When mass protests erupted in Iran after the death in custody of 22-year-old Mahsa Amini, who had been detained for not properly wearing her hijab, Mohammad Rasoulof was in jail. By night, out of earshot of the guards, the Iranian director – incarcerated for being critical of the government – and his fellow political prisoners gathered to discuss the turmoil unfolding outside. As the protests intensified and the number of detainees grew, a general pardon was issued and Rasoulof was released.
His time in jail helped inspire his new film: a drama about a paranoid state investigator who turns on his own family. Rasoulof had been mulling over versions of it for 15 years, fearing it was “too ambitious”. Free from prison, he set to work – but this time, in complete secret. He directed The Seed of the Sacred Fig almost entirely from his own sofa, using a broadband connection registered under someone else’s name.
“We decided that I shouldn’t be on location during filming,” he says. “Most of the work was done through FaceTime. The advantage was that if anyone came to check the set, they wouldn’t find me there. Sometimes, when I needed to be closer, I would sit in a car or stand 100 metres away.”
It wasn’t until the film was in post-production and selected for the 2024 Cannes film festival that the authorities discovered who was really behind it. Around the same time, Rasoulof was given eight years in prison for previously accumulated but unenforced sentences, and faced being flogged after police discovered bottles of wine in his apartment during a raid.
Rasoulof decided to flee Iran, making a dangerous trip on foot over mountains and via a secret route to safety. A month after leaving Tehran, he put the finishing touches to the film. “The editing had already begun with someone I knew in Germany. Every night, we sent proxy files of the footage, and he would edit the scenes. I would review the cuts, sometimes watching them on my phone via WhatsApp.”
He was able to attend the premiere – although his cast could not – and the film received a 13-minute standing ovation, as well as the special jury prize. On Thursday, it was nominated for the best international feature Oscar, alongside Emilia Pérez and Kneecap. Speaking of the nod, Rasoulef said: “I’m thrilled that the film has been nominated – it’s wonderful news. My thoughts are with my colleagues who remain in Iran. The more attention this film receives, the more a story representing the Iranian people is heard, and that means so much to me.”
Germany had put the film forward as its nomination. “Although the film is representing Germany, I am still Iranian at heart,” Rasoulef added, “and the film is also Iranian, even as I attend the Oscars with a German-issued travel document. While I wish the film had been submitted by Iran, I’m deeply grateful to Germany for stepping forward. What matters most to me is that the message of this film is heard.”
It is certainly the most urgent and topical movie among the fictional contenders. Missagh Zare stars as Iman, a newly promoted state investigator, who lives with his subservient wife, Najmeh (Soheila Golestani), and their two daughters. Relations start to fray when the younger women express sympathy with those involved in the Mahsa Amini protests (known as the Woman, Life, Freedom movement). Rasoulof mixes in real-life footage of the marches. When Iman’s handgun goes missing, he suspects his daughters have swiped it, and – consumed by paranoia – is encouraged by a colleague to interrogate his own family.
The film is especially acute on the different forms of submission in play – obedience to God as well as the patriarchy. Iran’s ideological systems demand unquestioning loyalty, says Rasoulof, but his female characters disrupt such power structures.
“Submission is unquestioning obedience,” he says. “The profound love celebrated in Iranian literature, often romanticised, is another form of surrender. This submission extends into our politics. What does Iran’s Supreme Leader ultimately demand from us? Unquestioning obedience. Complete allegiance.”
Meanwhile, Najmeh struggles with her deep loyalty to her husband and her growing discomfort over his actions, and moves towards a closer alignment with her daughters.
Iranian mothers, says Rasoulof, are “self-sacrificing, peacekeepers of the family who often sideline their own needs”. But the younger generation are beginning to change their perspective, and their agency.
