Berlinale 2026: Roya (dir. Mahnaz Mohammadi) | Review

In amongst an incredible line up of politically engaged cinema at this year’s Berlinale, few have felt as relevant or as emotionally devastating as Roya, the second fiction feature by Iranian filmmaker Mahnaz Mohammadi. Shot underground without official permission, the film arrives not merely as a work of cinema, but as an act of resistance, premiering in the Panorama section of Berlinale 2026.

The film opens inside Tehran’s notorious Evin Prison, and follows the teacher, Roya, who has been imprisoned for her political beliefs. We follow her journey as she is released from prison and forced to confront a choice that many in her country have had to face: deliver a televised confession or return to her jail cell. Mohammadi — drawing on her own incarceration — constructs a fractured, dreamlike cinematic language of the most intense suppression, trauma and psychological erosion. 

Eerie in its simplicity and its starkness, Roya’s world outside prison is one of silence and of terror, one of horrific domesticity, burning kettles, ageing fathers, and lost sisters – and Roya confronts it all in total silence. To quote another film from this year’s Berlinale, The Other Side of the Sun, which follows a group of men as they return to document the infamous Saidnaya prison in Syria where they were held and tortured for years, ‘They took my life away twice. Once, inside the prison, and a second time when I was released.’ 

In our current geopolitical moment, Roya’s political relevance could not be more clear. Roya’s silence becomes the film’s most powerful statement — amplified by the context that the film itself was made in secrecy. Mohammadi has spent years as a filmmaker and women’s rights activist, fighting for the rights of women in her country, and has faced similar persecution to that of her protagonist. Despite multiple arrests and a seven year prison sentence, including several months spent in Evin prison, Mohammadi continues to protest. Since her debut film Son-Mother (2019), her passport has been taken away and she has been banned from making films. 

When asked about her astonishing perseverance, the director told The Hollywood Reporter, “I think everybody has their own definition of hope. And I think through my life experience, I learned that hope is not just a destination, but a way of living. And cinema is part of my practicing [that].”

Iran remains one of the most vital (and one of my favourite) countries in the history of film — from Abbas Kiarostami to Jafar Panahi, Iranian filmmakers have long redefined what cinema can do under constraint. Roya stands firmly within this tradition; shaped by recent protests, state violence, and images of resistance.

What makes the film particularly harrowing is its understanding of suppression as both political and intimate. Mohammadi demonstrates that control emanates not only from the state but also within families, relationships, and internalised fear. Solitary confinement becomes a metaphor for a broader social condition: the erosion of trust in one’s own memory, perception, and voice. 

Turkish actress Melisa Sözen’s performance is astonishing in her portrayal of the silent, traumatised Roya. Sözen told reporters “I didn’t hug any of my family for so long. I became the loneliest person just to make it, like a soldier.” 

Berlinale has always understood that cinema is inseparable from politics — that film festivals can function as spaces where human stories interrupt geopolitical abstractions, of which Roya is the perfect example. Roya is not easy viewing, nor should it be. It is a reminder that silence can be imposed, but it can also be chosen — and that storytelling, even when forced underground, remains one of the most powerful forms of resistance.

Our team is on the ground at the 76th Berlin International Film Festival, running from February 12th to 22nd, 2026.