Arun Gopalan doesn’t fit the stereotype of a debutant filmmaker eager to soak in applause. When his first feature, Tehran, dropped on OTT, he quietly disappeared to Lonavala, cutting himself off from reviews
and industry chatter. “I didn’t want to be around people or get caught up in noise,” he says with disarming honesty. That instinct—to tune out the spectacle and stay rooted in truth—mirrors the very DNA of his film.
With Tehran, Gopalan sidesteps the easy tropes of chest-thumping patriotism and the India–Pakistan binary, instead crafting a taut, human drama set against the volatile backdrop of Iran, Israel, and India’s diplomatic tightrope. In his hands, espionage isn’t glamorous; it’s lonely, fragile, built on the currency of trust that’s always in short supply. From RAW operatives who know they’ll never be credited, to the invisible soldiers who protect nations while battling their own disillusionment, Tehran shines a light on lives that exist in the shadows of history.
In this exclusive conversation with News18 Showsha, Gopalan opens up about chasing authenticity over spectacle, the moral weight of creative liberties, John Abraham’s unexpected narrative instincts, and why silence often speaks louder than dialogue. More than a geopolitical thriller, Tehran is a story of trust, sacrifice, and restraint—and through it, Arun Gopalan quietly announces himself as a filmmaker to watch.
Here are the excerpts:
Q: First of all, how are you feeling right now? And more importantly, how do you feel about the kind of reception Tehran has been receiving from audiences and critics?
A: Honestly, right after the release I just took off to Lonavala for four or five days. I didn’t want to be around people or get caught up in reviews. I told myself I wouldn’t read anything unless it came directly from a friend or family member. They would send me a few pieces and say, “Listen, this is nice, everyone’s talking well about it.” And I was happy to keep it at that. I didn’t want to overthink or get swayed by too much noise.
Q (interjects): I did watch the film, and I loved it. It felt sharp, realistic, and to the point. Even the chase sequences and dialogues were presented so organically—no unnecessary frills or dramatization.
A: Thank you, that was exactly the intention. To keep it as honest and grounded as possible.
Q: You’ve often described Tehran as a story of unsung heroes—people in RAW, the Special Cell, and the ministries, who live by that line, “When we work, no one cares. When we don’t, everyone notices.” How do you hope this film reshapes the audience’s perception of such invisible national service?
A: From the very beginning, when Ashish, Sandeep and I started writing, Tehran was about one thing above all—trust. In the espionage world, multiple agencies operate simultaneously—RAW, Special Cell, Ministry of External Affairs. On paper they’re rigidly “sarkari,” but behind that structure, there are individuals who pass on critical information, not for fame or credit, but because they serve the country.
When I met Yadav ji and others from the Special Cell, one thing that struck me was this: I asked, “But doesn’t it matter who gets the credit in the end?” And he said, “No. For us, it’s about the work. I would do it for him, and he would do it for me.” That sense of mutual trust and selflessness was powerful.
And that’s where I felt the heart of Tehran lay. In espionage, trust is almost always scarce—trust is the real currency, and most people are broke. Our film tries to show the human cost of that, and also the quiet dignity of those who still choose to trust, despite the risks.
Q: In today’s landscape, many Indian thrillers default to the India–Pakistan binary. With Tehran, you shift the conflict lens to Iran and Israel. What kind of conversations do you hope this opens up?
A: Honestly, I don’t think the conversation will ever be about Iran or Israel directly—that was never my intention. For me, diplomacy and geopolitics were only the backdrop. What intrigued me was how different elements came together: there was a gas deal unfolding, there was a Special Cell working on a bomb blast right outside the Prime Minister’s residence, RAW was handling the case because it involved Israel and Iran.
At that point, no one was even talking about Iran. So the dynamics were very layered, but rather than making it a “countries versus countries” story, I wanted to focus on one individual who is relentlessly trying to bring the perpetrators to justice. The urgency in the film comes from that ticking clock—the gas deal sets a time limit. Politics and diplomacy remain the canvas, but the story is really about human persistence and honesty in the middle of it.
