On Tuesday, Iran’s Channel 3 unveiled a surreal spectacle—an animated, Lego-style tableau of war and vengeance, a digital epic draped in symbolism and defiance. The broadcast served as a propagandistic requiem to the Iran–Israel conflict that erupted on June 13, reimagined in plastic bricks and vivid imagination.
The stage opens with a devilish figure—horned and ominous—seated at a table beside caricatures of Donald Trump and Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu. Their hands move like puppet masters above a map, conspiring to strike at the heart of Iran’s Isfahan Military Complex. But their scheming ignites a firestorm: in response, the streets of Iran overflow like a river breaking its banks, as masses of citizens rise with resolve, and missiles arc across the sky like flaming arrows in a night of reckoning.
Netanyahu, his face twisted with fury, phones Trump in desperation, while Lego-formed Jewish characters scatter in terror, fleeing missile fire and huddling in bomb shelters—caves of fear carved beneath collapsing civilization.
The digital fable crescendos with scenes of Iranian missiles striking deep into Israel—toppling glass towers like brittle idols, engulfing ports in fire, and leveling air bases with divine fury. An Iranian female newscaster, stylized and fierce, delivers a thundering address as fresh salvos launch behind her—missiles streaking across a red sky like omens.
The finale unfolds in a chorus of jubilation: pixelated crowds in Lebanon, Iraq, Iran, Yemen, and the Palestinian Authority erupt in celebration. The screen fades to black, then flashes with a final, ominous proclamation—written in Hebrew, Persian, Arabic, and English: “We are the ones who control the game.”
All this unfolds to the haunting score of Tehran, an Israeli spy thriller, now repurposed as the soundtrack to a fantasy of reversal—where the hunted becomes the hunter, and the narrative, like plastic bricks, is rearranged into a myth of victory.
