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| Courtesy of Indicator |
Written and directed by Jamil Dehlavi and
produced by then-budding British film company Film Four, the film stars Peter
Firth and Suzan Crowley in a film that evokes a plethora of increasingly macabre
and rocky imagery, music and successfully perches itself atop an empire of
films that gleefully defy straightforward categorization.
Professional flautist Paul Bergson (Peter Firth) who is on a
lifelong quest to solve the mysterious death of his renowned flautist father,
crosses paths with an astronomer (Suzan Crowley) who reports strange solar
activity involving volcanic blasts and apocalyptic visions of a skull turning
the skies into deep orange. Their
kindred recurring nightmares which might have something to do with a demonic
entity known as the Master Musician (Oh-Tee) lead them to a trip to Turkey
where they counter a mute but devoted dervish (Children of Men’s Nabil
Shaban) who may hold the key dividing our world with a metaphysical and spiritual
netherworld.
While not overtly a horror film in the traditional sense,
demanding a trusty guide to interpret Dehlavi’s mixture of British filmmaking
and distinctly Middle Eastern mythology, Born of Fire taken at face
value is one of the wildest cinematic accomplishments of the 1980s. Given a miniscule theatrical run initially
before languishing in VHS Hell for decades before UK based label Indicator
finally granted it a blu-ray disc release, from start to finish you are
enraptured by the peculiar sights and sounds playing out onscreen and baffled by
what it ultimately really means.
Visually the film is jaw droppingly beautiful even when it
gets increasingly strange if not grotesque including but not limited to a
bizarre birthing scene of an insect like creature, shot ornately on location in
Turkey by Letter to Brezhnev cinematographer Bruce McGowan. The score by none other than Rawhead Rex composer
Colin Towns is suitably mysterious and orchestral, adding to the already
peculiar environments and natural phenomena of the Turkish locations.
The two main performers Peter Firth and Suzan
Crowley are generally good if not a little thankless, but Oh-Tee as the dreaded
Master Musician and disabled Jordanian actor Nabil Shaban as the mute but loyal
dervish all but completely grab the film out from under Firth and Crowley.
Though largely wordless, Oh-Tee and Shaban give astonishing
physical and emotional performances with some wild visual effects shooting fire
out of Oh-Tee’s eyes and an extraordinary sequence of Shaban crying out to the
heavens before engaging in a spiritual rite intended to repel the Master Musician. While Shaban doesn’t utter one line of
dialogue in Born of Fire, his screen presence and emotions portrayed
onscreen aren’t easily forgotten and strike a universally appealing chord with
the viewer. If there’s one character we
the audience are inclined to rally behind, it is unquestionably Shaban’s.
Though many Western viewers emerged baffled by the
indecipherable experience, the astonishing and apocalyptic vistas resembling a
kind of Hell on Earth sear themselves into your psyche with the slightest of
ease. Moreover, it put the wholly
original and unique cinema of Jamil Dehlavi on the world stage whether audiences
understood the mythic supernatural story or not.
You may ask why see a film you know full well
you’re not going to understand due to vast cultural differences? Well, in this particular case it represents a
truly wild and untamed cinematic beast whose misunderstood and still largely
uncharted powers have the ability to transport you to places you’ve never
been. Dehlavi’s distinctly Middle
Eastern horror vision isn’t going to click with most people but you’d be hard
pressed to say you’ve ever seen anything remotely like this before.
--Andrew Kotwicki
