"Oh, I don't get involved with that because it doesn't affect me." Those were the words I heard from a slightly older student in High School when the topic of LGBTQIA+ rights came up. For many, especially those in deeply well-off circumstances, it’s easy to compartmentalize struggles you’re not directly affected by. It involves other people, not you, why get involved? Besides, there’s probably a reason why the world is why it is. Maybe gays shouldn’t have rights. They’re always so in your face, anyway. People of color murdered by the police were “asking for it.” A woman’s outfit justified the unspeakable violence she experienced.
That woman I overheard years ago crystallizes the thought process so many have towards constant human rights struggles. Basic human empathy alone should be enough to get us invested in the struggles of those even continents away. Yet what impacts one marginalized community eventually affects all of us adversely. Any pressing issue happening outside your walls can eventually seep into your life. None of us are fully removed from the grimmest parts of humanity. For proof of that, just look at Mohammad Rasoulof’s captivating new thriller The Seed of the Sacred Fig.
Matriarch Najmeh (Soheila Golestani) is eager for the future. Her husband, Iman (Missagh Zareh), got a job promotion making him an investigating judge for Tehran's Revolutionary Court. A more lavish home awaits Iman and Najmeh's family, which also includes daughters Rezvan (Mahsa Rostami) and Sana (Setareh Maleki). This development for the family occurred in the fall of 2022. Protests erupted across Tehran in response to Mahsa Amini's death. Iman and Najmeh view these protestors in dehumanizing terms, especially since Iman's job entails approving rushed death sentences (built on minimal or no evidence) for many of these protestors. This married couple sees protestors as barbaric monsters that police should handle with brutality.
Rezvan and Sana, meanwhile, tap into the truth thanks to social media videos posted free from mainstream media outlets. Firmly in the camp of pro-protestors, tensions rise in the family as the sisters fight back against their father's worldview informed by working for an oppressive government regime. Tensions escalate further after Iman begins bringing a gun back into his house...and it eventually goes missing. Iman is convinced only one of the three people in his household could've snatched this weapon. Up to this point, Iman’s corporate-mandated veil of anonymity means he can’t get into specifics about his job with anyone outside his workplace. Now, though, techniques he uses to interrogate arrested souls are making their way into this household.
Najmeh sees what’s happening in the streets as basically something occurring on another planet. However, the brutality people are marching against is happening within these very walls.
An early The Seed of the Sacred Fig scene features Rezvan and Sana lying in bed at night, bathed in the glow of a cell phone screen as they watch actual unstimulated graphic footage of police officers terrorizing protestors. The pair watch this in secret, stowed away from their parents who leap at the opportunity to defend police violence and demean women wanting more rights. It’s a sequence tenderly capturing a distinctly modern phenomenon plaguing today’s youth. Folks under 25 have more technology than ever providing visual proof of the world’s atrocities. From a young age, they can become conscious of something being deeply wrong with the societal status quo.
Simultaneously, those folks under 25 exist with older adults gleefully embracing fascism and authoritarianism (including in my home country). Even so-called "progressive" voices reaffirm the status quo and belittle younger people championing change. Rather than fixing the present for the adults of tomorrow, the middle-aged crowd defines their personalities around defending cops, making fun of “pronouns”, and doubling down on constant problems. Many movies reinforce this status quo by depicting younger characters (especially women) in a mocking light, particularly when they’re on their phones. This staggering generational gap goes unrecognized in most movies.
Sacred Fig's empathetic image of Rezvan and Sana watching these videos together, though, subverts that norm. The technology they’re utilizing doesn't make them "anti-social". It anchors them to a reality that their household ceaselessly denies. Beyond just reflecting a discernible modern phenomenon cinema rarely reflects, this moment solidifies a deep sisterly bond. Their parents will often try to inspire Rezvan and Sana to betray each other, a mirror of governments pitting working-class communities against one another to stifle dissent. However, this scene demonstrates that they've got each other in these trying times. The older generation may have abandoned them, but they won't desert one another.
This is just one of many unforgettable scenes in Rasoulof’s screenplay. His Seed of the Sacred Fig writing is incredibly sharp and keeps you constantly glued to the screen. Among the many inspired touches informing this absorbing atmosphere is what we don’t see on screen. Audiences witness actual protest footage reaffirming the horrors Tehran citizens are protesting against. However, within the fictional footage of Sacred Fig, we don’t see the inner workings of Iman’s job. Sights like him actually signing death sentences or co-workers viciously interrogating random souls exist in the imagination.
