Long before cameras, scripts, and film festivals, Samere Rezaie was just a six-year-old girl sitting in front of a television—watching, imagining, and quietly stepping into another world.
“I was acting while watching films,” she recalls.
It was not just entertainment. It was something deeper. A spark had already formed—something she did not yet have the words for, but something that would follow her across countries, struggles, and years of uncertainty.
Today, Samere Rezaie is an Afghan writer, filmmaker, and actress based in Paris. But her story begins in Iran, where she was born and raised as an Afghan refugee—a reality that shaped not only her life, but the stories she would later choose to tell.
As a child, Samere was drawn to art. She wanted to attend theatre classes, to be part of creative spaces, to learn and perform. But being Afghan in Iran meant living with limitations that others did not face.
“It was not allowed,” she says.
To study art, she had to work harder than those around her. She spent an extra year just to gain admission to an art university—something that was already within reach for others.
Even then, the path was not smooth.
Her family did not fully support her decision, and society offered its own resistance. Acting was not seen as a stable or acceptable path, especially for a young Afghan woman. But she continued anyway—quietly, persistently.
She attended the Samandarian Art classes, where many well-known Iranian actors were trained, balancing those lessons with her university studies in theatre at Tehran University. Later, she completed a master’s degree in cinema directing.
“It was always difficult,” she says. “There was always pressure.”
At seventeen, she stepped onto the stage for the first time.
At twenty, she appeared in television series.
For a moment, it felt like things were beginning to open. Despite the pressure, despite the doubts, she was building something for herself. She acted in several Iranian series and started to find her place in the industry.
But there were limits she could not overcome.
As an Afghan refugee without an Iranian identification card, she was never treated equally. Her work was undervalued, and her salary was not fairly paid. Opportunities existed—but they came with conditions.
“You are always seen as different,” she says.
Still, she continued.
Until she couldn’t.
After finishing her master’s degree, something changed. The roles stopped coming.
Samere believes it was because of her social activism—her decision to stand openly for refugee rights.
“As an Afghan actress, everyone was watching me,” she says.
Speaking out came with a cost.
She lost her place in the acting world she had worked so hard to enter.
But losing acting did not mean losing storytelling.
If anything, it pushed her in a new direction.
She turned to filmmaking.
Her documentary, “I Am a Happy Actor,” tells the story of two Afghan refugee women in Tehran who dream of working in cinema but face harsh discrimination because of their identity.
Through the film, Samere was not only telling their story—she was reflecting her own.
“Acting became a symbol of lost dreams,” she says. “I saw that an Afghan refugee could not dream, could not be ambitious.”
It was a realization shaped by experience, not theory.
Now based in Paris, Samere continues her work in exile.
She has founded her own production company, determined to keep telling stories that might otherwise remain invisible. Her films focus on real lives—often difficult ones—told through a cinematic lens that does not hide the pain but tries to give it meaning.
“My stories are very bitter,” she says. “Because refugee life is hard everywhere.”
Her work often centers on women—those living through war, displacement, and inequality.
“I think women are more vulnerable,” she explains. “Whether in Afghanistan or in migration, the challenges are always there.”
One of her written works, “Amidst the waters,” tells the story of a young Afghan girl who loses her mother and is forced to take care of her brother alone. Like many of Samere’s stories, it reflects resilience shaped by loss.
Her most personal project, however, has taken more than a decade to complete.
For eleven years, Samere has been working on a documentary that captures the story of her own family. Through it, she traces a larger history—from the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan to the Taliban’s return to power—seen through the life of one refugee family.
It is not just a film. It is a record of memory, displacement, and survival.
A life told through fragments of time.
When she describes her journey, she does not romanticize it.
“It has been full of pain, suffering, failure,” she says. “Falling and getting up again and again.”
But she also speaks about growth.
Because for Samere, storytelling is not only about showing reality—it is about what remains possible within it.
She wants her audience to feel something lasting.
“I want people to see these lives,” she says. “To understand the ups and downs.”
And beyond that, something quieter but just as important:
“I want them to feel hopeful about the future.”
For Samere Rezaie, cinema is not escape.
It is memory, resistance, and a way of holding onto dreams—even in exile.
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