Why The Seed of the Sacred Fig is the Film Iran Doesn’t Want You to Watch
How do you tell a story about a country clouded by secrecy and oppression? By zooming in on the lives of one family.
good.film
25 days ago
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Woman. Life. Freedom. Three simple words – but they define a global movement, ignited by the death of 22 year old Iranian Mahsa Amini. If you haven’t heard of Mahsa, remember her name, because her real-life story is pivotal to the emotional truth of this film. In 2022, Amini was taken into custody, then beaten into a coma by Iran’s morality police for the ‘crime’ of not wearing her mandatory hijab (head scarf). The street protests that followed led to hundreds more deaths at the hands of Iranian forces, and horror from the watching world.
Now, Oscar-nominated feature The Seed of the Sacred Fig has sprouted from those conflicts, and the story behind the making of the film is almost as compelling as the one on screen. Defying Iran's strict censorship regulations, dissident Iranian filmmaker Mohammad Rasoulof took enormous risks to bring this story to the world. He relied on secret locations and concealed camera equipment, even directing entire scenes from a distance via FaceTime.
After the shoot, the film’s crew were raided, their equipment was confiscated, and the lead actress was banned from leaving Iran. Rasoulof himself was sentenced to eight years in prison. He then fled into exile, just days before his film premiered to a rapturous reception at Cannes. As Conclave director Edward Berger recently said, It's a sheer miracle that this movie exists.
All of this lends an extra sense of urgency to a film that already pulses with tension. To make sure the story resonates with audiences worldwide, Rasoulof zooms in, grounding the action in deeply familiar territory – the family home. Iman (Misagh Zare) and his wife Najmeh (Soheila Golestani) could be any middle-class parents, looking to guide and provide for their teenage daughters. The difference? Iman has just been promoted to an investigative judge – a job filled with ethical quicksand that quickly smothers his conscience, and tears his family apart.
Iman’s a good man; a diligent worker with a proud wife. Together, they dream of more for their family. Modest goals like a new dishwasher, and separate bedrooms for their growing girls. Iman’s promotion to this secretive new government role – a job in high demand, we’re often reminded – means getting all of that, plus the respect of their peers. It’s a leap up the social ladder, especially for Najmeh, the loyal homemaker. But is she naïve not to wonder what her husband’s new job actually entails?
How does The Seed of the Sacred Fig explore the psychological impact of living under a repressive regime?
It’s quickly clear that while Iman represents an oppressive state, he is a moral man. Not an extremist; not a killer. He’s been suddenly thrust into a position of unstoppable force meets immovable object. The force is the corrupt Iranian legal system that’s just promoted him, and the object is his family. It soon becomes obvious that Iman’s new role involves signing off, without hesitation, on death warrants that are issued from up above.
Iman is stunned at first – But I haven’t even read the file. As Seed unfolds, Rasoulof shows the mental toll on Iman essentially sending innocents to be executed. Carrying out his duty shrivels his conscience in the presence of those he loves. He grows silent, staring at the floor as he showers. We see him withdraw from his family, missing meals and returning home late. When he IS present, he barks at his daughters and dismisses his wife, hiding the truth. I had a complicated case. It preoccupied me.
Iman’s stress morphs into something deeper, a kind of paranoia. Suddenly, every motorcycle following him in traffic is a potential threat; every knock at the door could be retribution from a grieving vigilante whose family member he’s sentenced to death. And there’s the simmering tension from his daughters, who are vividly aware of the social awakening swirling around them. Like the social fabric of Iran itself, we sense a tearing pressure that simply cannot hold.
What does The Seed of the Sacred Fig have to say about women’s rights and the Woman, Life, Freedom movement?
Rasoulof does a superb job of connecting non-Iranian audiences to the teenage daughters, Rezvan (Mahsa Rostami) and Sana (Setareh Maleki). We quickly relate to their interests, and feel frustrated with them as their desires are curtailed by Iranian cultural norms. They wish their school uniforms weren’t so baggy. They’re in awe of a friend who studies at a distant university. As she plucks their eyebrows, Mum warns she’ll blacklist them if they ever dare to dye their hair.
When Najmeh explains the deep-rooted traditional values that dictate an Iranian woman’s appearance, Sana cheekily flashes the domestic violence ‘signal for help’ as her sister laughs. It’s a Gimme a break Mum! moment; a little hint that these girls are already media savvy. When their friend Sadaf tells them she removed her veil in public, the girls are agape – Really?! Awesome! In their family home, Seed takes us between these scenes of Najmeh and her girls, then lets us into private conversations with her husband. In this way, Najmeh acts as a kind of translator between Iman and his own daughters.
Najmeh can sense the growing gap in her family – and perhaps, fears that her daughters might soon aim to break free. She urges Iman, You must spend more time with them. So that you get closer, become more intimate. You have to help shape their ideas. But this is telling of their generational divide. From her traditional bubble, Najmeh has no idea just how connected her daughters really are thanks to social media (more on this below). It’s obvious that even if Iman were able to relate to his daughters, his standard patriarchal views would be no match for the more liberal values that Rezvan and Sana have become exposed to.
“Over the past forty years, unquestioning submission to the ruling religious and political institutions has created deep divisions within families. But when I look at the recent protests spearheaded by the younger generation, it seems to me that they have chosen a different, more open path to face their oppressors.”
~ Mohammad Rasoulof
“A compelling, character-driven piece about the toll of violence, the overreach of totalitarian governments, the power of protest, and a modern world that simply is not going back.”
