Planting Courage in 'The Seed of the Sacred Fig'

The masses tend to prefer cinema as a form of escape. This fact is undeniable when eyeing the budgets allotted to the fluffiest of films, and the box office returns that repeatedly enable it. But in a world where inequality only grows daily, and what separates the middle class from the homeless is far less than what separates the middle class from those who hold power, how important – and dangerous – would it be if people united around provocative art? The strain of film that is socially conscious, capable of changing mentalities and even toppling oppressive forms of power?

Iranian filmmaker Mohammad Rasoulof has never been a man to hide his convictions. He has done so metaphorically in the enigmatic The White Meadows (2009), and coldly via dark anthology in There Is No Evil (2020). However, he has perhaps never done so as meticulously or steadfastly as he does in The Seed of the Sacred Fig. 

In the film, Iman, a judge and head of a family, is appointed to one of the country’s high-trust positions. It’s a role wherein he is expected to do what is required and ask no questions. At home, his daughters are his opposite. They ask many questions, challenge his authority, and begin to show signs – what their parents might dismiss as mere adolescent rebellion – of awakening consciousness to a new Iranian society. Iman’s wife, Najmeh, tries to patch up holes in their generational chasm, caught between the values her heart and mind tell her are best to instill in her children. Meanwhile, the streets of Tehran are in turmoil. The country’s youth and women demand change after yet another death at the hands of police. To add fuel to this firestarter of a dynamic, a gun Iman brought home for his protection disappears, and he suspects the culprit may be living inside his house…

There is something in Rasoulof's film that is hard to put your finger on. Much like the tension Asghar Farhadi brings to seemingly banal family conflicts in his films, Rasoulof works his conflict in a cruel and calculated way, making it hard to accept the dark path the director is taking us down. Iman always seems to have noble intentions; he is conservative and believes in the system. Yet, he also believes in family and its associated sacrifices. He is thus caught between external pressure (his house) and internal struggles (his kin). To achieve what he sees as justice, he is capable of crossing boundaries that, for most of us – I want to believe – would be red lines. Does Iman not realize that with every small step beyond his family’s trust, he is distancing himself from his essence as a father?

The four main performances are astonishingly good – so good that they make me want to rewatch it and take notes. Perhaps Mahsa Rostami’s portrayal of Rezvan, the more verbal and spontaneous daughter, is the one most relatable to Western audiences. She sees the system for what it is after growing up immersed in the regime's hypocrisies. But within her grows a sense of emancipation that resolves to break through not only familial but, most potently, societal barriers. Rezvan knows exactly how her father will react when she points out the regime’s lies, but she also knows that the alternative – her silence – is not just any silence. In her privileged position as a judge’s daughter, she understands that silence means complicity. Rostami conveys all this with an apparent frankness. We watch her and identify with her; it even feels as though she exists beyond the film.

The other daughter, Sana, perhaps doesn’t think as deeply about the consequences of her actions; she is a product of the social media generation. The innocence she feigns is that of someone who knows that mask fits her best. Setareh Maleki gives the character exactly what is required, even when she ventures into unexpected territory. If Rezvan is entirely transparent, Sana possesses the sharpness of someone whose every move is unpredictable. What she wants, contrary to what her parents believe, goes far beyond changing the color of her hair.

Completing this trio of strong women is Najmeh, portrayed by Soheila Golestani. What a difficult role she plays! In wanting to reinforce the family’s foundations and demand a greater presence of her husband in their daughters' upbringing, she refuses to give in to the winds of progress sweeping the country. Her more conservative side compels her to protect her husband, the house, the family, and the system. Yet, her maternal instincts sometimes soften her heart, bridging two irreconcilable realities. This may be the most complicated role in the film, inciting frustration from audiences who might hate her for wanting everything to remain the same. However, we have assuredly encountered someone with as complex of motives as her in our lives.

Another particularly well-made bridge in this film is the one between the fictional events and the very real images of political protests in the streets of Iran. At times, the movie's documentary-like qualities give the impression that we are witnessing something historic. It is worth mentioning that it would be impossible to separate this film from the circumstances surrounding its production: it was filmed in secret and premiered at Cannes early this year, creating real consequences for everyone involved. The director faces an eight-year prison sentence, in addition to lashings, if he ever steps on Iranian soil again.

The actresses are also barred from returning, as they have been exiled for refusing to comply with the country’s mandatory veil laws. Courage is something this film and its participants do not lack. How wonderful it would be if the entire world knew this story, valued it, and learned something from it. This is not only about Iranian society. 

The seeds have been sown. The growth of their fruits will be painful, but inevitable. They will grow within homes, within families, among those with power and those with none, and among the internet generation who know that another world exists. Exhausting as the creation of a “better world” may prove to be, greater equality is indeed worth striving for. History owes a place to those who daringly plant small seeds. Rasoulof deserves that recognition. All the women protesting in Iran’s streets deserve that recognition. History will never forget them, but for now, it is our time and moral obligation to listen to their stories.

The Seed of the Sacred Fig is currently enjoying a limited release in the U.S. Find if it's showing in a city near you.

-Pedro