AFF '24: The Seed of the Sacred Fig Review

How do you create a film in impossible circumstances? Iranian filmmaker Mohammad Rasoulof shot his new feature The Seed of the Sacred Fig in secret in the midst of persecution from Iranian authorities. Over the past decade, Rasoulof’s films have been deemed “propaganda” by the Islamic Republic, resulting in the director serving multiple prison sentences—and with this latest feature, Rasoulof and some of his crew were forced to flee Iran in the face of a punitive 8-year sentencing.

The Seed of the Sacred Fig, which screened at this year’s Austin Film Festival, entwines the real threats of a brutal theocracy with the fictional story of one family’s struggle under its absolutist rule. The movie follows the family of Iman (Missagh Zareh), a newly promoted judge in the Islamic Revolutionary Court, whose new position requires absolute secrecy to avoid being targeted by political dissidents. At home, his wife Najmeh (Soheila Golestani) tries to create harmony and keep her college- and high-school-aged daughters Rezvan (Mahsa Rostami) and Sana (Setareh Maleki) in line as protests erupt around them in Tehran. Iman and Najmeh’s relationship with their daughters frays after one of their friends is injured at a police crackdown of a protest, with tensions rising further when Iman’s government-issued gun disappears in the family’s house. 

Rezvan and Sana’s bond is made tangible through shared eye-rolls and sisterly spats, and scenes where Sana and Rezvan doomscroll through videos of police brutality together, dead-eyed and slumped against each other, feel very true to the Gen Z experience. And it’s impossible to not feel indignant right alongside them in scenes where Iman belittles them for pointing out the human rights abuses unfolding on their screens—abuses in which he, through his position, is complicit. As Iman’s paranoia about who took his gun reaches a fever pitch, the sisters’ relationship with each other and their mother takes on a new dimension of solidarity against both their father and the patriarchy at large.

The distrust growing between each of the family members is a highlight of the film, much to the actors’ credit. As Iman becomes more and more paranoid about losing his job and his credibility, Najmeh wavers between taking his side or listening to her daughters’ concerns about the authoritarian regime they live under. Zareh adds nuance to his character, portraying a man who loves his family but values his country and his god above all else. And Golestani makes Najmeh a sympathetic character even as she lashes out at her daughters. Her strong sense of right and wrong, at war with her adherence to the tradition and rules she’s grown up with, make for a fascinating character study. In one scene, Najmeh sits silently as her husband berates their daughters for having the audacity to question the truthfulness of the media’s biased reporting on the protesters. Yet alone with her husband in their room, she tries to appeal to his own morality and ask her own questions before wilting under Iman’s iron will.

These family dynamics play out across limited backdrops, but Rasoulof moves easily within the constraints necessitated by secrecy. Much of the story takes place either in the family’s apartment building, Iman’s office, or a car. When the film goes outside of these settings, it’s through real-life footage of protests and government brutality as seen through the TV set or Rezvan and Sana’s phones. That perspective of being on the inside looking out at surrounding conflict—through the windows of the family home or the screens of a phone—lends a claustrophobic atmosphere that builds up the movie’s central tension.

That tension slackens under a somewhat bloated runtime. Rasoulof spends too long putting together the building blocks of the family’s dynamics, relying on repetitive scenes at home instead of trusting the talents of the cast with bringing the characters to life. And an ever-escalating plot results in Iman becoming too much of a stand-in for the Islamic Republic, ending the movie as more of a one-dimensional villain than he started. These narrative decisions make the film’s final scenes, taking place in the mountains outside of Tehran, land with less of an impact and more of a blatant political statement—perhaps Rasoulof’s intention, given his ongoing state persecution, but one that could have been handled with more finesse.

While faltering in pacing and plot, The Seed of the Sacred Fig still manages to bring greater depth to the typical indie family drama. And it’s a testament to the power of filmmaking that even in the least hospitable environments, art can be created with both a new point of view and a revolutionary message.

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