LOS ANGELES _ The old man took out his iPhone and scrolled to a black-and-white photo taken 50 years ago on a movie set in Tehran. Mansour Sepehrnia is paunchy and gray now, but then he was slender and his hair jet black. Along with two other men in the photo, he's wearing a tuxedo.
They were filming a comedy and the trio evoked Three Stooges slapstick: Sepehrnia and another skinny actor held up a chunky guy with a goofy expression on his face as he struggled to stand.
Sepehrnia shared the image with his fellow diners, then turned to his right and looked at his old friend Shomayoun Tabrizian. He was the other skinny guy. "Remember this photo?" Sepehrnia asked.
Tabrizian nodded. Smiles all around at the memory.
Memories fuel the conversation when Sepehrnia, 89, and other old friends gather each week at the Attari Sandwich Shop in "Tehrangeles," the Persian community in Westwood that blossomed after the Islamic Revolution of 1979 prompted thousands of Iranians to flee to the United States. It's not unusual to find old men gathered like this in other restaurants and tea shops in Tehrangeles. But you're more likely to see them play backgammon or grumble about the state of Iran today.
At the Attari, the topic is Hollywood _ at least the Iranian version of it _ and the memories come from a regular group of former actors, comedians, film editors and theater owners who were part of Iran's once-robust entertainment industry. They had to give up show business when they came to L.A. For 26 years, this little group has gathered at the restaurant every Tuesday at 11 a.m.
The number of diners, all men, varies _ sometimes a few, sometimes about 10. They mostly speak Persian but sometimes throw in the occasional English. Although each left Iran at a different time and while some still travel to the Islamic Republic, their days in the industry are now distant memories. Sometimes the men sit together without exchanging a single word, simply happy to be in one another's presence.
The gathering brings to mind the famed roundtable at the Hillcrest Country Club in Los Angeles, where comedians such as George Burns, Groucho Marx and George Jessel cracked jokes and reminisced.
At the Attari, the ambience is less glitzy and the conversation less competitive _ no one is trying to outdo one another _ and the wisecracks don't flow in English.
Just as Sepehrnia finished showing his friends the old photo, he recalled trying to film a fight scene. "The director was trying to show this guy how to fake-punch me, and he didn't know how to do it," he said.
Sepehrnia speaks in a slow, methodological way and continued as the waiter dropped off tea.
"Next thing I know the guy swings his arm and hits my nose! I had blood everywhere. And I see the director is laughing so hard he has tears coming down his face," Sepehrnia recalled, laughing. "The director said now I am a real comedian."
That's when Reza Taghavi, 79, jumped in, directing the men back to the tuxedo photo.
"You guys were much better looking back then!" he joked.
The room echoed with more deep laughter.
Another of the regulars, John Reghabi, recalled how in Iran fans always recognized him. Reghabi doesn't say this in a boastful way. He was a leading man and, as his friends see it, just stating the facts.
"I was a famous guy," said Reghabi, 81. "I couldn't walk down the street without being stopped."
His friends nodded.
"Yes, everyone knew you!" said Taghavi, who used to handle movie advertising. "You were famous."
But Reghabi's fortunes, and those of everyone else who gather each Tuesday at 11, changed 40 years ago last week. On Feb. 11, 1979, the revolution that would overthrow Shah Mohammed Reza Pahlavi began.
