In the world of politically charged cinema, few films stand out like Two & Two (2011), a tense and thrilling short film directed by Babak Anvari that will have those left-leaning Hollywood types shifting uncomfortably in their seats. Set in an unnamed authoritarian society, this 8-minute cinematic punch to the gut premiered at the London East End Film Festival and toured around the globe, all while daring to challenge collective sheep-think that’s become all too common. It’s a story where rules replace rationality and questioning authority doesn’t just get you a slap on the wrist, but sends you up the river to nowhere good.
Now, what’s so unsettling about math class, you ask? Picture this: a classroom full of young boys in drab uniforms, their eager faces awaiting knowledge. Enter the teacher, a Kim Jong-un of the classroom, scribbling “2 + 2 = 5” on the chalkboard. Hold up, what kind of Kool-Aid are they serving? The mesmerized kids dutifully copy it down, because in this world, truth isn’t what you see; it’s what you're told. Critical thinking, much like speech, is not just discouraged but outright shunned. Anvari cleverly leaves out language, transcending barriers, to show us that when propaganda rules, logic bows out.
Anvari, with his unflinching eye, encapsulates totalitarianism perfectly in a setting so mundane: a school. And that's the brilliance of it. No guns blazing, no clawing out of a hand-dug hole like some Hollywood cop-out. No, this is a full-on mental takedown. If you aren’t nodding wistfully and thinking back to a certain Orwellian masterpiece, here’s your hint. It’s 1984, folks. But here, it’s stripped down, microcosmic, with children at the helm. A grim reminder that indoctrination starts early and reality is just whatever suits the narrative.
So how does this fascinating piece of cinema truck along its candid yet haunting message? It’s simple. Enter the danger of dissent. A brave student dares to challenge this mathematically precarious nonsense. “2 + 2 equals 4,” he objects, softened by the universal innocence of childhood. But that bravery comes at a cost. Imagine getting metaphorically slapped on the wrist by the regime, right there in math class. Surely, that’ll reel back the troublemakers who think they can defy laws of arithmetic—right?
The acting’s no oscar clip material, but there’s beauty in what’s left unsaid. This short didn’t rely on A-listers to sell its theme, only the cold, harsh reality of what happens when autonomy is traded for obedience. The school walls, plain and drab, are enough to echo the eerie isolation and resurrection of a conformist society. It’s what you don’t see, those implicit shadows of authoritarian control, that shout the loudest. It’d be easy to conflate this with censorship debates, but that surface graze would only diminish the impact.
In less than ten minutes, Two & Two serves a harrowing visual evidence for the slippery slope we stumble upon when individual thought becomes a societal taboo. Snippets of dialogue transcend beyond the swathes of Hollywood fluff and right into intellectual storytelling. Anvari somehow managed to shrivel up George Orwell’s ghost and put it on film. It’s unquestionably non-conformist and refreshingly unsubtle in a way that some mainstream audiences might find uncomfortable. Randy liberals are going to look at the relentless portrayal of information control and, surprise-suprise, dismiss it as fiction “exaggeration”. But for those with the gumption to think for themselves, it’s a stark warning before we all start drinking the institutional Kool-Aid.
Two & Two is a goldmine for reflection in an age where freedom’s a buffet and questioning authority feels like ordering off the menu—risky, infrequent, but all too necessary. For a film so concise, it leaves gaps for interpretation long after the credits roll. Be it silent whispers of oppression or resounding calls for freedom, it’s a reminder that blindly following isn’t just easy, it’s encouraged in the wrong regimes.
Who would've thought a short film can cut through the fluff and dramatics, to hone in on the very ethos concerning the delicate balance of societal obedience and individual truth? Disguised under the premise of grade-school education, Anvari uncovers a world teetering on the edge of control and rebellion. And that’s why this short film transcends: It’s not just a message for some far-off regime but a familiar warning to hold tight to the one thing precious in a world of numbers and false narratives—our ability to question what simply doesn’t add up.