In Brussels, we used to take turns to choose the movie we'd use our month cinema card on. To my blockbustery taste, she would always reply with one of her "movies in French", the perfect remedy for my suburbaness. Persepolis was the greatest of her victories and one of my owras.
If not for the courage of portraying people as people, Iranian, Austrian or otherwise, for a delicious scene where a perky little Karl Marx incites God to go on with the "struggle".
Oui, Marjane, la lute continue!
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