The Seed of the Sacred Fig
(2024, Mohammad Rasoulof)
At the very start of this film, we learn that the Sacred Fig is similar to what, in Australia, we call the “Strangler Fig.” That is, a fig tree whose seed, dropped by birds, flourishes in the crevices of other trees, and then grow to envelop their host tree, sometimes killing the host. This epigram provides an ominous beginning to an intriguing film which will reveal its meaning in time. But, in common with many films of middle eastern provenance, it calls for patience.
Not that the film lags at all. It merely takes its own sweet time to acquaint us with the family at the centre of the drama. The head of the family, the father, Iman (Missagh Zareh) is at a crossroads in his career in the Iranian justice system. He has just been promoted, which is a joyous thing for his wife, Najmeh (Soheila Golestani), who looks forward to the material improvements this will bring to their lifestyle. Their two daughters are very modern teenagers who hang out with their friends and each other, and they spend a lot of time on the phone and on the internet. They are not impressed by the changes that the additional security arrangements their father’s promotion (to investigating magistrate) will bring. Specifically, though, one of these changes is the introduction of a gun to the household. Ostensibly for Iman’s protection, the gun is a symbol of the authoritarian regime which forces Iman to sign death warrants for prisoners whose cases he is given no opportunity to review. This weighs heavily on Iman’s conscience, and begins to rupture the family’s foundations.
When the gun goes missing, Rasulof does a great job of obscuring the who, why and how. We are generally clueless as to who has taken it until towards the end of the film. Iman is distraught, and racked with fear: he’ll not only lose his job, his prospects, but he may be imprisoned, and worse still, he’ll be humiliated. He takes his investigation into professional realms, even organising a judicial interrogator to question his wife and girls. At this point the film lurches from slow burn towards inflagration. Everything speeds up, and there is even a hair-raising car chase and a Sergio Leone-like hide-and-seek sequence. Some have written that this is over-the-top, and at odds with the rest of the film, marring the tone. But I think it is a deliberate shift of gears, and necessary to convey the enormity of what is at stake. I found it terrifying.
I loved the doubling and even tripling that Rasoulof uses to reinforce points. For example, when Iman says, “They are our enemies,” his daughter responds, “Who are ‘they’?” This formula is later repeated. And when Najmeh tells her older daughter (they are discussing the tragic real-life case of Mahsa Amini - never named - who died in police custody having been arrested for a headscarf violation, allegedly suffering a stroke): “Strokes are nobody’s fault”. This comes back to bite Najmeh in the mouth of her daughter at a later time. It’s a chilling moment of assertion and even rebellion.
The performances of all four of the family are note-perfect, and we are taken inside the minds of particularly Iman and Najmeh as they wrestle with morality and pragmatism, while at the same time trying to keep their daughters safe and justifying their own faulty decisions.
This is a searing film made by a filmmaker with everything to lose: he’s currently in exile having been sentenced to serve eight years in prison. And this is not the first time he has angered the regime with his films and statements. If the film nearly tips into hysteria in the final sequences, it has every right to. But I think it avoids that trap. I was with it every step of the way. And the near-final image of a dusty hand speaks volumes. Sic transit gloria mundi.