Forgiveness as Currency: From Arthouse to Tea Bag

A blog by Joyce Cordus

Recently, I have noticed that forgiveness has emerged as a theme in award-winning international films and Dutch commercials that aim to bring a lump to your throat in thirty seconds. It’s as if “Sorry,” “Can I make it up to you?” and “Shall we talk again?” have suddenly become valuable hooks that generate tension and emotion immediately and provide a cautious way out of conflict in a story. It’s a kind of narrative currency.

In Jafar Panahi’s beautiful arthouse film It Was Just an Accident, Iran serves as the backdrop, a country where opposition and repression return in waves. In this context, every choice carries weight. In the film’s story: What do you do with damage, anger, and the temptation of revenge? Outside of the film, consider that Panahi dared to film it at all! Not as a symbol, but as something that touches your existence. The film beautifully illustrates that choosing forgiveness over revenge is not a simple, nice solution. It comes at a cost. The film begins as a revenge thriller when someone thinks he recognizes his former tormentor and seizes his chance. Soon, though, it’s no longer about seizing that opportunity; it’s about the question: What do you do with the sense of justice that kept you going? What remains of you when you confuse revenge with recovery? Panahi explicitly refers to this in interviews, describing his attempt to make a film that is more about forgiveness than revenge. It’s not a moral lesson, but rather, moral tension.

As a viewer, you can’t sit back and relax because the film doesn’t provide a simple solution. He does not take the easy route of saying, “If you forgive, everything will be fine again, and we can move on.” The question is not “Can we be friends again?” but “What do we do with the damage and our urge for revenge?”

In Joachim Trier’s film Sentimental Value, which won the Grand Prix at the 2025 Cannes Film Festival, forgiveness is depicted as a slow process rather than a single decisive moment. This family drama follows an older filmmaker who, after many years, attempts to reconnect with his adult daughters. The “recovery” process consists mainly of misunderstandings, retreats, and half-successful attempts. Forgiveness is not an endpoint here, but rather something that sometimes begins very small: a conversation that does not immediately derail or a moment when someone does not walk away.

And then there are the commercials. Last year, Schoonenberg, a well-known hearing aid store in Holland, released a Christmas commercial. It revolves around small moments when people listen to each other. These moments help restore connection during a time of hardening and polarization. And yes, that also includes an apology that is finally uttered or a conversation that finally gets going again. Something similar happened in one of the stories in the Pickwick’s Tea Topics/Take Your Time commercial almost 10 years ago. (Pickwick is a well-known Dutch tea brand.) In that story, a young woman seeks out a former classmate to ask for forgiveness because she used to bully her. However, Pickwick doesn’t sell forgiveness; it sells a ritual: a tea moment that allows you to address an issue you would otherwise avoid. The tea bag becomes a small stage for big words. Super smart, of course.

Is forgiveness becoming a more attractive topic? Perhaps. Not because we have all suddenly seen the light, but because it is an appealing narrative: rupture → vulnerability → recovery. However, there is an important risk involved: if forgiveness becomes a ready-made format, it can turn into a feel-good reset, a quick fix that bypasses the cost of real responsibility.

This is precisely why comparing films and advertising is interesting. In the aforementioned films, forgiveness is difficult and costly: it requires time, involves shame and doubt, and sometimes endangers one’s safety. In contrast, modern advertising tends to depict forgiveness as a quick emotional arc: from breakup to vulnerability to warm reconciliation. This approach is not necessarily cynical. It can be comforting. However, it clashes with reality, where forgiveness is rarely a reset button.

When forgiveness becomes a formula, it risks becoming a quick emotional arc: breakup, tears, apology, hug, done. The Mindfulness-Based Training in Forgiveness takes the opposite approach. Forgiveness is not a script but a process that cannot be forced. Sometimes, taking a step toward forgiveness is premature or simply the wrong step. In the training, we practice being mindful in the face of resentment, shame, and sadness. We learn to have compassion that is precise, not soft: compassion with boundaries, compassion with truth. Perhaps the most exciting question behind all those films and commercials is not whether forgiveness “works,” but whether we are willing to learn how to do it properly.

Joyce Cordus, January 6, 2026