by Cris Mora-Villa, Contributing Writer
“The sacred fig tree, which is considered sacred in ancient Iranian culture, has an unusual cycle of life. The seeds of this tree fall on other trees, hidden in droppings of birds that feed on its fruit. These seeds then sprout on the branches of those trees. The sprouts send their roots down towards the ground and gradually, the branches cover the trunk of the host and suffocate it. Thereafter, the sacred fig tree stands on its own feet.”
Mohammad Rasoulof’s The Seed of the Sacred Fig opens with a summarization of the life cycle for a species of fig known as ficus religiosa. As a prologue to the film, the opaque delineation of its contents leave much to unpack, both as it appears on screen and during the end credits. Even if I could not recall the exact verbiage, its presence stayed with me all the same. What became clear upon revisiting the film and seeing these words in their proper context was how spiritually envisaged the prologue is, akin to philosophical text. Symbolic of a regime that’s come to feel everlasting, the interpretive vernacular of an ecological entity cyclically spreading via a violent act of nature is telling of where Rasoulof is coming from in naming this movie after such an idea. Rasoulof places the focus on his home country of Iran to give the prologue its purpose. For reasons evident in the picture, Rasoulof doesn’t shy away from shining a light on Iran’s ethical and political misdeeds. When examining Rasoulof’s personal history with Iran’s theocratic practices, the inevitability of where the two would part is itself a reflection of this film’s ending. The separation of oneself from a system that seeps into every corner of your existence, all in the attempt for that system to maintain its own power by any means necessary.
In my personal estimation, The Seed of the Sacred Fig falls in equal standing with I’m Still Here, as no other two films in 2024 left as significant an impact on me as those two. Viewing both works in such close proximity brought forth the notion of them as companion pieces. This is in large part due to their similarly defined subject matter concerning politically fraught settings that leave an irrevocable impact on a single family. For that reason, certain sentiments behind what I had previously written in my I’m Still Here review resonate rather closely to Sacred Fig in ways that extend beyond my own canon. While I’m Still Here may have won the Oscar for Best International Film at this year’s Academy Awards, Sacred Fig stood right alongside it as a fellow nominee. On another night, perhaps the latter walks away with the trophy in hand. As it stands, however, the film is nothing short of a masterclass in filmmaking that wholeheartedly commits to its condemnation of authoritarianism, while showcasing an empathy inherent in humanity in dignified fashion.
The Seed of the Sacred Fig follows the conflicts in a lower middle class family when Iman (Missagh Zareh) is promoted to a new position as an investigative judge, leading to distrust within his home life amidst growing political unrest in the city of Tehran. The foundation for Rasoulof’s tenth feature film was laid years before production ever began. With 20 years of directing in his back pocket, Rasoulof has had plenty of personal experiences to arrive at a clear understanding of the place from which he came. For the better part of a decade, the Islamic Revolutionary Court has made its presence known on multiple occasions regarding Rasoulof’s projects. Reasons cited for their intrusions range from the spreading of propaganda to participation in political activity. The consequences of these charges would come in the form of several punishments aimed at Rasoulof directly. He was punished for the mere existence of his art, which he saw as an honest examination of his home country as it currently existed. The court deemed otherwise, and were all too keen to throw fines his way, confiscate his passport, and issue a ban preventing him from leaving the country. Throughout this time, Rasoulof would also receive years-long sentences to serve out in prison. This is the extent to which the Iranian government has gone in attempts to silence Rasoulof, but it was the release of The Seed of the Sacred Fig that proved to be their final straw for both sides.
Rasoulof would be released from his most recent sentencing in early 2023, with an added ban prohibiting him from making any movies for two years. This is where production for Sacred Fig takes root, as at the same time, nationwide civil unrest of near unprecedented scale would collide with the Iranian government. To the best of my recollection, no specifics are provided on the cause of origin for the many protests that occur in the background of the picture. Mahsa Amini, a university student who was arrested for not wearing a hijab, and would later succumb to injuries sustained by the police while in their custody, is not named for having further escalated the events that take place in the film’s backdrop, but her life force is present throughout the entirety of the film in an act of endurance. As is the essence of the hundreds of others whose lives were lost in the two-year span during which the conflict between government and populous took place. Such an act of remembrance is achieved through Rasoulof’s self-assured direction, and the keen eye of Sacred Fig‘s editor, Andrew Bird. Together, the overwhelming weight of events happening on the other side of the globe make their way onto the screen without the barrier of protection that is fiction. The narrative is an extension of Rasoulof’s own imagination, but interspersed throughout are cracks of reality that blend the lived experience of the movie’s characters with that of our own.
