QUICK AND DIRTY: LIVE FROM CANNES

With a duration of nearly three hours, and not a single redundant minute, this masterpiece of Iranian cinema boasts the psychological complexity of Kubrick’s The Shining (1980), the moral density of Farhadi’s A Separation 2011) and the political audacity of Rasoulof’s own Evil Does Not Exist (which won the Golden Bear four years ago, and which I count amongst the top 10 films of my life). There is even a gentle touch of Hitchcockian action and suspense in the adrenaline-inducing final third of the story. The unequivocal anti-authoritarian message earned Rasoulof an eight-year jail sentence, the longest one ever imposed on a filmmaker in the history of the Asian country. He he fled his home ation on the eve of the Festival de Cannes.

Iman (Missagh Zareh) is a devoted husband and father, and a loyal public servant. He loves his wife Najmeh (Soheila Golestani) and their two daughters, Reznan (Mahsa Rostami) and Sana (Setareh Maleki). He has received a promotion that puts him one step away from becoming a judge. This means that their family are within touching distance of an official government residence, and of enjoying privileges that very few Iranians have. But that comes at a price. Iman is asked to endorse a death indictment, which his predecessor refused to sign off. He hesitates, only to find out that his entire career would be compromised should he fail to abide. He soon allows his ambitions prevail above his principles and values.

The Women, Life, Freedom Movement that rocked Iran in 2022 kicks off just as Iman begins his new duties. Thousands are arrested, and Iman has to go through 100s of case on a daily basis. He has to make life-changing decisions in just minutes. The majority of these people are women who removed their scarves, or simply joined a street protest. The sensitivity of the proceedings is such that Iman’s family is required to observe a number of restrictions. Najmeh, Reznan and Sana must play by the rules and never raise the slightest suspicion. Iman’s home becomes a watertight environment where questioning of any sort is strictly forbidden. God – and, by extension, the religious state – must never be challenged.

Reznan’s best friend Sadaf (Niousha Akhsi) is shot on the face with a buckshot bullet (a projectile that breaks into small balls upon impact) during one of such demonstrations. Reznan insists that they were just passing by, and that she could have been the one shot. We never see the scene, and are left to guess the true extent of their involvement in politics,. Sadaf refuses to go to hospital lest the regime arrest her, instead asking Najmeh to clean her wound. She has permanently lost an eye, and will end up with a horrific facial disfigurement. Najmeh carefully removes little metallic balls with her tweezers, in a very long and graphic scene bordering on hyperrealism. Profoundly disturbing images, and guaranteed to feature prominently in the nightmares of squeamish viewers like myself.

The entire movie is interspersed with real footage of the Movement, captured with mobile phones. Bareheaded women make their voices heard, while police use all means available (including violence) in order to punish and intimidate them. Rezna brings up the controversial death of Mahsa Amina during a family dinner: the young woman had a fatal heart attack while under police custody. Her parents react furiously. Najmeh claims that people have heart attacks all the time, and that the women arrested were fully responsible for ther actions. She perfectly embodies the contradiction with which many Iranians have to grapple. She’s not a reactionary person by nature, but instead a mother desperately seeking to protect her children. By asking us to empathise with Najmeh, Rasoulef forces viewers to wear the shoes of the hesitant oppressor, and to realise that some of those who embrace fascism are in fact kind and selfless people. Golestani delivers the strongest performance as a woman torn between fascism (which is insidiously conflated with family allegiance) and compassion for fellow human beings (particularly women).

This is a movie about the dangerous allure of authoritarianism, and how we casually cross the line between complicity and dissent (these apparent antonyms are in reality closely associated). This does not mean that Rasoulof promotes complacence. Quite the opposite. This is a literal call to action. Evil does exist, and you must fight it by all means available. This may include armed struggle. The urgency and the universality of this film is self-evident. Not since Jonathan Glazer’s harrowingly relatable The Zone of Interest (2023) has a film blown me away like this.

The Seed of the Sacred Fig premiered in the Official Competition of the 77th Cannes International Film Festival. It deserved to win the Palme d’Or, a view that I shared with majority of film critics. Instead, it received a small consolation prize, the Special Award (the fifth highest at the Festival). It also received the Ecumenical and the Fipresci prizes, which are independent awarded given out by other juries. The most prestigious festival in the world continues to showcase the finest and the dirtiest films from every corner of the world, however it has strangely shied away from coronating the most subversive pieces. Just last year, Glazer’s movie too was denied the highest recognition, earning instead the Grand Prix.