Out gay actor Nahuel Pérez Biscayart (“120 BPM”) delivers a remarkable, multilayered performance in “Persian Lessons,” a compelling Holocaust drama opening June 16.
Captured by the SS, the Jewish Gilles (Biscayart) survives an execution by posing as Reza, a Persian. Taken to a concentration camp, he is asked to teach Farsi to Klaus Koch (Lars Eidinger), an SS officer who hopes to go to Tehran after the war ends. Gilles makes Klaus believe he knows Farsi. (Gilles doesn’t; he invents a language to ensure his safety). As Klaus befriends Gilles, false rumors circulate that the men are lovers. Gilles’ extraordinary efforts to survive generate some tense moments as his ruse is almost discovered. The film, which is based on a true story, builds to a powerful, satisfying finale.
Biscayart, who gives an internal, haunting performance, spoke with PGN about “Persian Lessons.”
What research did you do to play this role and make this film?
I saw a few documentaries and studied photographs. One documentary was about a woman who put on an accent to get into the Warsaw ghetto. She pretended to speak Yiddish, Polish, and German. She was super skillful and confident, and she survived like that. I kept looking at photos of prisoners who were detained in camps as I needed to fill my imagination, my brain, my heart, my body, with those images so they can bring me somewhere emotionally. Gilles remembered names and faces and he created words out of qualities those people had. His technique was to humanize people who were being dehumanized. People’s most creative skills are activated when survival is at stake.
What can you say about filming scenes in a concentration camp and the power of that atmosphere that has so much history?
You don’t have to be supersensitive to be moved to tears by it — even if it’s cinema and fiction. Even if the paint is fresh on set, your bones would chill. Just by being there, you think about how the Nazis were completely indifferent to pain and suffering. As soon as you get on the set, you are moved and shocked. In a way, it was easy to play, because the context was super realistic. I was deeply involved in the physicality of the actions. Halfway through the shoot, we learned that the abandoned factory where we were shooting had been a camp, so the weight of that was palpable. The air was impregnated by density. The images are loaded with tragedy. When you evoke those images, truth pierces fiction.
Viewers don’t know anything about Gilles prior to meeting him, so he’s a blank slate we watch develop. Gilles codeswitches to stay alive. What can you say about portraying that?
One of the main things was knowing how to have Gilles express fear without Klaus noticing it, but also letting the audience know Gilles was afraid. Gilles is an actor. He plays characters all the time according to where he is and who he is talking to. When Klaus reads the poem, Gilles looks like he’s enjoying it, because if he showed fear all the time, Klaus would be seen as gullible. Gilles has to be so confident about what he says in front of Klaus. When Gilles is in the bunk and he sees other prisoners suffering more than he is — because in Klaus’ office, Gilles is fed more, and warmer — that is a tragedy, but his life is at stake. So, he protects himself to not be absorbed by that external suffering he is surrounded by. It’s a psychological loop that Gilles is trapped in.
What observations do you have about the dynamic between Gilles and Klaus? It’s a relationship of need on both sides.
I wish there had been a little hint of something sexual. When I watch the film, I wonder if Klaus is fully believing, or lying to himself because he wants to believe. Does Klaus accept he’s being lied to? Because otherwise, he is an idiot. Their relationship is built around an invented language, there is something quite poetic about that. A big part of the film is about power shifting from one side to another.
What do you think about the topic of belonging, which is addressed in several instances in the film, most notably in Klaus’s speech about why he joined the SS.
When you look at the genocide, it is making different communities hate each other. Gilles is a true humanist; he goes beyond identity. Klaus is [like] the contemporary rise of the extreme right wing. He says about the Nazis, “They were cool, wearing boots and smoking ciggies. It was cool to join them and not feel alone.” He is one of those young kids, marginalized by the system and feeling alone, who finds a sense of belonging in the Nazi party.
But the film shows there is no critical thinking and no independent thought which is harmful, and why Gilles’ story of survival is so inspiring. How do you relate to that?
We are queer. It is in our DNA. Our generation is the biggest liars and actors. We grew up in an environment where being gay wasn’t friendly. We grew up in survival mode. But we are now seeing beauty in that freedom that is blooming. I love Alok Vaid-Menon, who speaks of beauty, identity difference, and love, and how love can confront hatred. If you belong, your identity is bigger, and it erases your individuality, particularity, and anything different from others.
You are most well-known for the queer characters you’ve played in “Glue,” “120 BPM” and “All Yours,” but it is nice to see you lead a film that is not a gay film. What observations do you have about your career and the parts you choose to play?
I’m a sportsman. I am a tool and a means towards creation of a bigger piece of art. I don’t want to exist above the creations I am a part of. I don’t want to limit myself thinking about image or a career. I want to be open and available for new adventures that push me further in life. My life is not driven by acting. I do a lot of things, and one of those is acting. I like thinking of acting as an experience. You, as an individual, dissolve. The experience is always bigger than the individual.