By Ivan Victor
An editor’s job is usually invisible — collaborating with the director to shape performances and build the tension and emotion of a story.
But for “It Was Just An Accident,” the editor didn’t just cut the film — he carried it, and that’s no metaphor. As Iran’s authorities hunted down an illegal production, editor Amir Etminan hid the entire movie on his Mac laptop, knowing that discovery could mean prison, or worse. Every creative decision unfolded under the threat of surveillance and disappearance.
Director Jafar Panahi had already been arrested and detained by the Iranian government for creative activities unapproved by the state. Yet he continued to make challenging political films, shot without government approval, in a clandestine manner. “It Was Just an Accident” tells the story of former political prisoners who wrestle with questions of justice and revenge in present-day Iran.
Etminan chose to continue his collaboration with Panahi and edit this movie both as an artistic project and an act of resistance. Etminan edited the film during production in Tehran, and then after a stressful journey, returned to Istanbul where he was able to complete the final cut, alone, with no assistant, using Adobe Premiere. The film went on to win the Palme d’Or at the 2025 Cannes Film Festival and has been nominated for Best International Feature Film at the 2026 Oscars.
CineMontage usually interviews members of the Editors Guild, which Etminan is not. However this is a story that will resonate with all editors as an example of being dedicated to one’s craft to see a film across the finish line, under extraordinary challenges, and at risk to one’s life.
CineMontage: Given the risks involved, why did you decide to work on this film?
Etminan: My decision to work on this film was not merely about accepting danger; it was about joining a struggle for freedom and democracy. In a world where cinema is often seen either as a means of entertainment or as a reflection of ideas, we chose a different path: a cinema of resistance.
For me, cinema is both a vehicle for artistic expression and a weapon against the tyranny that rules Iran. Jafar Panahi is not only a great artist but also a courageous fighter. Joining his team felt like joining a collective act of resistance.
I carry a deep pain in my heart caused by the oppressive system that has devastated my country — a regime that has wasted both its human and material wealth in service of a senseless ideology. Countless lives, in Iran and beyond, have been scarred by this ideology, especially the brave women of my homeland.
Working with Panahi’s team was, therefore, both a historic opportunity and a moral act of defiance — my way of standing on the side of truth and freedom.
CineMontage: Can you tell us what your days were like during production?
After Mr. Panahi invited me to join the team, I drove from Istanbul, Turkey to Tehran with my own car. I stayed in a house that belonged to one of Mr. Panahi’s friends. I turned one room into my editing space and another into my resting place.
Every morning, the makeup artist and actors arrived at the house discreetly, observing strict security measures. We all drove together to the shooting location — the address of which was sent the night before through a secure message. My car served multiple purposes: it was the DIT workstation, wardrobe, makeup station, and even a carrier for small props. Whenever a memory card was full, I would take it to my car, transfer the footage to SSD drives using a small MacBook Air, and begin creating proxies. While the laptop was processing, I returned to the set to continue assisting.
Due to the sensitivity of the situation, we operate with a minimal crew. At the same time, our working method has always been to begin editing simultaneously with shooting.
Throughout the shoot, I was always beside Mr. Panahi. After each take, he would ask for feedback not only from me as the editor but also from the cinematographer (Amin Jafari) and the sound recordist (Reza Heidari). If all of us agreed, the take was approved.
CineMontage: How did you get dailies and then give empty cards back?
At the end of each day, I collected all the camera and sound cards and drove back home with the actors. If anyone shared my route, I dropped them off on the way. Whenever I went out, before returning home, I would drive around several times to make sure I wasn’t being followed.
When I returned home, the first thing I did was transfer all the footage from the memory cards and SSDs to the main hard drives. Once the transfer was complete, I created backup copies and simultaneously began generating proxies from the copied cards.
While this process was running, I usually took the time to eat, take a shower, and get some rest, though I constantly checked on the data transfer and proxy creation progress throughout.
