Shirin in Love is
a typical, unremarkable romantic comedy wrapped in very underdeveloped Iranian
dressing. As an Iranian-American myself, I was so excited for this movie! For a
cinematic experience that would subtly capture the intricacies of growing up in
Iranian culture in the United States, in the challenges that one faces for
love. But Shirin in Love isn’t that
movie: it’s not that nuanced, it’s not that insightful, and it’s not that
welcoming either to Iranian or American audiences.
The film focuses on Shirin (Nazanin Boniadi), a beautiful,
quirky, and forgetful human-rights-lawyer-turned-journalist (the favorite
occupation of practically all female protagonists in romantic comedies) engaged
to a wealthy plastic surgeon, Mike (comedian Maz Jobrani). Their families have
been close for years, but there’s absolutely no romantic sizzle or chemistry
between Shirin and Mike; she smiles fondly at him maybe once, and every other
time can barely stand him. And she doesn’t seem to like her parents much,
either, since they’re just more Iranian stereotypes: Her mother is disgustingly
thin, with long, fake blond hair, a put-on British accent, garish makeup, and
extremely tight-fitting designer clothes, while her father is disconnected,
overprotective, and barely tolerant of his wife.
But Shirin has essentially no backbone, so she puts up with
her frustrating parents, still lives at home with them, and has no interest in
marrying Mike but makes no attempt to stop it, either. So when her mother
offers her a dream assignment in reviewing the new novel by reclusive author
Rachel Larson (Amy Madigan) and interviewing her for a cover story, Shirin
jumps at the opportunity, driving seven hours to find Rachel in a small
cabin-style house in … somewhere, with pretty mountains and vineyards and all the
trappings of a perfect romantic-comedy location. Because, you see, everything
in Shirin in Love is as clichéd as
you would expect.
After a mix-up where she gets taken in by a woman she at
first doesn’t know is Rachel, Shirin grows close with the novelist and her son,
William (Riley Smith), a blandly handsome white guy who lives in a lighthouse
(yes, really) and types his own writings on an ancient typewriter (yes,
really). Although he’s in a long-term relationship with a local bar manager, Shirin
and William can’t deny the attraction between them; as foreplay, they wonder to
each other, “There’s nothing worse than a relationship that’s convenient, comfortable,
and boring, right?” Ugh and sigh. So not only do their growing feelings get in
the way of Shirin’s engagement to Mike, but they force her to reevaluate her
relationship with her parents, too. Maybe she shouldn’t still be living with
them. Maybe she shouldn’t still be working for her mother. And maybe she should
pursue her own dreams for once, both in love and in life.
Have you read anything yet that surprises you? It shouldn’t.
Shirin in Love doesn’t really do anything
to provide a specifically Iranian point of view, except for mocking and
stereotyping. Iranian men are horned-up partiers, personified in Mike’s best
friend, played by fellow comedian Max Amini, who deserves far better than this
(check him out in Bridging the Gap: A
Middle East Comedy Conference; he’s wonderful). Iranian women are
materialistic, superficial shrews, according to Shirin’s mother and would-be
mother-in-law.
They’re the kind of stereotypes that, as an
Iranian-American, I do recognize: I can name a few relatives who would say
things to me like, “Why do you dress like a beggar?” when I’m wearing a tank
top, and who would go over-the-top in voicing their criticisms of other people,
like when Shirin’s mother says William is “crazy, mentally unstable,
self-destructive; most writers are.” But the movie doesn’t do enough to cater
specifically to an Iranian audience (not enough Farsi spoken, not enough
cultural details) or to an American one (not enough background about Iranian
tradition, not enough explanation of why Iranian families are so top-down in
their power structure). It’s just a slightly Iranian film, with all of the elements
from American romantic comedies thrown in.
Perhaps it would help if the script, character development,
or acting were better, but they’re not. Although Boniadi is a nicely
naturalistic actress, she’s saddled with the kind of frustrating, infantilizing
treatment that most romantic comedies suffer from; she only decides to change
her terrible life because of a man she knows for a couple of weeks, and that’s
not empowering at all. That man, William, has been living a lie for years, and
although he’s not the monster Shirin’s mother makes him out to be, he’s
certainly not developed past “rugged-ish guy with too much hair product and a
well-meaning but checkered past.” And although the Iranian side of this cast is
stacked with comedians—Jobrani, Amini—the former’s character goes from
domineering jerk to supportive friend in about five seconds, and the latter
only ogles at a white woman and then dances in crowd scenes. They never get a
chance to have any real fun.
That’s kind of the issue with Shirin in Love as a whole: it feels like a very dutiful movie, one
that goes from story step to story step without ever straying into anything
zany or silly, or even remotely genuine. The movie knows where it needs to go
to keep that romantic-comedy structure intact, but it doesn’t put any real
passion into anything. Shirin isn’t believable either as a product of her
parents or as a romantic interest for either Mike or William, and since the
movie can’t sell those core relationships, it can’t convince us of anything.
Rating: 1.5 out of 5 Guttenbergs
