A Rare Look Inside Tehran’s Nasr Theater: A Photo Essay

Updated: 8 July 2019

It might sound crazy, but Lalehzar is by far my favorite street in Tehran. Once thriving with European fashion boutiques, theaters, cinemas, and cafes, today, it’s crowded with blinding lamp stores, noisy motorcycles, and abandoned theater halls, earning it the nickname “the graveyard of theaters.” You can take a walking tour of Lalehzar and learn about its fascinating past in this post, but for the purposes of the current post, suffice it to say that the glory of Lalehzar’s former days as a cultural hub is long gone. But for me, this does not in any way lessen its charm. If anything, it adds to the intrigue. This week, I had the unforgettable fortune of stepping through the doors of what is arguably Lalehzar’s most famous landmark, Nasr Theater. If you’re wondering which one this is, the facade has likely stopped you in your tracks: the statue of a woman is not one you see every day in Iran. So join me again on a tour of Lalehzar, this time for a rare glimpse inside Nasr Theater. 

As the visitors start to trickle down Lalehzar, the organizers are still busy roping off the red carpet and checking the wiring of the floodlight that will highlight the statue. At 6:45, they ask us to start lining up and hand out pamphlets as we do. While we wait in anticipation, nervously checking to see how much longer until 7:15, we snap a few shots of “Tehran Theater”, now illuminated in red. To pass the time, we flip through the pamphlet. It’s a simple, black and white foldout with “Tamâshâ khâneh-ye Tehran” written on it. On one page, there’s a map of the surrounding area with a number coded list of the historical buildings. On the opposite page, a timeline of Iran’s history: Qajar era, first Pahlavi, second Pahlavi, and the Islamic Republic. What the timeline reflects, though, is a history of the changes in Tehran’s street names. For instance, the street that we, in the era of the Islamic Republic, call Jomhuri used to be Eslâmbol until the middle of the first Pahlavi era; it became Shah Âbad between the first and second Pahlavi eras; then in the second Pahlavi era, it went back to Eslâmbol and shortly thereafter became Istanbul. The street we call Ferdowsi today started in the second Pahlavi era, but before that, it was Alâoddoleh. But from the Qajar era until now, for over two centuries, Lalehzar has always and forever been Lalehzar. 

At 7:15, the line starts moving. We all hold our breath as we walk up to the ticket booth and purchase our tickets, just like the old days. Right next to it is a framed ticket showing the price of 20 rials, a far cry from the 700,000 we’re paying today. Of course, that’s just the asking price. If you can’t pay that much, you pay what you can. And if you can’t pay anything, you go in for free. They want everyone to have the opportunity to view this historical monument without any limitations. 

To make the experience as authentic as possible, they give us the old-style tickets (with a seat number and everything) along with a symbolic metal token for tea. One by one, they also hand us hard hats to wear as a precaution. It is a decrepit building after all. As we wait for the others to get their tickets, we view the exhibition in the waiting area: old letters and documents, photos, handwritten notes, seating assignments, vintage theater equipment, and fliers. Behind the modern espresso machine, I spy a torn sticker for bastani kim (the chocolate covered vanilla popsicle) that reminds me of my childhood. But it’s by far the detailed mirror and artwork on the walls and ceilings that takes everyone’s breath away. That attention to aesthetics is lost in today’s world.

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When the others catch up, we walk through the doors for darajeh yek (first class tickets) into the theater hall. We stand there in pitch darkness to learn about the theater’s past. On the stage are five rows of seats caked in decades of dust. Each row represents a different period in Lalehzar’s history. As the spotlight shines on a seat, a voice by one of today’s artists, including Parviz Parastui, Reza Kianian, Ghazal Shakeri, and Saber Abar, among others, narrates the events of that time. Here’s the gist of what they tell us.

A brief history of Nasr Theater

Grand Hotel, the country’s oldest, was founded over a century ago by an immigrant named Nasrollah Bagherof and hosted many foreign guests. It was especially popular due to its theater hall, which was rebuilt as a multi-story, oval hall by Ali Vakili, a prominent figure in the establishment of cinema in Iran. By hosting popular shows such as the love story of Khosrow and Shirin, its popularity quickly grew. 

Meanwhile, Seyed Ali Khan Nasr, along with other big names in theater, established an acting conservatory on Lalehzar. They leased the hall of Grand Hotel to establish Tehran Theater. By then, Lalehzar had become a hub of culture and cafes. Pars Cafe (the gorgeous empty building now on the corner of Jomhuri St.) was favored by the city’s fancy, rich kids; Ferdowsi Cafe was the pâtogh (hangout) of intellectuals such as Sadegh Hedayat; Continental Cafe was where multi-lingual foreign diplomats went to spy on others.

It wasn’t long before Nasr left the theater and was replaced by a man named Ahmad Dehghan who also ran a widely read magazine, Tehran Mossavar. Grand Hotel shut down in 1946, and the building was used exclusively for the wildly popular theater (known as the most important of its time) and the magazine. This success allowed Dehghan to climb the ladder and become influential in parliament. But four years later, he was assassinated in his office in this very theater.

Later, Tehran Theater was devastated in a fire. Once it was reconstructed, it reopened under the name Nasr Theater because the grand reopening coincided with the death of Seyyed Ali Khan Nasr. Performances were even done with the former monarchs as audience members.

In the time leading up to the Revolution, cafes, theaters, and cinemas on this street were raided and ravished by plain-clothed SAVAK agents. Afterward, Lalehzar was overtaken by lamp and electronics stores which have since taken residence here. By the 1980s, Nasr Theater was struggling to stay afloat. In 1988, it performed one of its last acts, a play by Ezzatollah Mehravaran about the imposed war. A few more sporadic plays and the doors eventually closed indefinitely. Nasr Theater remained abandoned (albeit registered as a national heritage site) until today. 

The lights come on and guests are invited to share their personal memories of the theater. An elderly gentleman relates how he used to spend evenings here with his father when he was young. A 20-year-old university student reveals his fascination with old Tehran and how he’s been in search of it over the past few years. A guy after my own heart…

Balcony seats and backstage

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For the rest of the time, we’re free to roam. Upstairs, the balcony seats have seen better days. A random half-body mannequin propped in the middle gives off a creepy vibe. But in front of the seats is where guests can light a candle in memory of the theater and everyone from its past. The room off to the side is flooded with yellowing, brittle newspaper clippings.

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Back downstairs, the red lettering on one door leading backstage says “Private entry for artists. Others are prohibited.” The sign on the other door thanks actors in advance for their cooperation in not taking their guests backstage. It seems funny to me that actors’ guests weren’t allowed back there, but now here we are.

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Plans to restore Nasr Theater as a museum began in 2017 but have been slow moving. In April of this year, it opened for a week and was so well received that twice now, they’ve offered limited visiting hours on specific days that need to be booked in advance. This incredible project is all thanks to the Tehran municipality alongside Ali Shakeri, a young architect from Shiar Studio whose goal is to tell the stories of Tehran’s historical buildings (it currently has 4 other projects in the works). In this project, he wants audiences to experience the Qajar-era Nasr Theater in its original form before the restoration process. He also invites guests in each group to share any personal memories that they may have to enrich the event.

To say that this had been a dream of mine would be an understatement. Truth be told, I thought that even dreaming about such a thing would be entirely too farfetched. I would allow myself to get lost in my imagination for a few minutes, but letting myself actually dream about it would just lead to the tragic disappointment of being left ârezu be del. But I guess it’s like they say… dreams do come true. 

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