Accidentrevealed that the director Jafar Panahi would embark on his first-ever US tour, screening and chatting about the film across the country. This was no ordinary promotional campaign announcement. The decorated, dissident Iranian filmmaker had been under a travel ban for more than a decade, also serving multiple prison sentences during that time, and his work had been censored in his home country. The ban was lifted in 2023, allowing him to show up for this year’s Cannes world premiere of It Was Just an Accident — which was inspired by his time spent in prison, and the people he met under those brutal conditions. The deftly comic and ultimately searing movie won the coveted Palme d’Or, setting Panahi on course for his first true awards run. It has since resonated across the globe.

Then, the day after the last official stop on the tour at Lincoln Center in New York, news broke that Iran had again sentenced Panahi to prison, and banned him from traveling, for “propaganda activities” related to his work. He was still in New York for the Gotham Awards, which took place that night — he won the directing and screenplay awards — before continuing to share the movie around the world, with stops in Morocco, Germany and more.

Panahi is now back in New York, where he’ll be honored tonight with the New York Film Critics’ Circle’s best director prize. It Was Just an Accident is up for major awards at this Sunday’s Golden Globe Awards, including best picture and director, and has been shortlisted for the Oscar for best international feature. In other words, everything remains full steam ahead. And as Panahi tells THR over Zoom (through his interpreter Sheida Dayani), the moment the campaign (hopefully) ends at the Oscars in March, he will return to Iran, even with what awaits him and as anti-government protests continue to surge around the country. In a candid conversation, he explains why, while reflecting on his globetrotting victory lap.

You recently completed a tour of the US, sharing the movie in cities around the country. What was that like?

Anywhere I went and saw the film with an audience was itself an experience. It gave me a chance to think about the weak points and the strengths of the film, because when you make a film and it is not screened and you can’t watch it with an audience, then you really don’t know where you’re standing. This was very enjoyable for me, to see that particular points about this film were very well understood and that it was able to relate to the audience and vice versa.

I’m curious what those weak points you’ve identified are.

I think I need more time to figure out what it is exactly, but I can think, for instance, about the dialogue [scenes] as I was seeing them and wondering whether they’re going to give the exact sense that I intend them to give with subtitles. I’m wondering if people who are watching this with subtitles can know exactly what is going on. Another thing I can think of is, because the last 20 minutes of the film were so important to me, I’m wondering if with the rest of the film I might have rushed through some sequences, but I really don’t know. That’s why I’m saying I need more time to figure out if that was the case or not. Maybe that was the correct rhythm and that is why the audience is able to continue watching the film and go along with it.

This is a big, diverse country. I know you’ve spoken about people reacting to the film uniquely in Cannes compared to, say, Japan. Did you notice differences from American city to city?

What was noteworthy was the humor aspect. In some places people would react to the humor more, and in some places less. In some places, people would laugh at certain parts of the film that I really couldn’t believe they were laughing about. An example of that is when the group is taking the interrogated family to the hospital, I saw that people were laughing. I really couldn’t understand why they were laughing. I asked my friend, “What are they laughing about?” He said, “Well, of course, it’s very natural because they were here to kill this guy, and now they’re taking his family to the hospital to save his family. And that’s very funny.” Of course, in Iran, this may not really come out as funny. It’s a humanistic natural response that people would automatically do. It’s just saving another person’s life.

Can you say a bit more about that?

You might’ve heard about the example that I’m about to give. During the Twelve-Day War [of 2025]a missile hit inside the Evin prison at exactly a ward that I was once imprisoned in. That was ward number 4, and in front of it is Ward 209, which is where all the interrogators usually stay. When 209 was hit, the interrogators were caught under the rubble and the prisoners now had a chance to escape…because the walls were destroyed and the door was destroyed. Instead of saving their lives and leaving, they chose to stay and they brought the bodies of the interrogators out of the rubble. That’s what they were doing. That’s a very natural thing that people in Iranian culture might do. It’s not funny at all.

Is it safe to say Iranians you’ve spoken with view the film as less of a comedy than those here in the US? I’m sure you’ve also spoken with many Iranians who live here who have seen it.

That’s what my sense is, but of course Iranians who’ve lived outside Iran for 10, 20 years — gradually they become accustomed to this culture and they’re going to act the same way and think the same way. My sense was that they were laughing as the American audience, but perhaps not as much.

You’ve continued to travel with and promote the movie, of course, even as news came from Iran of a new one-year prison sentence and two-year travel ban. What has that been like, and has it changed your plans at all for the duration of the campaign or what you’ll do after?

I was asked this question after the sentence was announced at the [Marrakesh International] Film Festival, and the analogy I gave was the same [as] when I was at the Cannes Film Festival, when I was presented with the same question. People were wondering if I was going to go back to Iran and I said, “Of course I’m going to go back as soon as the festival ends.” And 24 hours later, I was in Iran’s airport, after the end of the festival.