Q: You’ve also said that while Tehran keeps to the core facts of the 2012 Israel embassy blast case, you did take creative liberties. As a filmmaker, where does fidelity to history end and responsibility to cinema begin?
A: For me, the biggest challenge was to keep it real. Initially, I thought I understood the mechanics—war rooms, intelligence networks, diplomatic briefings. We’ve all seen that onscreen, and I knew I could replicate it. But once I started meeting people who had actually lived through this, I realized how wrong my first instinct was.
What struck me most were their motivations. Every officer, every agent had deeply personal stakes. Behind every cold, strategic move taken by governments, there’s a trail of individual consequences—families displaced, lives broken, moral compromises made. That human element was far more compelling than just ticking off historical accuracy.
So while fidelity to history was important, my greater responsibility as a filmmaker was to capture that lived reality—the cost of decisions on individuals, the invisible scars behind statecraft. That’s where cinema begins: when it translates facts into something emotionally and morally resonant.
Q: You’ve been clear that Tehran is not about portraying Israel as a victim, but about John’s character fighting to protect India from becoming collateral. How did you walk that fine line between geopolitics and patriotism without slipping into propaganda?
A: Honestly, I don’t know if it ever came across as propaganda—I hope it didn’t. The subject itself had so much meat, but from the start we knew we couldn’t let the “scale” of geopolitics overshadow the storytelling. Yes, Israel, Iran, India—those are important elements, but the heart of the film was always the people: their quiet resilience, the weight they carry, and the gray zones they live in.
Even our antagonist, Afar, isn’t written as a villain. He’s a soldier fighting for his own country. In fact, he takes on what he thinks is a “low-impact” job precisely to minimize collateral damage. But then you have our protagonist, who sees that tomorrow it could be his own daughter in the middle of such violence. That’s what drives him—this idea that until it hits your family, you don’t feel its urgency.
For us as an audience, it’s easy to scroll past news and think it doesn’t affect us. But for the people in these roles, every decision has massive stakes. They fight battles so we can live in peace, while we complain about traffic or waterlogging. My greatest win as a filmmaker was being able to bring these unsung lives into focus—and to do it in a way everyone involved felt was truthful and worth telling.
Q: There’s a powerful moment in the film where someone tells John’s character, “Your country has abandoned you.” How do lines like that reflect the silent sacrifices—and sometimes the disillusionment—of real intelligence officers?
A: It’s very close to the reality of how Special Forces and intelligence officers operate. Most of their work is behind enemy lines, and by design, it’s invisible. They sign up knowing that recognition or even acknowledgment may never come.
What I wanted to capture is that sense of loneliness—that sometimes, to protect the nation, you may even have to go against the system. It’s not about encouraging people to go rogue, but about showing the inner conflict: they cannot be silent spectators when something can be prevented. That tension—between duty, anonymity, and conscience—is the core of their sacrifice.
I can’t claim to speak for them, but as a filmmaker I felt a responsibility to at least bring that unspoken reality to the screen.
Q: You’ve revealed that it was John Abraham’s single suggestion about the climax that changed the soul of Tehran. Can you walk us through that moment, and what it says about listening to actors as collaborators?
A: Since Tehran is my first film, I’ll admit I carried this perception of Bollywood—that actors often interfere. I was very apprehensive about it. Initially, there was a draft written before I came in, which leaned far more commercial. It had Rajiv going off to Malaysia, big action set pieces, cops dying—stuff that felt generic. When I came on board, with Sandeep and Ashish, we reworked it into something far more grounded, more organic.
When I finally narrated our draft to John, the ending we had was the “expected” one—John’s character kills Afshar. Everyone said, “That’s what the audience wants, give them closure.” And I was ready to go with it. But after hearing it, John looked at me and said, “I don’t think I should kill him, Arun.”
