In a year packed with fantastic foreign language films, ‘The Seed of the Sacred Fig’ is most certainly a standout. Made in secret in Iran, it’s a fictional thriller set during the very real nationwide protests following the death of Mahsa Amini, who was killed by police for allegedly not wearing a hijab. It follows a newly appointed judge and his family, torn apart by the protests and increasingly suspicious and distrustful of one another after the father’s gun goes missing. Mohammad Rasoulof, the director, was forced to flee his home country of Iran after being sentenced to prison for the creation of the film. I was able to speak with Mr. Rasoulof, where I asked him about the film and his own perspective of the politics in Iran.
Leo Viscomi (THH): Hello, Mr. Rasoulof. I first wanted to ask you about the films in general. Your films often feature characters who work for the Iranian government, you know, interrogators, torture, security officials. Given the risks involved in portraying these characters, what draws you to these figures and how do you approach their representation on screen?
Mohammad Rasoulof: First of all, I’d say that the raw material of my storytelling derives from my personal experiences. This is what inspires me and also what enables me to represent characters of this sort. That especially prompts the questions that stay with me and that I keep reflecting upon and then like to investigate in my films.
THH: You mentioned in a recent interview the contrast between the realism of The Seed of the Sacred Fig and the metaphorical approach of prior Iranian arthouse cinema; you called it political castration. And I was wondering if you see any value in using metaphor, allegory, for political topics, or do you think that direct, realistic portrayal is always most effective?
Rasoulof: I think metaphors are a very beautiful mode of storytelling, but the problem is if you’re using metaphor because of your fear. When I got to the point in my work, when I realized that I was using very complex metaphors out of political fear and that these probably had very ancient roots in Iranian literature, but also more generally across Iranian arts and culture, I realized that I didn’t want to because I was incarnating a form of censorship and I didn’t want to do this. I think with my latest film, the Seed of the Secret Fig, I’ve been able to get to a place where I use metaphors not out of political fear, and I think that that is a kind of metaphor I do want to use and is very beautiful and worthwhile, and yet at the same time, melange it with a more direct form of storytelling so that you have both levels.
The next question contains spoilers for the film.
THH: Speaking of metaphors, I wanted to ask about the final image of the film with Iman’s hand sticking out of the rubble with the gun laying next to him and I was wondering how you arrived at this final, powerful image.
Rasoulof: I cannot tell you specifically about that one image because I can’t recall exactly how, but what I can tell you is that it came from somewhere deep inside me. But I can certainly tell you about the choice of the location with the ruins at the end of the film because I wanted the end of the film to end large into a historical vision where I could distance myself. On the one hand, I could place the family within this historical context, but it also enabled me to remove myself a little bit from the family and look at the history of Iran. And on the other hand, the constant struggle, especially over the last decades, of social movements, and on the other hand, the constant repression enacted by authoritarian and patriarchal political power.
THH: My last question is: you’ve stated that you wanted to return to Iran eventually. I was wondering what conditions would need to be in place for you to feel safe and be able to continue making films there?
Rasoulof: It might be a little idealistic to think that major change may take place anytime soon in Iran, although of course that is the shared ideal of all of the many, many, many Iranians who seen themselves forced to leave their country because of censorship and repression. At the same time, I don’t really think so much about what should they do, meaning the regime, rather what I try to concentrate on is what should I do and how can I keep telling the stories that I so wish to tell, wherever will grant me the appropriate circumstances to do so across the world.
