I fled Iran because I’ve more stories to tell: Iranian filmmaker Mohammad Rasoulof
Iranian filmmaker Mohammad Rasoulof has been one of the leading newsmakers this year with his 28-day flight to freedom from his home country hitting the headlines the world over. He escaped to Germany in May after being sentenced in Iran to eight years in prison, flogging, fine and confiscation of property following the selection of his latest film The Seed of the Sacred Fig in the main competition at the Cannes Film Festival. He attended the film’s premiere at Cannes, where it also won the Jury prize and the Fipresci award.
Set in the backdrop of the countrywide “Woman, Life, Freedom” protests of 2022 against the compulsory hijab and following the death of Mahsa Amini, the film is about an investigating judge Iman (Missagh Zareh), locking horns with his wife Najmeh (Soheila Golestani) and two daughters, Rezvan (Mahsa Rostami) and Sana (Setareh Maleki) as the political consciousness enters the familial space. It is Germany’s entry to the Oscars this year.
Rasoulof has himself crossed swords with the Iranian government—has been arrested, his passport seized and faced a ban for travelling abroad—several times due to the themes and content of his films. His last film, There Is No Evil was awarded the Golden Bear in Berlinale in 2020 though he himself could not be present at the festival. The maker of such celebrated works like Goodbye, Manuscripts Don’t Burn and A Man of Integrity, Rasoulof is currently living in exile in Germany. He was at the 21st Marrakech International Film Festival for a special conversations programme, where he took time out to speak to the members of the international press.
Excerpts:
The Seed of the Sacred Fig is Germany’s entry to the Oscars. Is cinema becoming more fluid in terms of its nationality?
The film is German in terms of its production and financial investment and now me and its three actresses - Mahsa Rostami, Setareh Maleki and Niousha Akhshi - are living in exile in Germany (while Soheila Golestani continues to live in Iran). So, it makes sense. However, it was still unexpected for me. I was quite surprised by this possibility and I think it can really be a ray of hope for many directors all over the world who work under oppression, state, financial or otherwise. For them, this fluidity is hopeful.
How did you work with your actors on some really intense scenes in the film?
For all the scenes that are very sensitive, dramatic and emotional, we had talked a lot beforehand. I was directing them remotely, from a different place. These conversations were always backed by examples of real people and actual situations. The two actresses who played the daughters—Mahsa and Setareh—came from a very similar background as their characters. Soheila, who played the mother, has often been to jail. She knows exactly what’s at stake for a woman in a situation like this. So, they were very sensitive, very aware of all the nuances of the situation.
What made you move away from the allegorical style of some of your previous films to something more direct in The Seed of the Sacred Fig?
I think the choice of metaphor, when it’s in the context of oppression and censorship, takes a different value. It’s not just a stylistic choice. There is a feeling of fear, and metaphor is a way of manipulating yourself out of it. It makes you achieve a language that can allow you to avoid confrontation with censorship. And I didn’t want to work with this fear, so I decided to be more direct and straightforward.
How is it now to be in a free environment? How will it affect your work in the future?
I don’t think that I’ve left my restrictions and constraints behind me. They are with me here. I’m an Iranian director, inspired, and nurtured by my community, my society, and my language, which I love. So, being here, cut off from all of it is also a limitation and a restriction in itself. I must now find my inspiration in other aspects, issues and themes, the first and obvious being the Iranians who live abroad. I also have an animation project that I am finding very fascinating to work on.
You’ve done a lot of filmmaking under extraordinary constraints. Do you find these constraints creatively liberating in any way?
I don’t think that we can celebrate restrictions, thinking that they make us more creative. Of course, it can give you impulses to find creative solutions, but I think there is no way we can justify or accept restrictions and constraints.
What more can you tell us about your forthcoming animation project?
It’s related to a specific chunk of contemporary Iranian history. It’s related to the life of a very interesting Iranian playwright, Abbas Nalbandian, who lived some 60 years ago. The story starts 11 years before the Iranian Revolution and ends 11 years after it. Just to refer to and recreate this period of time, is something very exciting and interesting for me. It can only be done in animation.
Why do you say so?
There’s one aspect historically that is really tricky. Before the revolution in Iran, a lot of Iranians said that they could see politician and religious leader Ayatollah Khomeini’s face on the moon. They looked at the moon and they could see his face there. This kind of collective illusion is something that I can show only in animation.
How do you see the possibility of a return to Iran?
Very simple: I can go back and go straight to jail. Now I have a new case with this new film. However, the first fear of the Iranian regime now is not just me or filmmakers like us. It’s the fact that there are new directors, a new generation of artiste who are ignoring censorship and who feel free to make the films that they want and who express themselves openly. But the reason I decided to flee was that I have more stories to tell. I want to go on making films. I realized that by accepting my sentence and going to jail, the only thing that I would end up being would be a victim. I didn’t want to accept this status of a victim.