That moment floored me. Because here was the lead actor saying: don’t make me the bigger hero. He wasn’t chasing the traditional Bollywood payoff of “the hero kills the villain.” Instead, he elevated the film by refusing that easy closure. His reasoning was simple but profound: Afshar isn’t a one-dimensional villain. He’s a soldier, just as Rajiv is a cop. There’s mutual respect there.
We even toyed with an alternate ending where Rajiv hands a gun to Syed and says, “Don’t make India your battleground.” That worked beautifully too. But ultimately, the choice not to kill Afshar reframed the entire film. Suddenly, the climax wasn’t about blood revenge—it was about restraint, dignity, and the recognition of shared humanity.
That one decision forced us to revisit the entire arc—it became a domino effect. We tweaked scenes, recalibrated tone, and the character’s moral compass became sharper. In hindsight, I’d give full credit to John for that. It was a true moment of collaboration where an actor wasn’t protecting his stardom, but the integrity of the story.
Q: You’ve praised Neeru Bajwa’s pauses and her eyes as powerful storytelling tools. As a director, how do you learn to trust silence over dialogue?
A: For me, that’s the most rewarding part of filmmaking. If you watch Tehran, you’ll notice that so much rests in silence—because silence often speaks louder than words. Working with international actors from Israel, Iran, Germany, the U.S., and of course with John, I realized the strength of “less is more.”
John himself would often say, “Don’t give me the dialogue. Let the other character speak, I’ll just react.” That honesty creates a far stronger moment than pages of scripted lines. It’s something advertising taught me as well—you don’t bombard the audience; you land one impactful moment that stays with them.
So even in scripting, I kept cutting down, leaving only the essentials. Then on set, after all the prep—location recces, blocking with the DoP, rehearsals—you still adapt to what feels closest to the truth in that moment. And often it’s the smallest, most mundane actions—like picking up a glass of water, tossing a tissue—that end up grounding the scene. That lived-in realism, combined with pauses, is what makes an audience believe, “This feels real.”
Q: You’ve also argued that dubbing kills a film, which is why OTT became the only viable option to keep Farsi, Hebrew, and English intact. Do you feel Indian audiences are now ready to embrace that kind of linguistic authenticity as part of mainstream viewing?
A: I think so. In fact, Tehran itself is the test. If audiences accept it, we’ve opened a new chapter. Imagine if we had Hindi subtitles on the big screen and reached the masses—that would be ideal. And the fact that our producers backed this decision shows real courage.
Gone are the days when you dub everything in Hindi just to make it easier. That’s lazy filmmaking. If a story demands certain languages, you can’t compromise on that. Authenticity matters more than convenience.
Q: At one point you even began your film with the line, “Subtitles recommended.” In hindsight, do you see subtitles as a bridge of access, or as a compromise of cinematic immersion?
A: Subtitles will always be a double-edged sword. Ideally, they shouldn’t exist—they’re another layer on your visual, and they do pull you slightly out of the frame. But if the film requires multiple languages, then subtitles are the bridge.
Hollywood films have been doing this for years. By retaining Farsi, Hebrew, English in their natural form, we kept the soul of Tehran intact. It wasn’t about compromise—it was about respect. Respect for language, for realism, and for the audience’s ability to engage with it.
Q: You’ve called OTT a boon, but also admitted it’s a “multi-billion-dollar question.” If theaters weren’t bound by the pressure of mass reach and box office expectations, do you believe Tehran would have been a different experience altogether?
A: Honestly, I don’t know. It’s such a scary space because there are veterans in this industry who have been doing this for decades—they understand theatrical business in a way I don’t. I can’t claim to know whether Tehran would have “worked” or not in theaters.
What I do know is that if you make a film with complete honesty, audiences will respond. That’s what Animal did—it stuck to its conviction without compromise. For me, Tehran had to do the same. Whether on OTT or on the big screen, if the intent is honest, it finds its audience.
