If you can’t trust your friends and family, who can you trust? This is a question posed by Mohammad Rasoulof in The Seed of the Sacred Fig (Persian: دانه‌ی انجیر معابد), an astonishing work that follows a few days in the life of a seemingly ordinary family in Tehran. Their patriarch has just been given a promotion as an investigator for the Iranian government, working to dismantle the ongoing political protests by making even the most low-level of offenders pay enormous consequences. His domestic life is very different – his wife is as dutiful to her husband as she is faithful to the government, while his two daughters have started to develop their own opinions, which he is aghast to discover contradicts the strict religious policies that govern the country, and which can potentially have them facing the same punishments he liberally hands out to those who are equally daring to provoke and challenge the system. When a gun he was given for his family’s protection goes missing, the patriarch finds himself forced to reckon with not only his own safety, but that of his family, especially when the growing sense of paranoia begins to tear them apart at the seams. An incredibly daring work of artistic merit that is as unsettling as it is complex, The Seed of the Sacred Fig navigates challenging social and cultural themes to present one of the most disturbing depictions of life in contemporary Iran, shown from the perspective of a director who has spent the past two decades crafting these harrowing, bold indictments on his homeland and its descent into conservative extremism, all done under the guise of religious principles, the faith of the population being weaponized against them as a means to keep them all compliant and submissive, but which proves to be ineffectual based on the constant local and international outcry, all of which is broadcast throughout this film, one of the year’s most astounding works of fearless artistic expression, handled by a director who has more at stake than many of us may have realized, and who nonetheless uses what little power he had to provoke some small change, even if only through the mere act of telling this story.

While I’d suspect most would have their first encounter with his work based on this film, a common quality across many of Rasoulof’s directorial outings is to find the balance between real subjects and allegory. Political art is often focused on conveying meaning in as subtle a way as possible since many tend to look at the process of telling these stories as the act of hiding meaning behind subtle cues. His work differs slightly in that there is an enormous amount of metaphor and allegory (the title of the film itself is a clear example – a fruit that grows from a tree and then gradually strangles its host, which is a fascinating concept to consider both before and after this film, our understanding of this idea shifting enormously in those three hours), but it is never intended to be overly ambigious or unnecessarily dense. Instead, Rasoulof sets out to find a balance between the two, asking some provocative questions in a manner that is disquieting but still very engaging, refusing to make his intentions a mystery. Rasoulof belongs to a generation of Iranian filmmakers who are well aware of the consequences passed down on those who dare to even mention the regime in a way that can be viewed as even vaguely critical, let alone crafting an entire film that is interspersed with real-life footage from protests from across the country, showing the conditions that women have to endure simply for being born as the supposedly lesser sex. Gender issues are a massively controversial subject in Iranian social and political spaces, and the director has very little reluctance in showing this in vivid detail, weaving a story about someone who has been placed in a position of power, and who in turn has to grapple with not only his own personal beliefs, but also those of the people that employ him (and it is made clear that he is not particularly favoured, which requires him to toe the party line even more than usual), and his family, who he discovers does not share his views, causing immense friction. The Seed of the Sacred Fig is a fascinating examination of the tension that can occur when ideology intermingles with the domestic space – home is where the heart is, but this film shows that some people value their personal opinions and the values of their country more than their own flesh-and-blood, leading to a harrowing exploration of this family dynamic that has become hopelessly corrupted as a result of political and ideological differences.

