The best movie I’ve seen so far this year – and likely the best movie I will see – is the Iranian film The Seed of the Sacred Fig, which opened throughout the country on Thursday. It’s an extremely suspenseful psychological thriller, political allegory, and complex family drama that plays like Alfred Hitchcock meets the “Woman, Life, Freedom” movement.
Perhaps the best compliment I can pay the writer/director, Mohammad Rasoulof, is to say that when the film, which opened the Haifa International Film Festival, was over, I couldn’t believe it was nearly three hours. It was so good in every way that the time just flew by.
It should come as no surprise that Rasoulof kept the script under wraps as much as he could and that, when the film was accepted to the Cannes Film Festival, the Iranian government issued a warrant for his arrest. He refused to withdraw it from the festival and had to flee Iran. He now lives in Europe, and the movie went on to win the Jury Special Prize at Cannes.
In contrast to Iran’s most famous filmmaker, Asghar Farhadi, whose films A Separation and The Salesman both won Oscars and make only muted criticisms of the regime, Rasoulof focuses on the inner workings of the government and the women who live under its rule.
Some of the actors from the film have also fled, while Soheila Golestani, the lead actress, is facing 74 lashes and prison time and is currently under house arrest. Needless to say, she could not attend the Oscars ceremony, where the film was nominated in the Best International Feature category as the selection from Germany, not Iran, since the movie has German producers.
From one point of view, the entire movie can be seen as an illustration of Chekhov’s famous maxim about dramatic writing: “If in the first act, you have hung a pistol on the wall, then in the following one, it should be fired. Otherwise, don’t put it there.”
It actually opens with a shot of bullets being counted and loaded into a gun. The gun is being given to Iman (Misagh Zare), a lawyer who is being appointed to the position of investigating judge for the Revolutionary Court.
It is intended for his protection since many people are resentful of the sentences, including many death sentences, handed down by these judges. Looking conflicted at the gravity of his new assignment, he drives off to a deserted mosque at night, thanking God for his good fortune.
At home, he shares the news with his wife, Najmeh (Soheila Golestani), whispering in their small apartment to avoid waking their daughters, Rezvan (Mahsa Rostami), 21, and teenager Sana (Setareh Maleki). Iman leaves early and works late, and it’s his wife who runs the house.
The next day, Najmeh tells her daughters they will soon be able to afford an apartment where they will each have their own bedroom due to their father’s promotion. The family goes out to dinner to celebrate, and it’s the first time we see the three women in hijabs. For a moment, it’s jarring since we’ve gotten to know them at home, looking so ordinary, so much like us.
Their mother talks about how this is no ordinary promotion. They must not tell anyone about it, they can’t have friends over anymore, and they must stay off social media. The girls look less than thrilled.
IT TURNS out that it’s 2022, around the time Mahsa Amini, a 22-year-old, was arrested for not wearing her hijab properly and was dead a few days later. Her death sparked the largest protests in Iran in over a decade.
Despite their mother’s admonition, Rezvan and Sana are glued to social media, watching the protests unfold, stunned. When Rezvan’s friend, Sadaf (Niousha Akhshi), is badly wounded in a demonstration –she insists she wasn’t taking part but was hurt by the police anyway – Rezvan and Sana give her shelter.
Their mother is appalled at first – this is the last thing their father needs – but takes pity on Sadaf and picks buckshot out of her face gently, cleansing her wounds.
The moment seems to signal the beginning of a fundamental change in Najmeh, who at first seemed to see Iman’s promotion only in terms of moving to a better apartment and buying new appliances. Her reaction seems to signal hope that the protests may bring real change to Iran.
Meanwhile, Iman is tormented at work by the number of cases he is given and the pressure to sign off on death sentences for prisoners whose files he doesn’t even have time to read. He turns to a colleague for advice and makes his way to this friend’s office through halls filled with ghostly-looking life-size cardboard cut-outs of late Iranian officials.
This image – like many in the expertly photographed movie – is evocative and creepy. And then something happens that changes everything for the family: Iman’s gun disappears.
Who took it is the mystery that drives most of the plot. Just as in a Hitchcock movie, where the plot is constructed so that the characters can’t go to the police, here it’s made clear that if Iman tells his superior about the lost gun, he could lose everything. But it’s hard to keep secrets in his world, and we get a look at the inner workings of the secret Revolutionary Courts.
The third act
Many movies fall apart in their third acts, but The Seed of the Sacred Fig revs up as it goes along. It’s a brilliant evocation of how a repressive regime feeds on paranoia, as this family unit destroys itself on a trip that could be described as the worst family vacation ever.
The whole story works to illustrate the metaphor about the titular fig, which, according to the titles, spreads its seeds to other plants and splits them from within.
The actors, especially the women, are excellent. Mahsa Rostami as Rezvan is especially good, and her face and blunt haircut make her resemble an ancient statue.
The Seed of the Sacred Fig makes the struggle of Iranians for the most basic freedoms come alive in a way that will make audiences identify with the protesters, and it incorporates videos from the protests. But it’s a work of art as well as a political statement and will likely be remembered both for its artistry and its cry of protest.
