Notes From the First Iranian Female Admitted to USC’s MFA Acting Program
By Elmira Rahim
This essay is provided in partnership with The Unusual Suspects Theatre Company, which commissioned Stage Raw to write and edit a series of articles for its print magazine, Devise, to be distributed at theaters region-wide.
All I ever yearned for was to reach my full potential as an actor. While the art scene in Iran is truly inspiring, I knew I could not explore all parts of myself due to lack of artistic freedom imposed by a totalitarian regime. So, at age 24,I decided to move to the US with my younger sister,to finally break free from all limitations. To many people’s surprise, my life in Iran was filled with love. I was empowered by male figures in my life, introduced to art at a very young age and learned aspects of my culture which I deeply cherish. I got to witness women of Iran pushing the boundaries in the smallest and the biggest ways: Artists not allowing limitations to stifle their creativity. That is not to say I carry no wounds from the violation of basic human rights in my homeland. They certainly make themselves apparent from time to time.
Leaving one’s roots to pursue a dream has been a fascinating journey; one filled with growth, sacrifice, longing, hope, frustration, great achievements and at times, great despair.
What is your race/ethnicity? That is the question. I have just moved from Iran to US, filling out forms to apply for my Social Security card. It is truly the first time I’m thinking about this question. Well, Iran is in Asia. Does that make us Asian? Is Middle Eastern mostly referred to people from the Arab countries? We are not Arabs. I do not yet have a phone in the US and my Iranian number does not work in that office. So, I couldn’t look up, what my race is, if I am from Iran. I decided to ask the lady behind the counter collecting people’s documents. “Excuse me? I am Iranian. Which box should I check for this question?” I asked her. She looked at me and after a few seconds replied with indifference: “I don’t know. Whatever you’re comfortable with… If you don’t know, just check White.” She continued with her work. Little that I knew, this question will not only come up again, but it will greatly shadow my professional and personal life. As an aspiring actor in Los Angeles, labels like “ethnic,” “ethnically ambiguous,” “actor of color,” “brown,” “fair skin actor of color,” “BIPOC,” “diverse,” “sort of diverse,” “exotic,” “Mediterranean,” “Middle Eastern” and so on has been used to identify me. I personally have no attachment to either one of these labels.
My first few years in the United States, while figuring out life, I was determined to get admission to an MFA Acting program. I had some theater experience as an actor in Iran, but I had not chosen theater as my college major, and I’ve always desired an academic training in acting. As I was taking acting classes in LA, most instructors advised me against going to an acting school. “You would mainly work on Shakespeare in theater schools,” they told me. Some believed accumulating debt in a profession as unstable as acting not to be the wisest choice. Some argued that while you are busy in school for years, you will be off the market as a younger actor, and by the time you graduate, there will be fewer roles available in your age range. After all, ageism is a real thing in this industry, especially for women. However, against everyone’s advice, I wanted to continue my education, not studying Engineering as I had in Iran, but this time, in a field that I love.
I applied to most prestigious theater schools. Of course, the application process was extremely unfamiliar and overwhelming. I was terrified that writing a “statement of purpose” in my second language, when I’m hardly familiar with the concept, would not do justice to what I have to offer. Marketing oneself and talking about goals, strengths and weaknesses is not something we grow up with in Iran. I didn’t know anyone is this country. Who would I get a recommendation letter from?
Ironically, I had to go with the acting instructors who were against me going to acting school. As required, I prepared a classical and a contemporary monologue for the auditions. My first audition was for NYU. I could not have been more nervous, but I did my best and felt good about the audition. One of the auditioners recognized from my resume that this must be the first time I’m acting in America, and in English. He said he was impressed and that I have a unique story. Despite the encouraging compliment, I didn’t get into any programs that year. I was devastated at first but didn’t let the disappointment discourage me from applying again. I was learning very quickly, while there are a lot more opportunities in the US than in Iran, there is also far more competition.
During my second try, I was feeling less like a fish out of water. I was beginning to find my voice. I chose a monologue about the pain of separation, the pain of no longer being able to remember the details of the face of someone you love. A feeling familiar to me as an immigrant. This time around, I auditioned for the MFA Acting Program at the University of Southern California (USC). Andy Robinson, the creator of the program, saw me through that monologue. I was finally seen and got admitted to the program as the first Iranian woman.
My experience at USC was one of the best things that has ever happened to me. However, my interactions with people there were not free from preconceived notions about where I come from. But I was too homesick and in culture shock to register any of the comments, questions or assumptions as insensitive. I was mainly excited to get an opportunity to stretch myself beyond my imagination, and to work with mentors who continue to inspire me to trust my voice as an actor. To represent a country with such complicated political and social landscape was not a role I was equipped to take on, but I always felt the weight of it on my shoulders.
During my intense three-year training at USC, I got to play a variety of characters regardless of their ethnicities. Classical, contemporary, drama, comedy, commedia dell’arte, clowning, devised work, physical theater, on camera acting, we did it all. I was in heaven. I was living my childhood dream of setting my talent free. More importantly, I got to share that journey with people who on paper, aside from our shared passion for storytelling, I did not have much in common with. That experience alone, expanded my world and made me a better actor. I found great confidence in recognizing that the human condition is the same everywhere. That being an Iranian woman is just a slice of me. By the third year of our training, I was truly ready to navigate the world of show business with much more connection to my personal power. I dreamed of making my people proud. I wanted to make it worth the sacrifice of being away from family and loved ones.
Our training culminated with a showcase for representations in the industry. That was our transition to the world outside of school or as some people called it, “the real world”. The week leading up to the big day, I was at my citizenship ceremony. While I was going over my lines for my showcase scene, I was half listening to a speaker giving a speech about how lucky we are to become American citizens. That all our ancestors dreamed of becoming American citizens. That America is the greatest country in the world with the greatest democracy in the world. It is the land of freedom and justice for all. Land of equal opportunities for all. Ironically, it did not take long as an American citizen to face the biases against me, and notice the opportunities out of my reach, simply due to my background.
The author of this essay, Elmira Rahim (Photo courtesy of Elmira Rahim)
Outside of normal post-graduate challenges, I had to constantly push back on stereotypical Middle Eastern roles. Most auditions coming my way, which were not many, greatly lacked nuances and most often, accuracy. It became hurtful to recognize that people underestimate my ability to handle more sophisticated language, simply because they detect a slight accent, or they find it necessary to justify a Middle Eastern character in the story. In addition, the constant task of educating people about the fact that I don’t speak Arabic, I don’t identify as a Muslim, Iran is not a desert, not all Iranians are conservative, and I certainly don’t have a recipe for the most authentic hummus, as hummus is not an Iranian food, has been draining. In a field based on imagination, it is sometimes amusing to find yourself at the presence of decision makers with no imagination.
Seven years after graduating from USC, while proud of my accomplishments in LA theater, I still feel like a kid in a toy store who’s not allowed to play. It is hard not to feel envious of careers that are not entangled with such unnecessary complication. Nevertheless, I refuse to be a victim. I am going to push the boundaries with all force, just like I’ve learned from the women of my homeland.