Once the cards were completely cleared and ready, I placed them in a small protective case so that I could take them back to the set the next morning and hand them over to the camera crew for reuse.
CineMontage: What was the process of editing and working with Mr. Panahi like?
Once the proxies were ready, I synchronized all the sound and image files, carefully reviewed each take, and selected the best ones to start building the initial cuts.
When the edited scenes reached a presentable stage, I informed Mr. Panahi, who would then come to the house where I was staying. Mr. Panahi used to contact me through his wife’s WhatsApp account, and before coming to the house where I was staying, he would turn off his phone for security reasons. During the editing sessions, I also turned off my own phone and the phones of anyone who came to that safe house, keeping them hidden in another room.
We would review the edited sequences and discuss the details in depth. Many times, these discussions led us to rework certain scenes, and occasionally, we even decided to reshoot a sequence.
There were also days when shooting was paused for the crew to rest, or days when filming finished early or started late. On such occasions, Mr. Panahi and I had more time to work closely together and advance the editing process in parallel with the shoot.
CineMontage: In what ways did the circumstances you worked under influence creative choices in post while you were still in Iran?
I have a personal trait that, when I focus on a project, I completely disconnect from the outside world and dedicate my entire mind to the work I am doing. I don’t allow the stressful circumstances around me to interfere with my creative process. Until something actually happens, I don’t waste energy thinking about it; and when it does happen, I try to stay calm and immediately look for a solution, no matter how stressful the situation might be.
The presence of Mr. Panahi, and the deep sense of calm he carries within himself, are so inspiring and reassuring that no amount of stress can disrupt my creative flow. After completing the full edit of the film in Tehran, I returned to Istanbul. Once I was back, some minor adjustments were made to the edit, which I carried out here in Istanbul.
Mr. Panahi stayed in touch with me through online video calls, and together we implemented the necessary changes. After finalizing each update, I exported XML files and sent them to him in France so that the modifications could be applied to the final version of the film at the laboratory.
CineMontage: The final film is 103 minutes. How long was the initial assembly, and what was your method for cutting it down?
Our initial rough cut was around 119 minutes. From the very beginning, we had established a proper rhythm for the film, and the changes we made during editing were mostly minor refinements. Sometimes, when I reviewed the timeline at the end of the day, I would notice that we had altered or removed no more than sixty seconds of footage.
In the final version, there were no major structural changes. Everything had been finalized in Tehran, and only a few transitional shots and road sequences were slightly shortened. We were very precise in ensuring that nothing unnecessary remained in the film. Even during production, we tried to avoid shooting additional or redundant takes that we felt would not appear in the final cut.
CineMontage: Can you tell us about the time you were stopped by the police?
It was near the end of the shoot, around 6 or 7 p.m., we arrived at the location — a quiet alley in Tehran.
As I sat in a corner of a nearby park to review the footage with the makeup artist (Parisa Gardeshi), the assistant director (Shahrokh Panahi), the production manager (Behnam Roshan), I noticed a few suspicious motorcyclists approaching. I sensed danger but tried not to draw attention. The entire edited film was on my laptop, so I discreetly placed it in the trunk of my car and told the makeup artist to get in so I could drive her home — without explaining anything. Just as I was about to start the car, several men in plain clothes stopped me, identified themselves as police, and said they needed to search the vehicle.
I opened the trunk. On one side was my backpack with the laptop, and on the other, two cameras wrapped in a bag — props from the shoot. One of the officers grabbed my backpack, pressed on the laptop, but since the MacBook Air is very thin, he didn’t realize what it was and asked, “What’s this?” Instinctively, I picked up the camera bag. He said, “What did you just take?” I replied, “It’s nothing — just the cameras.”
Then he asked, “Did you use these cameras for filming?” I said, “I’m not sure, maybe.” My only goal was to shift his attention away from the laptop. He told me to turn the cameras on, but I said the batteries were dead — which they really were. He asked for the memory cards; I checked and found one still had a card inside, so I gave it to him, knowing there was nothing important on it.
