There is a specific fig species that falls on existing tree branches and roots as seeds. When it blooms, it wraps itself around the tree and strangles it. The tree dies and the fig prevails. Writer-director Mohammad Rasoulof opens The Seed of the Sacred Fig (2024) with this agricultural tidbit, planting a thematic seed that works on several levels in his bold and brave directorial effort.
The Seed of the Sacred Fig centers on Iman (Missagh Zareh), a devout and loyal investigating judge in the Tehran Revolutionary Court. He navigates his newfound position amid nationwide protests against the compulsory hijab and the current theocracy. His wife, Najmeh (Soheila Golestani), remains loyal and supportive of Iman, excited by the positive changes this position will bring her family. Their daughters, Rezvan (Masha Rostami) and Sana (Setareh Maleki), meanwhile watch the civil unrest unfold in real-time via social media and through their peers. The family’s clashing perspectives are further exacerbated when Iman’s gun goes missing, spiraling into a paranoia-fueled nightmare.
Given the subject matter and Rasoulof’s already fraught history with the Iranian government, Rasoulof shot Sacred Fig in secrecy. The crew shot several days at a time before having to take breaks. During filming, Rasoulof received a renewed prison sentence and the film had to be smuggled out of Iran for post-production. Ultimately, Rasoulof fled to Germany and was able to attend the premiere at Cannes. Sacred Fig operates as a story of defiance and a bold act of defiance itself.
Rasoulof’s screenplay juggles so much but manages to keep all the balls in the air seamlessly. He puts a microscope on this family and examines every relationship within the unit—sisters with sisters, daughters with mothers, husband with wife, and father with daughters—and uses them as a brush to paint a portrait of how the political landscape trickles from a macro-scale into the microcosm of a four-person family.
Iman is fiercely loyal to the regime despite the difficulty of what is asked. Najmeh supports her husband and encourages their daughters to do everything in their power to effectively support him in his job. Rezvan and Sana actively oppose the actions of the regime. Najmeh is torn between her loyalty to her husband and her desire to protect her daughters. While her beliefs align more with her husband, she understands what this movement and backlash mean for her girls.
Editor Andrew Bird wove in footage from real protests during post-production after the footage was smuggled. In doing so he powerfully emphasizes in tandem with the screenplay the power of propaganda and how it is disguised and disseminated. The firsthand accounts act as a stark reminder that perception is shaped by our conditions.
At the beginning of the film, the news reports on the death of a notable protester and cites her death as a result of her own medical issues rather than police brutality. Iman and Najmeh take this as fact without much pushing. Their daughters, however, endlessly scroll through horrific firsthand accounts of police violence from the protests. It isn’t until Najmeh assists the daughters by aiding a friend who falls victim to the brutality that she begins to waiver. When the women eventually stand up to Iman, he angrily dismisses their beliefs as enemy propaganda.
Iman remains devout to his government throughout the film without question. However, his beliefs are never supported by protest footage or any scene to indicate that he is on the right side of this. The audience never sees his work. Much like Iman only has the word of his government that the protesters incite violence and are “criminals”, we only have Iman’s word. However, like his daughters, the audience receives direct access to the truth. The choice is subtle yet effective.
Another powerful decision is to confine most of the film to the family home until the climactic third act. Every exposure we have to the riots is through social media, the news, or what Iman tells his family. While this is likely due to the secret nature of the production, it contains our characters and gradually builds a suffocating atmosphere until everything explodes. When we pass the point of no return, when this family is beyond repair, we leave the home and return to Iman’s childhood home. Tradition and progressiveness collide as it all comes to a head.
The detailed choices are only uplifted by the detailed and masterful performances. Sohelia Golestani should be in the conversation for Best Actress at the upcoming Academy Awards. She maintains a steely exterior, yet we feel Najmeh grappling with the myriad directions she’s torn in. While we don’t always agree with her, we understand her decisions.
I was shocked to discover that Sacred Fig is the first film credit of both Masha Rostami and Setareh Maleki. They navigate each scene with the gravitas of seasoned veterans. Their relationship is so thorough and lived in that they radiate from simple body language between one another.
Missagh Zareh, meanwhile, takes the road less traveled with Iman. He begins the film with a demure presence as we feel the weight of Iman’s new position on him. At the onset, you believe him when he wants to do what is right and stand for the just outcome. Steadily, Zareh unfurls Iman’s paranoia with a quiet ferocity until he unleashes an animal we didn’t know existed. It’s an exhilarating performance.
These four performers match each other so well; many scenes feel like we’re watching a play unfold as they inhabit the space and allow these relationships to unravel before our eyes. The complexities and nuances of the relationships all hang in the air without the need for any explanation or exposition. These performers make you feel it.
It’s hard to not feel Sacred Fig’s runtime at moments as we sit in the tension and the turmoil. The first two-thirds function as a character study of a family. Their unraveling as a unit is a slow and steady burn. Thankfully, its explosive finale more than makes up for any shortcomings in pacing and rewards your patience.
The Seed of the Sacred Fig is ultimately a brave statement made in a tumultuous time. While the sacred fig serves as an emblem of an oppressive regime, the women of this movie and the movie itself feel like a bit of a sacred fig of their own, dropping a seed of resilience and hope that will grow and steadily overpower long-standing oppression.
Review Courtesy of Adam Patla
Image Courtesy of Neon via The Guardian