Ten is terrific on both a formal level and in its content. Consisting of 23 hours of footage from two very small digital cameras attached to a car’s dashboard, edited down to 90 minutes, the film is anti-director; the mise en scène is the interior of the car and the passing landscape. Much of what we see and hear is improvised. However, there’s no doubting the clear message of the film, concerning a woman’s place in 21st century Iran.
The film doesn’t simply condemn Iranian society for its subjugation of women, it portrays the protagonist as complex and contradictory – as we all are. The boy, however, could do with strangling; he’s the only male present and its clear that the whining demands are typical of men who rely on women to do things for them – they want a wife for sex but also they want to keep their ‘mother’ to look after them.
Ten can be regarded as an avant garde film in its anti-cinema stance, along with its materialist use of the lead-in as a countdown for each of the ten episodes. As Gonul Donmez-Colin points out, in Wallflower Press’ Cinema of North Africa and the Middle East (2007), here the director, literally at times, takes the back seat.