So this remains the case, is what you’re saying?

Yes. The day that I’m done with my work here I will return to Iran.

What would you say to people who might not understand that, with the prison sentence and ban that awaits you back home, and given what your movie is about and how you had to make it in secret?

I really work and behave based on what I sense and based on what I feel. What I’m feeling right now is that I know the context of my country. I know the culture, the language, the everyday life. I know the daily murmurs of that country and that culture and society — and that’s where I can work. When I come outside Iran, I might spend a few days in a particular city in a festival surrounded by the events of the festival; that gives me absolutely no understanding, no grasp of that culture or that place. I just know that I have that sense with Iran and it’s the place where I have accepted all the challenges and all the prices of being myself.

It doesn’t make any difference to me what people think or understand about my decision. It’s just what I’m feeling that I have to be truthful to. There are many other filmmakers who are facing the same challenges as I have. Ali Ahmadzadeh was making a film when his set was raided and his equipment was taken away and now he has to pay daily rentals for the equipment that he rented without having it. [Behtash Sanaeeha] and his wife Maryam Moghaddam made such a beautiful film, My Favorite Cakethat was seen around the world, but now they’re banned from leaving Iran and banned from working. So we all have this common pain and we all have accepted the price for it.

The superstars, especially women who joined the forces of society, especially after the Woman, Life, Freedom movement — they are under a lot of pressure from the government. They have been banned from working and they’re under everyday scrutiny, but they continue living their lives and doing their work with all the challenges ahead. When I think about them, I see, “How am I any different from anybody else who lives there?” Someone like Taraneh Alidoosti could be working, could be doing what she does and acting anywhere outside Iran, but we have all decided to stay.

It’s very, very difficult for people who have had such success to all of a sudden be banned from working, and continue saying that they’re going to go with what society has decided as opposed to what the government requires. It is much easier to say, “okay, I’m going to wear a headscarf and just show up in front of the camera that way.” But there are people who are defying that comfort. People here [in the U.S.] will never understand why certain people over there make such decisions.

The hearing date set for your appeal in Iran was a few days ago. What is the status of that? Are you hopeful?

The court has met, but I have yet to speak to my lawyer and see what happened. With everything going on, my sense is that either they will postpone the date that the appeals court will meet, or the lawyer will make a case for it to be postponed. I just have to follow up and see what is going on.

As you’ve alluded to, this is not the first time you’ve been in such a position. But this is the first time in a very long time you’ve gotten to travel with a film of yours and share it. How has that been meaningful to you as someone who’s been making movies for a long time, who has been prevented from that kind of experience?

Yes, 100 percent. The first instance of it was at Cannes after the recognition of the film, the prize I won, I got very, very emotional. I was even afraid that the lump in my throat would not allow me to speak. Then I turned around and looked at all the film’s team members and the crew who worked with me and were there. I saw that they were crying. It made me even more emotional. Gradually this is decreasing, but it’s still an emotional experience.

You’ve had the chance to participate in events or even just meet your peers, like with Martin Scorsese during the New York Film Festival. What has that been like?

It was really thrilling for me to speak with these people who sometimes, in the past, I had only heard of — I’d only heard their names and now I was talking to them and finding that they had seen the film and they had paid attention and now they were talking about specific points in the film. It made me very happy because I got the sense that they were waiting for the next film. That was a great experience. We are the same way. When we see a good film, we are wondering when the next film comes — and there is an expectation that the next film would be even better. So we keep paying attention to the work of our colleagues.

I was thinking about what you said earlier about the film not translating perhaps as you intended, and worrying about that to a degree. But as you see it resonating all over the world, do you embrace that in a way where you can let your initial instincts go? How do you think back to how you first made the movie versus its ultimate reception now?

Honestly, when I am making a film, I am absolutely not thinking about where it’s going to be seen and how it’s going to be seen. I’m just focusing on t he film finding its own way for it to be correct and as a whole, as opposed to what reactions I will get. I always say that a filmmaker first has to satisfy themselves before they can satisfy others, and that is why in the last six or seven of my films, I have never decided to get even a single penny from anyone or any institution for the films. I’ve paid for all of my films myself. I’ve never co-produced them before the film was [finished shooting] because I wanted to make sure that it was valuable enough to me so that I would put my signature on it. I had to be able to make that decision before sharing it with someone. With It Was Just an Accidenteventually I had a co-producer and they knew that the film was being made. I did not share the budget or get any money from them until the film ended. After I finish [shooting] it, if I’m happy with it, then we can share the post-production budget. That’s what we did. This is another method of filmmaking. First and foremost, it guarantees that the filmmaker is happy with their work and is not going to be embarrassed by what they make.