Another officer approached and asked for my ID. My hands were trembling, but I didn’t want them to notice. I quickly handed it over. “What’s your job?” he asked. I said, “I’m an editor — this is a legal film, we have a permit.” He said, “Show me the permit.” I showed him a photo of a fake permit we had made under the name of our actress, Maryam Afshar, but they already knew she wasn’t the real director.
The interrogation began. At first, I denied that Panahi was the director, but when I realized they already knew, I said, “Let me call him; he’ll come and explain.” I called Mr. Panahi. While waiting for him, the officers kept questioning me. I tried to keep my answers consistent with what others might say, to avoid contradictions.
One officer kept threatening me, while another tried to act sympathetic — a calculated good-cop/bad-cop routine. They said, “You’re the editor, so everything must be with you.” I told them, “Mr. Panahi warned me on the first day that if anything happened, they’d come for me first — so he never left anything with me.”
In reality, both my car and the house were full of drives and footage. The officer said I was lying. I replied firmly: “You can search my car and house. If you find anything, it’s yours.”
The questioning continued until the rest of the crew arrived, shifting the attention away from me. When Panahi finally showed up, he walked straight toward the officers and said firmly, “Why are you here?” They replied, “You’re making an illegal film.” Panahi said, “I don’t ask anyone’s permission to make films — even if I wanted to, you’d never give me one.”
They began seizing phones and equipment while calling their superiors. Eventually, around 4 a.m., they decided to return our phones and equipment, keeping only one memory card for “examination.” At that moment, Panahi’s composure and courage were remarkable. His fearless stance gave all of us strength — and I realized then how unbreakable his determination truly was. His defiance didn’t just save the film; it reminded me that when art is guided by faith and courage, it becomes invincible.
CineMontage: Do you think your story is an inspiration to filmmakers as they overcome challenges and obstacles to tell their story? In your case, the obstacles were beyond the typical financial, creative, technical — you literally overcame risk to your life to make this film. How do you think your story resonates?
What I did is nothing compared to what the brave women of my country have done. They took to the streets to fight for their fundamental freedoms and stood fearlessly in front of bullets. Many were killed or injured. When I think about them, I no longer feel that what I did was an act of bravery. These women, who leave their homes every day refusing to submit to compulsory hijab, are fighting a battle — and every moment until they return home, their lives are at risk.
If I could offer one piece of advice to filmmakers — both young and experienced — it would be this: when Jafar Panahi says, “I will make my film,” he truly means it. Nothing can stop him: not government restrictions, not financial limitations, not technical obstacles. If he can, he works with a professional crew; if not, he shoots with a still camera, and if that’s impossible, he films with a phone. He has an unbreakable determination to turn his thoughts into cinema, and nothing can stand in his way.
Years of censorship and prohibition could not prevent Panahi from making films, because before being a director, he was — and still is — a civil fighter. Wherever he sees injustice, he raises his voice, whether through film or civic action.
A filmmaker must hold on to their passion for creating and never allow financial, technical, or political limitations to silence that voice. If a film has a powerful story and something meaningful to say, it will always find its audience. In the end, for the viewer, the story matters more than the camera.
CineMontage: What is your next project? Do you intend to make another film under less challenging conditions, or do you want to keep making stories about life in the repressive regime of Iran?
Four years ago, due to the repressive circumstances in my country, I decided to move my entire editing system to Turkey, specifically to Istanbul. I was constantly under stress, fearing that government agents might confiscate my equipment and archives.
Since relocating to Istanbul, most of my professional work has been based here. However, if a meaningful and important project is proposed, I still travel to Iran — discreetly and with full security precautions — to complete it, even with minimal resources.
At the moment, I am working on a documentary that explores the crisis of identity among migrants — a universal pain that, I believe, deserves to be addressed with great urgency in our time.