Instead, we only begin to witness these things (such as blindfolded women brought into a tiny empty room) when paranoia washes over Iman's mind. Keeping these elements off-screen until Sacred Fig's second half makes the collision of Iman’s personal and professional life especially chilling. Further ramping up the captivating tension here is Rasoulof’s dedication to supporting Rezvan and Sana’s rebellion against their parents. Given that these two have so much less influence than Iman and Najmeh, there’s an innately transfixing power disparity here whenever the four characters interact. Watching Rezvan call out her father’s complicity is deeply satisfying. I also always had to bite my tongue in suspense over what could happen next to this vulnerable soul.
Like the protagonists of fellow standout 2024 movies How to Have Sex and Anora, Sacred Fig’s Rezvan and Sana prove immediately and profoundly compelling the moment they first emerge on-screen. Rostami and Maleki provide an outstanding emotional anchor for Sacred Fig through deeply believable performances. Their effortlessly authentic chops are well-displayed in an early scene depicting Rezvan and Sana bonding with Sadar (Niousha Ahkshi), a friend of the former sibling. The trio take grinning selfies, talk about their desires to bleach their hair in vivid colors, and just laugh together. It’s a lovely slice-of-life scene reaffirming Rezvan and Sana’s youthfulness. This should be their status quo.
Through this tender sequence, Rasoulof, Rostami, and Maleki make later scenes of Rezvan and Sana standing up to their parents incredibly enthralling. They're not “chosen one” or “master experts” confronting authority. Instead, Rezvn and Sana are just normal teenage and college-aged girls. Emphasizing that really explains The Seed of the Sacred Fig is such a suspenseful masterwork. Playing opposite the duo is a terrific turn from Missagh Zareh. His work in Sacred Fig echoes the haunting work delivered by Rudolf Hrušínský in the 1969 masterpiece The Cremator. Both actors chillingly portray corrupt men descending into even greater violent madness over a movie’s runtime.
Like Rostami and Maleki, Zareh’s performance interestingly reaffirms the vulnerability of his character. Iman is not depicted as a master brutalist. He's instead a very messy, often indecisive soul repeatedly turning to violence as his savior. Zareh’s performance evokes somebody who could easily be toiling away in a cubicle somewhere. This doesn’t undercut Iman’s ominousness, though. Like the endless sea of white murderers in Killers of the Flower Moon, Sacred Fig emphasizes the ordinariness of Iman chillingly reflecting how evil can be anywhere. Iman’s household is full of discernibly typical human beings…which just makes the complicity in violent horrors extra disturbing. Zareh's astonishing acting is critical to making that theme work. Golestani, meanwhile, also deserves her roses for her tremendous performance. It's impossible to deny such vivid acting that can make you grit your teeth in aggravation in one scene and break your heart in another.
Every The Seed of the Sacred Fig aspect exudes phenomenal craftsmanship. This includes the incorporation of real-world videos of protestors being run over, beaten, or otherwise abused by police. These segments work on multiple levels, including cannily expanding the movie’s scope within its budgetary confines. They also plunge us further and further into Rezvan and Sana’s headspaces. We witness the glimpses into the real world that keep them up at night. This makes their conviction in their beliefs even more stirring to watch…and renders Iman and Najmeh’s denial of reality extra infuriating.
On its own merits, The Seed of the Sacred Fig is a masterclass of suspense cinema and a vital refute to the dehumanization of protestors that stretches far beyond the borders of Tehran. However, like Madchen in Uniform, For Sama, or Salt of the Earth, The Seed of the Sacred Fig is also a motion picture whose very existence is a miracle. Rasoulof shot this title in secret to avoid detection from Iranian authorities. These forces had long chastised and criminally prosecuted his work. After he completed the feature, he was sentenced to a lengthy prison sentence, inspiring him to leave Iran.
The suffocating external circumstances The Seed of the Sacred Fig emerged in simultaneously dominated the project and proved invisible. Rasoulof’s unwavering support of protestors and criticism of the Revolutionary Court inform both this screenplay and the man’s pariah status in Iran. However, Sacred Fig doesn’t register as a movie hampered by limited filming confines. Elements like the limited number of cast members are entirely organic to this narrative. The small scope of the story also registers as perfectly appropriate for this story. Rasoulof’s assured filmmaking (not to mention the artistry of the various actors and crew members) doesn’t waver under staggering circumstances. The Seed of the Sacred Fig is an unforgettably tense edge-of-your-seat thriller built on eternally relevant themes. You can say “It doesn’t affect me” all you want. None of us are removed from seemingly “distant” horrors.