The Seed of the Sacred Fig

Iranian filmmaker Mohammad Rasoulof has long faced legal woes at home due to the political nature of his work. He’s been arrested, banned from leaving the country, and sentenced to prison for such dubious charges as “propaganda against the system” and “collusion with the intention of committing a crime against the country’s security.” He isn’t the only filmmaker to receive this treatment. The equally revered Jafar Panahi has faced similar measures, and together the two embody Iranian cinema’s central paradox: some of the world’s most gifted filmmakers working in a system that touts their creative accomplishments while doing its utmost to constrain them.

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Rasoulof’s latest movie being announced as part of this year’s Cannes Film Festival resulted in his most draconian punishment yet: eight years in prison, confiscation of property, a fine, and a flogging. Before this sentence could be carried out, he managed to flee the country to Germany — and attend The Seed of the Sacred Fig’s red-carpet premiere at Cannes, where he won a special award. He remains in exile to this day.

Taking its title from ficus religiosa, a tree held sacred by four different religions, The Seed of the Sacred Fig is set against the backdrop of the nationwide protests that began when a young woman named Mahsa Amini died in police custody two years ago. The 22-year-old was arrested by the "morality police" for allegedly not wearing a hijab and died three days later, with authorities claiming she had a heart attack at the police station and witnesses claiming she’d been severely beaten. The film follows a family torn apart by the conflict as well as its own internal turmoil; like the eponymous tree, the roots of one twist around the other until no one can breathe. What’s left is weaker than it was before, and by the time anyone realizes it there’s nothing to be done.

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The trouble begins with what should have been good news: Iman (Missagh Zareh), a lawyer and father of two, has received a promotion. He’ll now be an investigating judge in the Revolutionary Court of Tehran, an important but highly sensitive new posting that requires anonymity. It also requires him to be a rubber stamp for all manner of judgements, including many that carry the death sentence, without being given time to actually assess the evidence.

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Zareh acquits himself well in the role, as do Soheila Golestani, Mahsa Rostami, and Setareh Maleki as Iman’s wife and daughters, respectively. The status and even privilege afforded by Iman’s position insulate the family from the initial wave of unrest, but the girls’ burgeoning feminism and a near-constant stream of protest videos on their phones allow the outside world to slowly make its way into their home.

Its elements take their time in revealing how combustible they are.

The Seed of the Sacred Fig is being presented as a thriller, and in a sense it is — albeit a slow-burning one. At just shy of three hours, its elements take their time in revealing how combustible they are. Much of the tension stems from the issue of Iman’s missing gun, an overtly Chekovian plot device that Rasoulof milks for all it’s worth. He’s sure he didn’t misplace it himself, and instantly points a finger in the vague direction of his wife and daughters — the paterfamilias doesn’t know which of them did it or why, but he’s certain it was one of them. They all deny it, of course, and the more unhinged Iman becomes the more inclined we are to believe the three women’s innocence.

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A parable at heart, The Seed of the Sacred Fig grows into something resembling a horror film by its propulsive third act. Iman, initially well-intentioned, is both a stand-in for his country’s patriarchal suppression and a kind of heir to The Shining’s Jack Torrance: so obsessed with protecting his family that he risks destroying it instead. The family’s roots might not be as strong as they thought, but the film’s are never less than sturdy.