When the murder of an innocent woman sparks political unrest in Tehran, an investigative judge’s life unravels. When his gun goes missing he realises he may face severe consequences and starts to suspect his own daughters. His paranoia hits breaking point and his family ends up suffering for it.
The Seed of the Sacred Fig is a 2024 film written and directed by Mohammad Rasoulof, starring Soheila Golestani as Najmeh, and Missagh Zareh as Najmeh’s husband Iman. It also stars Setareh Maleki and Majsa Rostami as Sana and Rezvan respectively, the two daughters of Najmeh and Iman.
This film was born from resistance to Iran’s oppressive regime, filmed in secret and at great risk to all involved. While the film focuses on a single family, it presents a metaphor for the oppression by the state and those who would resist it.
Story
The movie focuses on Iman, who has just received a promotion to investigative judge. In the opening scene he shows his wife the gun he was issued for his own protection. Very quickly he learns that he is expected to simply sign death certificates without investigating the cases.
When protests break out across Tehran, Iman is forced to work constantly, leaving Najmeh to raise his two daughters alone. After one of their friends gets shot in the face, Najmeh commands them to stay away from the protests, for the sake of their father.
Then Iman discovers that his gun has gone missing. Suspecting his daughters at first, but eventually suspecting his wife as well, Iman goes to extreme measures to uncover the truth.
Analysis
The cinematography in The Seed of the Sacred Fig reflects the family’s growing isolation. The film is largely confined to small, enclosed spaces: the family’s apartment, Najmeh’s car, a fake courthouse. These locations reinforce the feeling of entrapment – not just for Najmeh and the girls, but for Iman as well. The walls of their home, which should offer comfort, instead feel oppressive as tensions rise.
In the early scenes, when Iman is absent, the apartment feels like a space where Najmeh and her daughters can talk freely, even if they remain bound by traditional values. But as Iman’s paranoia grows and he begins to suspect his own family, the home transforms into a place of surveillance and fear. The close-quarters filming heightens the tension – there’s nowhere to hide, mirroring how oppression creeps into every corner of their lives.
Though Iman is the central figure, his absence in the early film is keenly felt. Much of his story is relayed rather than witnessed, mirroring how distant he has become from his own family. This makes us feel his lack of presence, just as Najmeh and their daughters do. They are becoming distant from a man who is always working late, and doing so during a crisis.
The reason for Iman’s absence is highlighted by mixing in real-life footage of the protests in Tehran. Watching police brutally attack protesters is disturbing, especially knowing it really happened. We learn later in the movie that the reason Iman has been so busy is because he has been signing execution orders for many of those arrested.
Zareh puts on a great performance as the distant Iman. We see how strict he is with only a few words he says to his wife, and understand that in some ways it might be a good thing he is working all the time. Later in the film when he has his family interrogated, then kidnaps them, it doesn’t seem out of character even if it is unexpected.
Golestani plays his opposite well. At first she seems as strict as Iman, leaning into traditional Iranian values and trying to get her girls to be good Muslim women. But she always says that it is for their father, and is a little more lenient when he isn’t around. When she breaks down half way through the film we realise she has been trying to protect the girls from the father’s wrath more than she has been trying to honour tradition.
Maleki and Rostami play the innocent happy-go-lucky sisters well. They are rebellious to a degree, as all teenagers are, and their love for each other feels genuine enough that I’d believe you if you told me they were sisters in real life.
The story is a well written metaphor for the abuse of an oppressive government. Iman’s psychological unraveling is not just a personal tragedy – it is a reflection of how oppressive systems function. His paranoia, sparked by the loss of his gun, mirrors the way authoritarian regimes react to perceived threats. Rather than seeking understanding or questioning the system he serves, he doubles down on control, turning against the very people he should protect.
This deepens the film’s metaphor for state oppression. Just as the Iranian government uses fear and force to maintain order, Iman tries to assert dominance over his family through intimidation and, eventually, violence. His transformation from a distant but dutiful husband to a full-blown tyrant feels eerily familiar in the context of authoritarian rule – once power is challenged, the response is not self-reflection but escalation.
The film suggests that oppression is not just about enforcing laws or punishing dissent; it is psychological, eroding trust and replacing it with suspicion. Iman’s increasing paranoia mirrors how authoritarian regimes often view their own people – as potential traitors, as threats that must be contained. His family, once simply distant from him, becomes his enemy. And in the end, the cycle of violence he upholds turns against him.
The later part of the film where Iman kidnaps his own family and locks them in a cabin leads to a bit of a tonal shift. Sana, the youngest daughter, ends up using a Home Alone style trap to rescue her mother and sister. While this moment adds tension, it feels tonally inconsistent with the film’s overall realism.
The next sequence, where Iman chases his family through the ruins also starts to feel a bit tedious. The disorienting layout and extended pursuit make it feel almost farcical. We don’t get a sense of where anyone is, where they are running to, or from. It lasts just a bit too long and almost takes us out of the film.
But just in time, the film manages to stick the landing with a perfect ending. Sana eventually confronts her father, holding the gun she stole. Her mother begs her to give him the gun back so this can all be over. “If I give it back it will never be over!“, she cries. Her father takes one step forward, and she pulls the trigger.
It’s a powerful message, one that speaks to oppression and resistance. Giving back the gun is giving up the fight. While that may lead to a short reprieve, the oppression will never end if we give up. We have to keep fighting, even when things get worse, or it will never end.
Conclusion
For most of us in the Western world, we know that anyone can make a movie. By that I don’t mean that everyone can make a good movie, but rather anyone can pick up a camera and start filming. We can then release the movie on any number of platforms, and not have to worry about consequences other than people telling us how terrible the movie is.
This movie had to be filmed in secret, since the Iranian government is extremely oppressive. After the footage was filmed, it was smuggled into Germany where it was edited into the final cut. After the film’s release, many of the cast and crew were interrogated, and directer Mohammad Rasoulof was sentenced to 8 years in prison. He and several other members of the cast managed to escape the country. Soheila Golestani and Missagh Zareh have been unable to leave Iran.
Watching the film with this context, we can understand how important it was for the creators to get this message out. The Seed of the Sacred Fig isn’t perfect, but it delivers a powerful message: oppression thrives when resistance falters. Even when things seem bleak, the fight must continue.
