Some might say the themes in Persepolis have been told a thousand times before, but to me, that only proves how important it is that this story never fades away. I’m grateful that it exists, that it continues to remind us, to make us watch, read, and feel even just 0.1% of what the people of Iran have endured.
What struck me most was the seamless transition between life before the Islamic revolution, during the chaos of change, and the aftermath that followed. While watching, I felt as if I knew Marjane Satrapi personally, as if I was right beside her, carrying the same ache of not belonging anywhere, of feeling displaced even in one’s own home.
This film carries a kind of raw, unpolished sentimentalism that Hollywood could never recreate, it’s too honest, too real. And the side characters brought such richness. I especially loved Marjane’s grandmother, who became her anchor, her moral compass, reminding her to never lose her dignity. That lesson felt eternal, like a thread that would always guide her no matter where life took her.
Persepolis is not just a story, it’s a reminder of resilience, of memory, and of the power of dignity in the face of oppression💔