In one striking scene, we see Najmeh tenderly attending to her husband – cutting his hair, shaving his back, applying balm to his face, colouring his beard. This is followed by a closeup of him showering, with only her hands visible as she washes his head. Such subtle moments serve as a substitute for any explicit intimacy, which remains taboo in Iranian cinema. Similarly challenging for Iran’s censors are the depictions of female actors without hijabs in their home – shots which have also led to the house arrest of the makers of another highly acclaimed Iranian film from last year, My Favourite Cake.
When Rasoulof began making movies, he was much less direct. Post-revolutionary Iranian cinema – such as the work of Abbas Kiarostami and Asghar Farhadi – traditionally avoided direct political engagement. The recent upheavals have changed that and storytelling is becoming much more overt.
“My cinematic language was initially very metaphorical,” says Rasoulof. “I believed metaphors helped me navigate the limitations, but eventually I realised I was just aiding the censorship. I wanted to be true to myself. After my arrest in 2010, I told myself, ‘You’re a film-maker: do what you want, don’t hold back.’”
Allegories, he continues, are the “aesthetics of tyranny”. “In a totalitarian system, what isn’t political? Choosing to be apolitical is, in itself, a political stance.”
The Iranian establishment’s paranoia stems from its loss of legitimacy, Rasoulof says. Admitting its mistakes would undermine its authority. Rasoulof cites Václav Havel’s 1978 essay The Power of the Powerless, which examines how individuals comply with oppressive regimes through everyday acts of conformity, often through fear or convenience.
“Havel uses the example of a fruit-and-vegetable seller who places a sign with the slogan ‘Workers of the world, unite!’ in their shop window, not because they believe in it, but to avoid punishment or suspicion. Similarly, the Iranian system requires women to wear the hijab. It doesn’t matter whether they believe in it or not; the requirement is a way to assert control.”
The Seed of the Sacred Fig was initially borne of his own interactions with his country’s censors, who, he says, like judges and interrogators, are all submissive to the political regime. “I’ve often asked myself, ‘Why can’t I see things through their eyes? How can they ignore the anger, corruption and suffering in society?’”
Rasoulof has now been arrested several times and given hefty sentences. He has served time in jail twice – 11 months in total, including 65 days in solitary confinement.
He was first sentenced in 2010 after making a film with Jafar Panahi, and working without the required permit. More arrests followed. In 2017 he was barred from leaving the country after making a film about a fish farmer who becomes embroiled in a battle against local authorities. And in 2020 he received a one-year sentence for There Is No Evil, a film about the death penalty in Iran. It won the top prize at the Berlin film festival, the Golden Bear, but the director was unable to attend.
The future is unclear for Rasoulof. Currently living in Germany, he is considering three projects, all connected to Iran. He hopes to attend the Oscars in early March. His prospects of being able to return home seem slim.
But the mood may be changing, he hopes. The 2022 protests defying the hijab laws, he says, meant “the system was forced to hear a resounding ‘no’ from the people. A large portion of society said, ‘This is who we are, this is how we want to live.’”
The film’s cast and crew have also faced serious consequences because of their involvement. Three young female actors were forced to flee Iran. The cinematographer had his office raided by authorities, who confiscated his belongings while searching for film rushes, and then barred him from leaving the country.
Meanwhile, the sound effects artist had his passport seized at the airport as he prepared to travel to Canada. Actor Soheila Golestani also remains under pressure from the authorities, and a case has been opened against her for “spreading corruption and propaganda against the regime”. She is out on bail but “facing tremendous pressure”, says Rasoulof.
Today, he says he feels he had no choice but to leave Iran. “Going to prison would have been dangerous for me, because as a film-maker, you can’t make films from prison,” he says. “I’m 52, and I kept thinking, ‘What if I were released at 61 or 67? What would happen then?’ I have many films left to make. I thought that I need my 50s and 60s to create.
“Going to prison would have somehow diminished me. I refused to accept the role of a victim. I’m here to create the films I’ve always dreamed of making.”
Source: theguardian.com
