To say that Mohammad Rasoulof doesn’t enjoy the best of relationships with the Iranian government would be an understatement. Which is why, after multiple run-ins with the authorities over the content of his films and with yet another prison sentence on the horizon, he decided to leave his home country – probably for good – earlier this year.
During that 28-day journey, the footage of his tenth feature film, The Seed of the Sacred Fig (shot in secret, with the director taking breaks every few days to avoid suspicion), was undergoing post-production in Germany – the same country that granted Rasoulof the travel document he needed to flee Iran – and getting ready for its world premiere in Cannes. Screened on the last day of the competition, it was a triumph, with accolades including the Special Award and one of the three FIPRESCI Prizes (full disclosure: this writer was on the jury for the latter).
Since then, Rasoulof has accompanied the film to multiple events like Locarno (where it played in Piazza Grande), San Sebastián (where it won the Audience Award for Best European Film) and the Viennale, which is where he agreed to have a chat with us. And there’s more, not least the fact Germany chose The Seed of the Sacred Fig as its submission for Best International Feature Film at the 97th Academy Awards.
While not exactly unusual (a rule change in 2006 makes it possible to submit films not in the country’s official language), it was still a surprising announcement to some, including Rasoulof. Through an interpreter, he tells TFV: “I never thought my films would qualify for Oscars, because the Iranian government chooses the submission and I knew my work would never be considered. So, I was very surprised and happy when I got the news. It might also be a message for other filmmakers who live under similar conditions anywhere in the world, and for the members of the Academy, regarding films that are worthy of consideration but would not receive it under normal circumstances.”
The film’s Oscar trajectory, as well as its success at festivals, also indicates an acceptance of the content outside of Iran, which is a very important element, says Rasoulof. “The audience reaction is something that means a lot to me, because I ask myself how I can tell these stories that come from the heart, about the dictatorship in Iran, and make them accessible to audiences abroad who don’t share the same experience.”
As such, it was particularly meaningful that he was finally able to attend events like Cannes and witness the public’s response first-hand: “I think I got my message across,” he says. Was it cathartic to be able to share the film with the world, given the plot revolves around a man trying to keep his family isolated? “It was a full circle moment, and the only possible outcome. Films without an audience do not make sense.”
Having touched upon the subject of Iranian censorship, how has the situation evolved in recent years? This year, for example, the Berlinale competition entry My Favourite Cake had to be screened without its directors in attendance, as they were not allowed to travel. “That film showed women who were not wearing the hijab, the traditional head covering. It’s a huge issue for the Iranian government, and so the film was subversive in that way.” The newer generation is also a thorn in the regime’s side, Rasoulof explains: “The government is scared of the younger filmmakers who do not give a damn about rules and regulations, and set out to make movies the way they want to make them, not according to any directives. That’s something the regime is very afraid of.”
To conclude, how does this new international component factor into Rasoulof’s identity? “I’m still figuring it out because it’s very new to me. I’m trying to convince myself I have the right to live anywhere I want, even though I was forced to leave my home country and leave everything behind. May I ask you a personal question?”
Of course.
“Do you have any pets?”
Two dogs.
“Imagine if you had to leave them, or someone made you choose between one of them. I had two cats in Iran, and I had to leave them behind. I have no idea what became of them. I loved my plants, and I hope my sister has time to water them and send me pictures. That’s all that’s left of my old life. It’s a very complex matter.”