The role of “media” likely goes unrivaled when discussing a pillar of industry whose breadth of influence on the genetic makeup of today’s society extends to nearly every corner of the Earth. As technology has continued to evolve, immense shifts have followed in the culture for how one absorbs information. Where one comes from, and how news of the world makes its way to each person’s periphery, is key to forming their perspective. Sacred Fig keys in on this to establish character and formulate their trajectory. Iman is somewhat exempt from this, as he’s positioned as a fixture for what allows cracks to form in the home via his promotion. He doesn’t need to hear what the news is saying to draw conclusions when he finds himself dealing with the consequences of his work. It is his family who occupy the observational stance as the effects of Iran’s ongoing conflicts are unavoidable for its home base to ignore. Iman’s wife Najmeh (Soheila Golestani) is of a different generation who is less privy to the worldview her daughters see. What she sees through the curated portrait that is television of an unscrupulous rebellion from citizens unwilling to obey order, her daughter’s view as a subjugation of people’s rights through violence. Najmeh is more trusting of the narratives that traditional Iranian news outlets choose to broadcast. Her daughters Sana (Setareh Maleki) and Rezvan (Mahsa Rostami) look past the set upon system of narrative on TV and instead stare at a differing truth found on their phones.
Scenes of Sana and Rezvan on their devices, and seeing what was happening in real time to their own people, were where I could most relate to the film. I’ve spent a great deal of time doing just this. This is how I engage with the general landscape of today’s society, politics, and culture, both at home and abroad. I take in what the world has to offer at present and make of it what I will, but in the midst of that process are often conflicted feelings of disorientation, contempt, and apathy. Such emotions are not unique to myself, as I know many experience a similar degree of screen dependency. What differs are the thoughts and opinions people have not just to individual articles or videos, but reactions from the rest of the world to said news. No one with a foot in the ocean that is social media is excluded from its side effects, for its stranglehold is too all-encompassing to not perpetuate these cyclical dynamics. Rezvan and Sana fall closely within my age range, and so are old enough to where they can recognize what is happening in their own home. By staring at their screens to gauge the severity of the protests, they are seeing a concrete account of somebody else’s perspective as videos begin to crop up on their feeds depicting violence. Their reactions mirror my own, as well as the audience from my initial viewing, in that any pretense of safety completely dissipates. The sisters grow anxious and fearful of what they are witnessing directly because of how personal the on screen footage feels. Najmeh never has this experience, and so she approaches the entire situation with tilted eyes.
Najmeh offers a different perspective than that of her daughters. Where Rezvan and Sana are prone to questioning the methods by which authoritarian powers are using to shut down protestors, Najmeh embraces a position of safety. This stance isn’t explicitly arrived at through the sporting of nationalistic values, as her political beliefs are almost nonexistent from the picture. She has no stance to adhere to that contrasts her daughters’ opinions, as what motivates her thinking above all else is a commitment to Iman in his efforts to succeed at a higher position and a growing fear of what could happen to her family should Sana and Rezvan act carelessly. Najmeh has her own understanding of what goes on in times of such chaos, and is unrelenting in upholding her worldview if she believes it’s what is best for her family. In short, what’s driving that impulse is her sworn fealty to her role as a mother and wife. There is a layer of judgement towards the unruly youth, who are in turn punished by authority, but any lack of empathy stemming from that hardly threatens to overtake Najmeh’s own concerns for her daughters were they to get caught at the wrong place at the wrong time. No risk is too small to let slide considering the volatility at play, especially when the potential for a grander reward is within the family’s reach. It’s not meaningless that Najmeh also seeks the class ascendancy that comes with being an investigative judge. The position gives the possibility for security and comfort in return for its weighty implications. Najmeh and Iman don’t live in poverty, but that doesn’t negate the desire to get the most out of life, even if the cost is the corruption of the soul. To this, Najmeh, Sana, and Rezvan are to an extent kept in the dark as the bearer for that torch is Iman.
