Interview with ‘The Seed of the Sacred Fig’ Director Mohammad Rasoulof

The film’s journey to reach Dutch audiences began almost two months ago in early February when the Cannes prize-winning film had its Dutch premiere at the 54th International Film Festival Rotterdam (IFFR), where it was featured in the Limelight section and emerged as a frontrunner for the Audience Award.

At IFFR, Rasoulof personally attended the Dutch premiere screening of The Seed of the Sacred Fig. This rare appearance provided an opportunity to sit with the dissident Iranian filmmaker (now living in exile) about one of the talked-about films of the year.

Spoiler Alert: This interview discusses key plot details of the film.

The dilemma of choice is a central theme in your works. Your characters have always faced this crossroads; however, in The Seed of the Sacred Fig, Iman has no choice but submission.

Iman could have made a different choice. When he is first asked to sign an indictment without having read the case file, he hesitates. He knows that if he refuses, he will meet the same fate as his predecessor and be dismissed. But he is captivated by the dream of becoming a judge. The question is: how do individual choices, driven by personal necessities and ambitions, contribute to the survival of a despotic system? In an authoritarian regime, ethics (and moral dilemmas) are daily questions that confront you at every turn. Our story here is about an individual consumed by his dream of his future career, fixated on the position he aspires to attain. To silence his conscience, he embraces submission not only as a religious recommendation but, more profoundly, as a way of life.

In The Seed of the Sacred Fig, the weapon, much like the characters, plays a fundamental role. Its presence, absence, and reappearance take on different functions, adding layers of metaphorical meaning to the film. Did you also intend for it to serve as a narrative device?

Jim Jarmusch’s Down by Law and its storytelling approach have been particularly intriguing and thought-provoking for me. In The Seed of the Sacred Fig, I wanted my engagement with dramatic situations to be different. In this film, the weapon gradually becomes a crucial narrative element. Beneath the surface and within the hidden layers of the story, we see signs pointing to the gun as a symbol of power. However, at a certain point, the weapon disappears and loses its significance. Instead, family relationships take center stage—distrust, delusions, and the pressure people exert on one another as a result of following different values.

Official Dutch trailer of The Seed of the Sacred Fig:

In the family portrayed in The Seed of the Sacred Fig, you depict three generations of women: Najmeh (the mother), Rezvan (the older daughter), and Sana (the younger daughter). Why did you choose Sana to disarm the father?

Sana belongs to a new generation that has responded to the ongoing transformations in Iranian society in an unexpected way. It seems this generation, in navigating the networked world, has come closer to self-awareness and self-expression. In contrast, the mother’s character has a limited worldview—she is, for example, mesmerized by television. She receives a distorted version of reality through the state-controlled news channels of the Islamic Republic and fully believes it. This generational contrast forms the central conflict of the drama and drives the story forward. In the end, it is this new generation that overcomes the ruling power (which itself is a manifestation of patriarchy).

In There Is No Evil, family relationships are structured around the father’s authority—he is at the center of power. His child obeys him, and the mother takes on a submissive, servile role. However, in The Seed of the Sacred Fig, this power dynamic shifts—the mother assumes the role of ruler, exerting complete control over her daughters, while the father is either marginalized or entirely absent. Given these differences, what factors led to this transformation in the portrayal of family relationships in your work over the course of four years?

These families represent two different models, yet they share a common theme: submission. Patriarchy is not necessarily enforced by men alone. At times, you encounter women—like Najmeh in The Seed of the Sacred Fig—who uphold patriarchal values. Yet, Najmeh believes she is in control of the situation. For her, maintaining the survival and balance of the family is the highest priority because it is the only thing that gives her a sense of security. She might defend her children against her husband in one moment and then, in the next, in a different room, shield her husband from the children. She asks for little for herself—for her, everything is about the family.

The case of Heshmat in the first episode of There Is No Evil is different. His submission ties into Hannah Arendt’s concept of the “Banality of Evil,” suggesting that great atrocities do not necessarily require the presence of a monstrous figure. Such horrors can be carried out by completely ordinary individuals within a bureaucratic system—people who simply do not reflect on the morality of their actions.

A scene from ‘The Seed of Sacred Fig.’ directed by Mohammad Rasoulof. / Photo courtesy of September Film, via filmdepot.nl.