Q: In Glasgow, you had Israelis and Iranians playing Hamas operatives. Yet off-camera, they’d share meals and stories together. Did that contrast reshape your own understanding of conflict and coexistence?
A: Absolutely. I’ve always been deeply interested in geopolitics—not from the perspective of “who’s right or wrong,” but from the unpredictability of it all. The way tables can turn overnight, the way alliances shift. That fascinates me.
Seeing those actors, people from countries at odds, sitting together, breaking bread, sharing stories—it reminded me that human connection exists beyond political borders. That experience has definitely opened more doors for me creatively. I find myself even more drawn now to subjects that explore these fault lines, because they’re not just about conflict—they’re about humanity within conflict.
Q: You’ve also admitted that your biggest challenge wasn’t logistics, but resisting gimmicks. In today’s spectacle-driven cinema, how do you hold on to restraint while shooting a realistic film like Tehran?
A: By constantly asking myself: What does the story need at this moment? If the story doesn’t require a gimmick, I don’t force one in.
There’s only one shot in Tehran that I’d classify as a “gimmick”—the bomb blast sequence. We wanted to make it feel different, unsettling. So we did a 360-degree shot around the little girl selling flowers. As the camera moves, you see everyone frozen, sound frozen too—just the heartbeat pulsing in silence. Then, as the camera passes through the smoke, you hear the projectile, the glass particles shattering. Finally, you come back to the girl, and she’s struck, her life taken in that instant.
It’s the fulcrum of the entire film, and I wanted audiences to feel the horror of that moment, not just watch another standard “boom.” That was the only time I allowed myself that stylistic stretch, and I believe it worked in the film’s favor. Everywhere else, we kept it stripped down. The story itself had enough weight; it didn’t need cinematic tricks.
Q: As a filmmaker, which films—both Indian and international—did you draw inspiration from while making Tehran? And what are your thoughts on the “spy universe” concept—do you feel it does justice to our armed and intelligence forces?
A: I’ve always been a huge fan of Sicario. In fact, I was so taken by the way Denis Villeneuve handled drama within crime and tension, that I went ahead and got the same action director who worked on that film to collaborate with us. We were very fortunate to have him on board.
What I love about Sicario is how every scene feels like you’re on the edge of your seat—not because of spectacle, but because of the way tension is sustained. That became a big reference point for me while shaping Tehran.
As for the “spy universe” idea, I honestly never approached Tehran with that lens. For me, this wasn’t about creating a franchise or fitting into a larger cinematic universe. It was the story of one law enforcement officer who goes into Tehran and brings perpetrators to justice. Bigger films are already building those universes, and I don’t think I’m in a position to comment on whether that does or doesn’t do justice to intelligence forces. My focus was simply on telling this one story as truthfully as I could.
Q: Having now completed your feature debut, do you feel more drawn towards stories rooted in geopolitical realities, or would you like to explore more personal, intimate human dramas next?
A: As a director, I’d love to continue exploring geopolitics—it’s a space that fascinates me, and I already have so much material waiting in that direction. Geopolitical stories naturally provide scale and stakes, but at the same time, I’m equally drawn to the human stories at their core. If you can find a deeply personal, emotional thread within that larger canvas, that’s where magic happens. So ideally, I’d like to keep balancing both—the big political backdrop and the intimate human drama that gives it meaning.
Q: And finally, what’s next in the pipeline for you? Do you also see yourself venturing into web series in the future?
A: Right now, my hands are full with two scripts. One is with John—it’s called Malakal. The other is titled Tariq.
Malakal is set in South Sudan, and it has a completely different texture from Tehran. It’s based around the UN peacekeeping forces stationed there, and the story follows a terrorist who is presumed guilty until proven innocent. The twist is that the very cop who arrests him eventually ends up letting him go. It’s a true story, and one that I find extremely compelling.
As for web series, yes—I’m definitely open to exploring that space in the future. It’s an exciting format, but for now, I’m focused on completing these films with the same honesty and conviction that went into Tehran.
