Film Review - The Last Mullet

Hoj Jomehri’s darkly comic short transforms one of Iran’s stranger morality crackdowns into a pointed fable about identity, authoritarianism and the perilous act of remaining visible.

It would be easy to treat the premise of Hoj Jomehri’s “The Last Mullet” as little more than an irresistible political absurdity. In 2010, Iran’s Ministry of Culture and Islamic Guidance officially condemned the mullet as an un-Islamic hairstyle, turning an eccentric fashion choice into another battleground for state control. Jomehri recognizes the inherent comedy of that history, but his short film also understands the disturbing truth beneath it: When a government attempts to regulate something as personal as a haircut, the hair itself is rarely the point.

Set against this real-life decree, “The Last Mullet,” which screened at the 2026 LA Shorts International Film Festival, follows Shervin, a spirited Iranian whose proudly maintained hairstyle abruptly transforms him from harmless nonconformist into hunted outlaw. What was once an expression of personality is reclassified as evidence of moral corruption, leaving Shervin to flee authorities determined to cut him — quite literally — down to size.

Across town, the decree is enforced by Siavash and his henchmen, who round up offenders and publicly shear their mullets. The resulting spectacle carries the exaggerated menace of dystopian satire: a squad of self-appointed guardians treating unfashionable hair as though it poses an existential threat to the nation. Yet the ridiculousness never makes the violence harmless. Each forced haircut becomes a ritual of humiliation, intended not simply to alter how a person looks but to demonstrate who possesses the power to decide how that person may exist.

That tension gives “The Last Mullet” its sharpest edge. Jomehri builds the story around a visual joke that becomes progressively less funny as its implications expand. The film’s central image may invite laughter, but every snip of the scissors reveals a system obsessed with obedience. By turning barbershop tools into instruments of intimidation, the filmmaker exposes how authoritarian power infiltrates the most intimate corners of ordinary life.

Shervin’s mullet consequently assumes a significance that neither he nor the audience might initially expect. It becomes an emblem of individuality, dignity and resistance — all the more potent because of its seeming triviality. Shervin is not introduced as the conventional face of political rebellion. He does not begin with a grand ideological mission or a desire for martyrdom. His transgression is simply that he looks like himself and does not wish to surrender that identity on command.

There is something deeply human in that refusal. Political dramas often frame resistance through speeches, movements and sweeping acts of sacrifice. “The Last Mullet” finds it in stubborn personal attachment. Shervin’s flight is comic in conception, but the stakes become painfully sincere: How much of oneself can be surrendered before survival ceases to feel like freedom?

Siavash represents the opposite choice. His role in enforcing the decree suggests the frightening efficiency of systems that persuade ordinary people to become custodians of repression. He need not believe that a mullet is dangerous; he merely needs to perform as though the rule is unquestionable. The character’s menace lies in the bureaucratic certainty with which absurdity is converted into punishment.

Jomehri’s tonal balancing act is crucial. Push the material too far toward comedy, and the victims’ fear risks becoming part of the joke. Treat it with unbroken solemnity, and the grotesque absurdity of the law could lose its satirical force. “The Last Mullet” occupies the charged space between those extremes, allowing humor to draw the audience close before revealing the cruelty concealed inside the premise.

The short also resonates beyond the particular moment that inspired it. Clothing, music, hair and other forms of self-presentation have long been targeted by authorities precisely because they communicate identity without permission. By narrowing its focus to a single forbidden hairstyle, the film captures the broader mechanics of cultural control: First define difference as indecency, then treat conformity as virtue and finally punish anyone who insists upon remaining recognizable to themselves.

That is what makes Shervin’s mullet more than a punchline. Its flamboyance turns visibility into vulnerability, but it also makes concealment impossible. His struggle asks whether personal freedom still means anything when it can be revoked over something so superficial — and whether maintaining that freedom is worth the danger it invites.

“The Last Mullet” may take its title from a hairstyle associated with questionable taste, but Jomehri finds something unexpectedly moving in its persistence. Beneath the short’s comic chase and historical peculiarity lies a clear and urgent conviction: Oppression does not become less serious merely because its rules are ridiculous.

Sometimes resistance begins with a raised fist. Sometimes it begins with refusing to bow one’s head for the scissors.