Nothing about Mohammad Rasoulof’s “The Seed of the Sacred Fig” happened overnight. The authoritarian Iranian government is both the subject of the three-hour film and the background of the film’s production, forcing both Rasoulof and several cast members into exile during the film’s on-and-off three-month-long shoot. With meticulously planned camera shots and remarkable courage amid government persecution, Rasoulof has delicately crafted “The Seed of the Sacred Fig” into a compelling narrative that reflects his unwavering dedication to speak truth to power.
“The Seed of the Sacred Fig’s” mastery has layers. The film is a potent metaphor for Iran’s theocratic regime, using the dynamic of a flailing family to investigate how civilians be complicit in facilitating systemic oppression. Set during the start of the protests for the Woman, Life, Freedom movement after Mahsa Amini’s death, the film follows judge Iman (Missagh Zareh, “A Man of Integrity”), whose recent promotion in the prosecutor’s office requires him to sign death sentences without proper investigation. If Iman refuses to sign them, he will lose his position as his predecessor did before him. He signs these sentences despite his qualms, with his wife Najmeh (Soheila Golestani, “A Bigger Game”) cautiously supporting him. His teenage daughters, Rezvan (Mahsa Rostami, debut) and Sana (Setareh Maleki, “Cafe”), however, increasingly challenge his beliefs as the government cracks down on the protests. This familial tension comes to a head when Iman loses a gun that the prosecutor’s office gave him, leading him to suspect his family members of stealing it.
Every scene in the film is carefully chosen. Rasoulof and cinematographer Pooyan Aghababaei chronicle the willful ignorance of civilians in elevated positions for the selfish protection of their own skin — and how it always ends badly for them. Initially, Iman chooses to remove himself, and thus the viewer, from his unethical work. Near the start of the film, Rasoulof focuses on Iman in the middle of the screen as he walks to his office after signing his first death sentence. The long hallway he moves through contains many holding cells. Just as Iman closes the windows at home to block out the chants of protesters on the streets, he pays no attention to the holding cells around him as he walks in a straight line. Iman’s intentional ignorance means that these scenes pass by quickly and without any consequence. In contrast, Rasoulof spends considerable time on several scenes of Iman in the evenings after work reflecting: either on his repressed doubt and unwavering faith in the government or his undoubting and trusting family. The gun is still in Iman’s possession, and the situation is framed as something that’s happening to him rather than something he’s actively choosing to participate in, since he’s merely trying to keep his job and provide for his family.
However, during the second and third scenes of Iman walking down the hall to his office, Aghababaei allows the viewer to see that there are people blindfolded and handcuffed to the wall. There are also cardboard cutouts of officers next to each prisoner. While the purpose of the cardboard cutouts isn’t clear, they seem to serve as a symbolic depiction of government officers being stationary, peaceful enforcers of the law. There aren’t any signs of physical or verbal struggle from the protesters, meaning that Iman is able to walk past them without a second thought. Yet, the viewer is confronted with this image depicting the larger consequences of his actions.
At about the same time, Rezvan’s friend, Sadaf (Niousha Akhshi, “Bone Marrow”), is injured after being caught in the protests on the way back home. We watch as Najmeh painstakingly removes each of the bullets from her face and washes both the blood and the bullets down the drain. Later, real protest footage of the Woman, Life, Freedom movement plays on screen, with every single video being played out in its entirety. Rasoulof’s usage of real footage viscerally reminds us of the gravity and severity of the actual events. While Iman had the privilege of visually and auditorily tuning out the protesters, represented by the peaceful comfort of his office where he can cling to the idea that the protesters are in the wrong, the rest of his family experiences the full force of the government crackdown. Now, there are genuine, non-cardboard officers violently beating protesters. Then, when Rezvan and Sana attempt to confront Iman, he shuts them down immediately, creating a gulf between his ignorant beliefs and Rezvan and Sana’s lived experiences. Despite initially understanding Iman’s motivations, viewers see them start to pale in comparison to the very real harm that protesters are experiencing.
Soon after the incident with Sadaf, the gun goes missing. It is at this point that Aghababaei and Rasoulof zoom out to where Iman finds himself surrounded. Iman and several other judges are doxed online for handing unjust death sentences, causing him to frantically check his surroundings in public for fear that he might be recognized. Subsequently, his family turns on him, causing several confrontations in which Iman feels lost and betrayed. The camera, using Iman as its axis, swivels around Iman’s line of vision, creating a sense of disorientation. This reflects Iman’s loss of control over the situation as he’s forced to confront the violent consequences of his incorrect thinking.
Just like how Rezvan and Sana can’t reconcile with who Iman is now, we understand his initial position as a lawful citizen with his hands tied and as a caring, albeit stringent, father has also been completely reversed. We slowly become aware of the systemic violence that Iman is perpetuating — with him no longer actively worrying about the death sentences but instead worrying about his own reputation. Although foreshadowing makes it clear that the trigger of the literal Chekhov’s gun is now going to be pulled, Rasoulof’s detailed crafting of this suspense and slow buildup of varying character motivations means that the end still feels like a gut punch.
“The Seed of the Sacred Fig” depicts an individual, a family and a regime coming apart at its roots. Rasoulof named this film after the sacred fig, an invasive species that slowly takes over the tree it grows on. Similarly, “The Seed of the Sacred Fig” shows how the seeds of injustice planted by a regime spread deliberately until they overtake every single aspect of daily life. Through the dual examination of Iman possessing both a “human side” at the start of the film and a “violent and criminal side” at the end, as Rasoulof puts it, The Seed of the Sacred Fig” is a powerful reminder of the harrowing repercussions of authoritarianism.
Daily Arts Writer Kristen Su can be reached at krsu@umich.edu.