The most clearly defined character is Iman. We spend time with him as he tackles his newly found duties which are far removed from what he’d done previously, and is quick to question the merit of as arrests escalate. Part of how he obtained the position to begin with was through the spotless reputation he had amassed from his time as a lawyer in the Revolutionary Courts. Iman’s sense of honesty and commitment to doing his job to the best of his ability does merit an apt reward, but the circumstances of his promotion only contaminate his efforts by forcing him to abandon his morality. Retroactive reports surrounding the protests note that the number of arrests during this time approached 20,000, with deaths confirmed totaling over 500. For all of those instances, the need for the conceptual spokes on a wheel within the hierarchy of Iran’s government become necessary to fulfill the roles that keeps the wheel turning. Rasoulof makes it clear that being in the position of a judge means doing what the powers at be insist get done, for the alternative equals termination. With that in mind, Iman could just be doing his job. At the same time, however, that position deflects the responsibility of his actions by chalking it up to the wills of a higher power. He may not be the one giving orders, nor does he embrace an obedient ideology in the same way his peers do, but he still walks down the path that they did, despite where it ultimately leads him.
Rasoulof does not forgo clarification of the most important thing Iman is tasked with doing as part of his job. That is serving as the antiquated, which allows for the prison sentences and executions to be carried out. That weight falls square on his shoulders, and with it seeds of paranoia which eventually enter the family home. On par with the pacing of the movie itself, said paranoia slowly builds to the climax of Iman’s atrophy in the back half. The film’s structure is intentionally split into two halves, resembling acts of a play. The establishing of character, their separate motivations, and setting in its first half are all indispensable when arriving at the film’s final moments when tensions shown throughout leave an irrevocable impact on this family. It is at that point where the theme of spirituality which has loomed large over the runtime meets a sort of predestination which cannot be separated from the opening passage. The concoction of paranoia, need for religious salvation, and duty-bound fealty to protect his family only accelerate his arc from an ordinary father to a man who loses himself to darkness. Try though he might to offset this end with his piety, the presence of inevitability brewing over him perfectly speaks to the language of the film’s parable of a decaying host infected by a foundational force. For as damning as this element is in regards to character, the epilogue acts as an emotional counterpoint to the parable from which we began. In this, Rasoulof revisits the tool of media to make way in the audience’s mind the possibility that brighter outcomes can exist. You need only look a bit further ahead.
We as a collective spectator aren’t lost for examples which highlight the existence of some very real, and at times ghastly, events that have been recorded by cameras both built into our environment and accessible by way of phones. When kept under the scope of the film’s narrative, we see these videos as acts of other peoples lived experiences during the months of the protests. Sana and Rezvan’s reactions inform character and reinforce their belief systems in ways that are not afforded to their parents. The audience is given respite from the confined in-movie experience to a whole other side of the internet. One that doesn’t solely focus on melancholy, but a celebration of the enduring spirit that gives birth to and sprouts from revolution. The reason officials cited for Mahsa Amini’s arrest after she was pronounced dead was her improper donning of a hijab in public. The response to her death was a seismic indication of the willingness to not cower in the face of the oppressive customs. At the root of Iran’s response to the protests are a set of practices which embrace a wanton need to stomp out anything that crosses the line of their societal and religious customs. They are the boot and any detractors of the status quo are bugs. The fact that the last images Rasoulof leaves the viewer with is of open aired expression, specifically from the perspective of the female populous, doesn’t just speaks to the film’s pro-feminist messaging, but serves as the ultimate act of posterity that plants a flag announcing, “This is what was, time will unveil what will be.” And if I could use my imagination for a moment, I’d like to think time will leave this cycle a thing of the past.
Rating: High Side of Loved It
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