There are films whose production history dominates what we see during the screening. And I’m not referring to the ‘making of …’ clips or documentaries about special effects. A film like ‘The Seed of the Sacred Fig‘ (original title is ‘Dane-ye anjir-e ma’abed‘) by Iranian director Mohammad Rasoulof will be discussed and appreciated solely by what it offers on the screen, perhaps, in 20 or 50 years. Today, however, this film made in 2024, which cost its director and some of the actors the exile from their country and some other of the participants harsh punishments, cannot be detached from the context in which it was made (practically in secret, as it had no chance of obtaining censorship approvals) and its critical stand against the political regime. I will still try to write mainly about the film, because beyond the political message, it is also a very good film, a deeply human story, a family drama and a cry of revolt that aims to be heard but which is based primarily on the tools of cinematographic art.
The film begins with an explanation of the symbol of the sacred fig tree, the tree that in order to grow and develop is parasitizing and suffocating another tree. This is just one of the meanings of this sacred tree. In Buddhism, for example, the fig is the tree under which Buddha meditated and received his revelations. In the Bible (and indirectly taken over in Islam) the fig tree signifies stability and prosperity. But at what price are these obtained?
As in one of his previous films (the excellent ‘There Is No Evil’), Mohammad Rasoulof places the story in ‘The Seed of the Sacred Fig‘ in the circles of the people of the Islamic regime, the executors of justice of this system. Iman, the main hero of the film, has just been promoted to investigating judge. In this capacity, he is more than a collaborator of the regime, being obliged to identify those suspected of political opposition and to sign their sentences, sometimes to death. However, his new position means material advancement, a salary increase and the promise of better housing for himself, his wife Najmeh and his daughters Rezvan (who is a student) and Sana (a high school student). The promotion in position also means the obligation to always carry and bring home a gun, under the pretext of ‘protection from enemies’. As in Chekhov, the gun will play a role towards the end. The action takes place during the massive protests against the regime, triggered after the death of a young woman arrested for refusing to wear the Islamic veil (hijab). A colleague and friend of Rezvan is injured during the demonstrations and the women of the house save and help her, without Iman’s knowledge. The disappearance of the gun triggers a crisis in the family. The loss of the gun could end the judge’s career. Was it stolen by one of the women? Iman is forced to investigate in his own home.
Two strong ideas caught my attention. The first is related to the role of communication on the Internet and social networks in the dissemination of information about the protests. Criticizing the influence of social networks is very fashionable, but here we have the counter-example. In the absence of social networks, the protesters would not have been able to communicate with each other, and the world would have known much less about what was happening in Iran. The second dominant idea seemed to me to be that related to the violent infiltration of the private space of the home and the family. At the beginning, the house seems to be, despite the limitations imposed by tradition or due to the rigid views of the father, a refuge of peace, a kind of counterpoint to the corruption and complicity that his workplace faces. Gradually we perceive the complexity of the relationships between the four: the revolt of the young women who cannot accept injustice and censorship, the delicate position of the mother who wants on the one hand to support her husband, on the other hand to help her daughters overcome the difficulties of age and confrontation with an unjust world. Violence and corruption gradually infiltrate the lives of families. The father becomes an investigator in his own home, the women gradually become his victims and indirectly victims of the system, even in the confined space of the house. There is no shortage of violent scenes – all justified. The last part of the film takes the heroes out of the city and the style becomes that of an action film. This change of register may surprise and was criticized by some viewers. To me, it seemed justified, because it is nothing more than an extension of violence beyond the crooked system of dictatorial justice, into the private space of the family.
The cinematography (signed by Pooyan Aghababaei) is excellently conceived. It alternates dark shots from the always oppressive space of legal institutions and houses, with authentic images from protests filmed with mobile phones, and finally with magnificent sequences filmed in the desert and ancient cities of the Persian province. The actors are wonderful and I will only quote their names out of respect: Missagh Zareh (Iman), Soheila Golestani (Najmeh), Mahsa Rostami (Rezvan) and Setareh Maleki (Sana). Mohammad Rasoulof is a courageous artist and a great director. His courage is surpassed only by his talent as a filmmaker.