Although the 2011 Cannes Film Festival was one of the most interesting, engaging and enjoyable editions in recent memory, there was only one documentary in the Official Selection (Out of Competition):  The Big Fix, from husband-and-wife team Josh and Rebecca Tickell, examines circumstances surrounding the April 2010 explosion of the Deepwater Horizon offshore rig-what scientists in the film call "the biggest cover-up in US history and the most devastating environmental catastrophe in human history."

Stories told by local fisherman and their families damaged not only by the loss of livelihood, but also by mysterious illnesses they've recently developed, makes it clear that something far greater and more sinister is going on.

Having been left in charge to "clean up" the spill by the EPA, BP prohibited all access to contaminated areas; by controlling the beaches, waterways and even the skies, the company concealed from the public and the media what they were doing. BP's covert procedures in the darkness of night make Rebecca Tickell's footage even more compelling; she slips through security to film huge truckloads of sand being dumped on the shoreline and US Coastguard planes spraying chemical dispersants on the ocean surface in unprecedented quantities--estimated at more than two million gallons.

Louisiana's battered economy hit by polluted waters, a poisoned fishing/seafood industry, and collapsed  tourism industry needed rescuing, so the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) and the Obama Administration misrepresented the science and the contamination levels, and a mere three weeks later, declared the water safe to swim in, the beaches clean and white and the seafood safe to eat. President Obama, after swimming in a private, protected unaffected inlet with his daughter, proclaimed before the TV cameras, "Louisiana is back in business!"

The filmmakers make the connection between Big Oil and its powerful lobbyists in Washington, unlimited campaign financing, the banking industry, the economic collapse and US government and the Pentagon's dependency on BP for revenue and oil to run its war machine, etc.-and that's where the film loses its focus a bit, and the audience its patience.

It is enough to hear about Huey Long and Matthew Simmons, and listen to Senator Bernie Sanders and others eloquently describe the pervasive corruption within our government, our institutions, our society.  Jean-Michel Cousteau, for example, angrily refutes the denial and the cover-up of how great this catastrophe is: " Ninety percent of the sea coral on this blackened ocean floor is now dead, the entire food chain has been contaminated, there are holes in the ecosystem, it will  collapse." But the oil is still leaking and drilling has resumed in the Gulf of Mexico.

Which brings us to Iran and Im Film Nist, or This Is Not a Film.

The camera shows a man wandering from room to room inside a spacious, somewhat luxurious apartment in central Teheran. Outside, tall cranes swing back and forth within a jungle of concrete high rise housing blocks. A steady clatter of hammering, mechanical drilling, banging, the shrill of sirens and the crackle of gunshots that turn out to be firecrackers, make up this nerve- wracking soundtrack. This is how we meet Jafar Panahi, one of Iran's most statured and successful film directors, presently under house arrest in his noisy, gilded cage, being filmed by his friend and colleague Mojtaba Mirtohmasb.

Panahi's body of work includes The White Balloon, which won the Camera d'Or prize at Cannes in 1995; The Circle, which won the Golden Lion at Venice in 2000; Crimson Gold, which won the 2003 Jury Prize in Cannes' Un Certain Regard section; and Offside, which won the Silver Bear at Berlin in 2006.  Panahi's films are often critical of the restrictions and constraints put on Iranian society by the ruling religious council; both The Circle and Crimson Gold are banned by the Islamic government of Iran.

Panahi's seat on the 2010 Cannes Jury remained vacant while he languished in a Teheran jail on a hunger strike, but international attention focused on his plight when actress Juliette Binoche held up a sign with "JAFAR PANAHI" written on it before the world's cameras, and he was released one week later.

In December 2010, Panahi was convicted by the Islamic Revolutionary Court for "colluding with the intention to commit crimes against the country's national security and propaganda against the Islamic Republic." He was sentenced to six years in prison and barred for 20 years from filmmaking, political activity, travelling abroad and giving interviews. Just before the Cannes festival began, organizers scheduled a special screening for This Is Not a Film after downloading it from a USB stick sent from Iran to Paris, buried in a cake.

This day-in-the-life video takes place on the 2,000-year-old Persian celebration of the Festival of Fire. As it unfolds, Panahi asks his friend to come over, as it's not safe to speak on the cell phone; he checks his e-mails, but the network is blocked; his answering machine records a message from his wife saying the family will return home late; he patiently feeds his daughter's enormous pet iguana; and he speaks with his lawyer, who says there is no news about his appeal. The six-year prison sentence might be reduced if international pressure is kept up. "This is not legal; this is not in the statue books," she says. "This is political," so anything can happen.

Mirtahmasb's camera catches a moment when Panahi's frustration surfaces and he leaves the room, but returns, declaring that this ban does not forbid him from reading aloud from his script or from acting out the parts. As he reads the lines, he blocks out areas on the carpet with camera tape and describes how the camera will follow the actor exiting the room and down the corridor. Almost a master class in film direction, the mise en scene is simple, precise, carefully thought out and economically crafted; we understand how Panahi the artist, who wrote his first book at the age of ten, cannot live without being able to telling stories. 

As the day lingers on, we learn there is trouble in the streets, and Mirtahmasb must leave to accompany his children home from school. When a stranger knocks at the door to collect the rubbish, Panahi grabs his camera and hops into the cramped elevator with him, questioning this university student about his life, his interests, his future plans. Arriving at the ground floor outdoor courtyard, we see a dark, smoky world beyond the gated barrier, with a raging bonfire that seems very large and out of control, and we hear loud explosions and sizzling firecrackers everywhere.  "Don't come out, they might see you filming with your camera," the boy says, but Panahi keeps filming.

At the press conference at Cannes, a somewhat nervous Mojtaba Mirtahmasb carefully measured his words as he responded to questions.  He said that he and Panahi, who was watching this from Teheran via Skype and an IPad camera, decided to take the risk of presenting the film, although he didn't know what would happen when he returns to Iran. He then quoted the Persian prophet Zoroaster: "To fight the dark I don't need a sword; I need a candle."

Based in Paris and London, Madelyn Most develops independent feature films, writes about cinema and covers film festivals for European film magazines. She is a member of French Film Critics, Union of Cinema Journalists and the Foreign Press Association in Paris.