The Seed of the Sacred Fig is a very complex film, but rather than making a meandering political manifesto aimed to reveal the harrowing conditions faced by people in contemporary Iran, Rasoulof instead sets out to craft something more traditional, both narratively and formally. The foundation of this film is a chamber drama about a family, each one a well-developed individual with their own views and existential quandaries, most of which they keep private for the sake of maintaining some level of domestic bliss. However, events transpire that means that they no longer can keep them hidden – and gradually, each of the four reveals the true contents of their heart, leading to a climax that is genuinely stressful and difficult to comprehend in terms of the sheer volume of emotions. It’s a character-driven piece, anchored by a quartet of exceptional actors that, much like the director, risk their freedom and fundamental human rights to participate in this film, some of them even joining Rasoulof in exile after being able to escape the country, while others have lingered behind and are likely to pay the consequences this film outlines, in a perverted case of reality imitating art. Each of the four actors is exceptional in their own right – Missagh Zareh and Soheila Golestani are the parents, with the former being chilling as the patriarch who supposedly cares for his family, but will not hesitate to sacrifice them for the sake of his interests, while the latter is his faithful wife who finds herself caught between her husband (representing the political system she has grown to respect and fear) and her daughters (who represent the liberation and defiance she feels in the very depths of her heart, but will never admit), her growing fear and despair functioning as the centrepiece of the film and its primary catalyst. Mahsa Rostami and Setareh Maleki are both promising young actors who hold their own against the two established performers, taking on the challenging role of these women who stand in firm defiance of a system they know was never meant for their protection. The ensemble is extraordinary – there is a complexity to each one of their performances that feels extremely vital and daring, and they function as unique fragments of a larger conceptual puzzle that Rasoulof is crafting, each one playing off the other brilliantly and bringing these complex character to life with equal effectiveness.

However, while the actors are remarkable and do their part in bringing this story to life through committed, fully engaged performances, its Rasoulof’s direction that is the main attraction in The Seed of the Sacred Fig, which is a film that benefits primarily from his fascinating use of both traditional techniques and more experimental methods, both of which are pivotal to the overall success of this story and everything that it represents. Running just under three hours in length, some may be intimidated by the prospect of spending so much time dedicated to a brutally bleak dissection of Iranian culture and politics, but the director’s sharp, precise approach means that the time moves at a steady pace, proving that criticizing a film solely on its length is irrelevant when the execution is so precise and captivating from the very beginning. Part of the appeal of this film is how it feels quite simple on the surface – as mentioned previously, the first two hours are mainly a detailed chamber drama following these characters as they engage in a lengthy series of existential conversations, while the final act removes them from the familiar surroundings of urban Tehran, and instead plunges them into the unknown as they venture to some remote region, where we not only witness the beauty of Iran that is not often seen in contemporary films, but also are privy to an entirely new set of ideas as the plot shifts considerably, both narratively and in terms of the tone, playing as a very tense psychological thriller towards the end, with the director borrowing liberally from several classical genres in the construction of the film. The Seed of the Sacred Fig is a very tightly directed film – not a single second in its 168-minute running time is wasted, even the moments which are kept deliberately quite slow, the measured pace being juxtaposed by the rapid-fire conclusion that stands as a minor masterpiece all on its own. The growing sense of paranoia and existential dread that envelopes the film contrasts sharply with the broad culture overtures, creating a bold and engaging drama that manages to be riveting and disturbing in equal measure.

The Seed of the Sacred Fig is a work of extraordinary bravery and immense artistic virtue, and we have even more reason to acknowledge the brilliance of Rasoulof’s efforts based on how he has been subjected to the most brutal, draconian consequences of his nation’s government, to the point where he currently (and presumably for the foreseeable future) sits in exile, being charged with treason for producing works that are critical of his country’s policies. This has become a major point of conversation when looking at this film, and there’s not much I can say other than to express my support for the director and reiterate my firm belief in artistic freedom without consequences, especially when crafting something so immensely important from both an artistic and socio-cultural perspective. It is extremely difficult to not admire the sheer gall demonstrated by the director – this was not his first flirtation with the violation of the stringent censorship laws, and the fact that he was previously forced to bear the brunt of the full judicial system, and still was insistent on not only continuing to direct films, but to defy the authorities to the point where his life was at risk shows his commitment to his craft and bringing these stories to the global population. It is very important to note that The Seed of the Sacred Fig may seem like a heavy, overly laborious text at first – but it somehow manages to avoid becoming didactic, everything being purposeful meaningful and engaging. This never comes across as being a lecture on the subject – everyone involved knows that education through provocation is far more important than just stating the facts – and the final results are splendid in their complexity and deep, undying humanity. Rasoulof earns our praise with this exceptional, well-crafted film but warrants our respect based on his bravery and willingness to defy those who believe they can dictate the contents of the human soul, proving to be a major step forward in bringing these stories to light.