~ Jeff York, The Establishing Shot
Rasoulof draws the girls (and through them, us) into the fallout from Mahsa Amini’s death in custody very directly. Editor Andrew Bird includes smartphone videos of the real-life protests in the film, and when the demonstrations of uni students shouting slogans suddenly escalates to tear gas, shootings and blood in the streets, there’s no questioning their authenticity.
These get shockingly close to home when the girls’ friend Sadaf (Niousha Akhshi) is caught in the crossfire, wounded by shotgun pellets, and Rezvan sneaks her friend into their home. It’s very likely Sadaf will lose an eye, maybe worse. She wasn’t even protesting – only making her way home from classes – but because she’ll bear the scars of this conflict, it’s implied that Sadaf will now be ‘branded’ as a kind of enemy of the state.
Najmeh helps us realise this injustice, as she wields the same tweezers she used to pluck her own daughters’ eyebrows just hours before – this time, it’s to extract buckshot from Sadaf’s face. Najmeh is doing what she can for this shellshocked young woman – to a point. When she washes herself clean from Sadaf’s blood, she’s really washing her hands of any responsibility to provide sanctuary to the injured girl, and Sadaf is forced to leave.
Watch her daughters’ reactions of disbelief here – She’s in danger! We need to help her! Rezvan shows Najmeh a clip of Sadaf’s attack, thinking her Mum will sympathize – but it only reaffirms her choice. I was right to make her leave. They would’ve come here for her. Think of your father! It’s a very telling moment. Najmeh isn’t a monster, but the fear of the regime, and the risk of Iman losing his career, overcomes any desire she may have to help a young woman in desperate need. Just like her husband, she’s forced to choose protecting her family over doing what’s right & humane.
How does The Seed of the Sacred Fig tap into tensions between generations, and the effect of an uprising on a family with different values?
This is an absolutely crucial element to Rasoulof’s message. How does a revolution begin?! With fresh eyes. Iman and Najmeh are stuck in an analogue age, and there’s a clear divide between the types of media that they consume versus the reality their daughters scroll through. We can easily see how that shapes their notions of the world around them.
The ‘truth’ that Iman and Najmeh see on the news is state-fed propaganda, which paints protestors as thugs and claims that Mahsa Amini had a stroke which led to her death. Meanwhile, Rezvan and Sana see the public uprising play out very differently on their phones. This designates the daughters as the film’s emotional truthtellers. They have a generational understanding of digital media that their parents simply aren’t fluent in.
The result is an angry and frustrated cohort that can see the writing on the wall, but can’t convince others to read it. Take Najmeh, who’s obviously conflicted about her husband’s duties, but in the same breath, asks him if he’s made plans for their new, bigger apartment yet. A bit like Carmela Soprano, she uses her faith and her family as justifications to turn a blind eye to her husband’s daily deeds, because it brings status and security.
As Iman unravels, he subjects his daughters to an intense interrogation – essentially turning the investigative lens of what he does for a living, onto his own flesh and blood. It’s an obvious point-of-no-return; this step means they’re fatally fractured as a family. Showing the women being restrained against their will is Rasoulof’s metaphor for Iran’s repression of women as a whole. And the film’s final act is emblematic of their fight for freedom.
We’re not going to spoil the ending for you, but as The Seed of the Sacred Fig hurtles towards a heart-thudding conclusion, there’s one final nod to Iran’s generational divide, when Iman is stunned that his youngest daughter Sana knows how to cock a pistol. You know how to shoot? he asks her in amazement. Yes, she sure does – she watched how to do it on YouTube.
“The gun in my story is a metaphor for power in a wider sense. The current regime in Iran can only stay in power through violence against its own people. Repressions may temporarily keep the government from surrender – but eventually, I am convinced that the women’s movement in Iran will succeed and achieve its goals.”
~ Mohammad Rasoulof
“As an impassioned outcry against oppression, and a depiction of how a new generation – notably female – is challenging a long-entrenched status quo, the film is essential.”
~ Jonathan Romney, Screen Daily
So - what’s the takeaway from The Seed of the Sacred Fig?
It’s hard to overstate just how bold a statement Mohammad Rasoulof has made with this film. Iranian writers, singer and filmmakers have been fined, flogged and imprisoned over far less. There’s no prizes for guessing why. Every new denouncement from a persecuted Iranian artist cracks open the door a little wider, allowing global audiences to glimpse the true extent of Iranian political oppression.
The Seed of the Sacred Fig is a hopeful metaphor for how the strong-arming, propagandistic and patriarchal tactics of Iran’s ruling forces may be rapidly crumbling. And Rasoulof explores it with a palpable fury. Like an eroding ocean cliff-face, he suggests that even the strongest of regimes can be slowly dissolved in the face of a powerful wave. Here, it’s a wave of awareness and steadfast defiance – aided by the TikTok connectedness and (we’re just gonna say it) the very fuck you energy of Generation Z.
Unjust laws rely on a sense of hopelessness. What this film hammers home to us is the power of an uprising. Yes, one woman can be arrested by the morality police for removing her hijab in public. Or a dozen women, or a hundred. But what if a thousand women bare their heads at once? What about a million? The Seed of the Sacred Fig is a bold and daring reminder that there’s enormous strength in unity. Like the roots of the fig tree, even the smallest of forces intertwined can topple something mighty.
The Seed of the Sacred Fig is showing in select cinemas from February 27
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