The Seed of the Sacred Fig is now showing in selected cinemas.
The Mahsa Amini protests of 2022 were probably the most vocal outcries against the Iranian regime in years. Spawning from the suspicious death of 22-year-old Mahsa Amini, who eyewitnesses say was killed by police after being arrested for not wearing a hijab, it served as a significant backlash against the cultural patriarchy of the Middle Eastern region. It is these protests and what they decried that form the backdrop of Mohammed Rasoulof’s The Seed of the Sacred Fig, a riveting political drama as radical as it is suspenseful.
A fictional story that splices footage from the Mahsa Amini protests into its narrative, Iman (Missagh Zareh) is a devout lawyer living in Tehran with his equally reverent wife Najmeh (Soheila Golestani) and two daughters, Rezvan (Mahsa Rostami) and Sana (Setareh Maleki). Iman has recently been appointed as an investigating judge for Tehran’s Revolutionary Court. While the perks include a bigger salary and living space for his family, he soon learns that his role is not to investigate cases but to approve blanket judgements, including death sentences, against those seemingly partaking in the protests, regardless of the evidence.
Meanwhile, Iman’s daughters find themselves engrossed and ultimately radicalised by the Mahsa Amini protests despite their mother’s objections. As protests in and around Tehran become more heated, so too do the tensions in Iman’s household reach boiling point. Where Najmeh accepts the belief of being loyal to her husband, Rezvan and Sana gradually start to question and resist the idea of authoritarianism.
The Seed of the Sacred Fig is a battle cry for equity in spite of its setting of strict cultural and religious laws. The Middle East, particularly Iran, is arguably founded on the ideals of historical Islam – an ideology that, among other things, champions a hierarchical structure where women are expected to be subservient to men. Such ideas are inherently authoritarian, enforced by the legalising of religious customs such as wearing a hijab. Rasoulof, who writes and directs this picture, lambasts authoritarianism on all fronts. Just as ordinary women demand greater rights in the streets of Tehran outside, so too do Rezvan and Sana push back against the gendered authoritarianism found in their household as much as the entire country. It’s a film as angry as it is empathetic.
In a way, the film advocates for feminism most potently by showcasing Iman as a staunch traditionalist desperately trying to hold on to dwindling power. He claims that he loves his wife and daughters, and maybe a part of him truly does, but he loves his position of authority more. When a valuable item goes missing from the household – an item whose disappearance could spell imprisonment for him – Iman gradually begins to subject his family to more extreme restrictions in his pursuit of the truth. What makes these scenes so terrifying isn’t just the frenzied performances from the stellar cast but the fact that Iman honestly believes he has the right to treat his family like this. In his mind, he is upholding the law. Yet, to his daughters, he is stripping them of their humanity and autonomy.
Despite its status as a domestic drama, albeit an immensely political one, the film is as captivating as a thriller, one in which nowhere feels safe. Just as Rezvan, Sana and Najmeh feel trapped under the iron fist of patriarchy, ostracized for so much as thinking about the protests, let alone being near them, so too does Iman feel threatened by a wave of outrage that his conservative values fundamentally aren’t prepared for. His new occupation is kept anonymous, yet it is constantly under threat of exposure. Lingering shots of mysterious, unidentified characters and seemingly empty environments create the impression of always being watched – the atmosphere is electric and unrelenting. The opening titles discuss how a sacred fig tree is created by essentially strangling and consuming an already existing tree until something new replaces it. It’s a fitting metaphor for how the film and its political basis challenge the worldviews of every member of this family.
At two hours and forty-five minutes, this is not a short viewing, and indeed, the film goes on for a touch too long, with some scenes feeling a bit tonally inconsistent. The final act of the film sees a change in location that pits the family against each other in one last, desperate confrontation, yet the earliest scenes in this new location seem pretty amicable despite the tensions. Regardless, the film acts as a spine-chilling examination of injustice, various forms of oppression, and the ways in which different generations’ relationship to the status quo can bring these things to light. The film’s most chilling scene is an argument at the dinner table between Iman and Rezvan in which Rezvan bluntly tells her father that, despite his years serving as a lawyer, he has no awareness of patriarchal issues because he has dedicated his life to defending that very same patriarchy. It’s a haunting scene as powerfully acted and blisteringly crafted as any other in the film.
2021 saw the release of the Jordanian Netflix show AlRawabi School For Girls, an underrated, harrowing show that directly challenges the harm of authoritarian cultural patriarchy. Between AlRawabi and now The Seed of the Sacred Fig, one wonders if Middle Eastern media may be entering a period of protest. Whether this is the case or not, The Seed of the Sacred Fig is absolutely nail-biting. Thrilling, horrifying and superbly acted, it’s as meticulously atmospheric as it is vocal in its political convictions. In fact, as of this review, Mohammed Rasoulof remains in exile in Germany as a direct result of the Iranian government sentencing him to prison over this film, which they label as “propaganda”. This film is not only a remarkable cry against cultural oppression but also an artistic display of courage from Rasoulof and his cast and crew.
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