In the scene where Iman is shown praying at the shrine, you introduce the concept of sanctification—an idea that plants the seed of submission in his mind and nurtures it. Is this theme of submission and its internalization in Iman’s character inspired by your own experiences with the repressive forces of the Islamic Republic?

Over the past fifteen years, I have repeatedly encountered individuals whose way of life is deeply rooted in religious submission—people who, relying on this belief, have felt entitled to exert control over others’ lives. This includes a wide range of individuals, from those who have raided my home on multiple occasions under various pretexts, searching every aspect of my private life, to interrogators who have repeatedly questioned me while I was blindfolded and facing a wall, and even prosecutors and judges of different courts, all of whom exhibited a belief in a sacred political system.

Actress Mahsa Rostami appears in a scene from Mohammad Rasoulof’s The Seed of the Sacred Fig. / Photo courtesy of September Film, via filmdepot.nl.

In the behavior of many of them, I noticed a deliberate performance of inevitability—a way of signaling that they bore no personal responsibility for their actions. They wanted me to understand that they were merely enforcers of something sacred. Their message was clear: Personally, I don’t want to mistreat you, but I have no choice—I’m just following orders.

My experience has shown me that the sanctification of their purpose allows them to overlook their own humanity. But the reality is that, over time, beliefs and personal interests become so intertwined that even they can no longer distinguish whether they are acting out of conviction or self-interest.

Dutch poster of the German-Iranian movie The Seed of the Sacred Fig directed by Mohammad Rasoulof. / Photo courtesy of September Film, via filmdepot.nl.

One of the most striking sequences in The Seed of the Sacred Fig takes place in Iman’s childhood home. In one scene, Sana installs speakers on the trees, playing a recording of a family trip through her cell phone and broadcasting the religious elegy “Aunt, where is my father?” through a tape recorder in the yard. My interpretation is that she is trying to evoke a sense of shame in her father—confronting his past with his present and forcing him to face both. Does this interpretation align with your vision?

It goes even further than that. Iman is entirely fixated on the position he seeks to attain. This fixation has severed his connection with himself, with the most accessible remnants of his own humanity, and with his family.

By playing these recordings, Sana is doing everything she can to remind her father: “Dad, we are your children! Do you remember who you are? Were you like this with us back then?” This is, in essence, the last attempt to bring him back. However, this effort doesn’t mean Sana believes her father will suddenly change in that moment and that everything will be resolved. She knows she must lure Iman into the storage room and find a way to free her mother and sister from their solitary confinement.

This entire sequence is centered on cultural memory—stored within that very storage room, where the recordings have been preserved. In that space, there is voices of women and beautiful songs recorded in the past. It signifies that Iran’s history is not solely defined by its harsh, sectarian religious traditions or the ceremonial banners and standards visible in the scene. The historical memory accumulated there contains much more than what meets the eye.

In the same sequence of the film, violence within the family erupts intensely, with the father as its enforcer, while the other family members struggle only to protect one another. Although Sana is armed with Iman’s gun and holds a hatchet in her hand, why does she choose not to use them against her father?

The moment Sana picks up the hatchet, you might think she is about to resort to violence—but she doesn’t. Her mindset is fundamentally nonviolent. She consistently strives to prevent violence from escalating. In the end, however, her efforts prove futile; it seems that democracy can only be achieved through persistence. The ruling power, which is radical and fanatical, does not tolerate pluralism and suppresses the tolerance of those who seek democracy. In response to this repression, a form of civil resistance emerges, which you see unfolding. My belief is that this generation, as long as possible, seeks to pursue its struggle without resorting to violence.

Actresses Mahsa Rostami (front), Soheila Golestani (left) and Setareh Maleki (right) in a scene from The Seed of the Sacred Fig directed by Mohammad Rasoulof. / Photo courtesy of September Film, via filmdepot.nl.

In The Seed of the Sacred Fig, you place strong emphasis on faith and belief, depicting it in various scenes featuring Iman and Najmeh. However, you never explore the religious convictions of the daughters, Sana and Rezvan. Given the family’s religious nature, I expected to see scenes where the mother forces her daughters to pray.

My experience in encountering individuals who work within or remain loyal to this system has shown me that their participation is not necessarily rooted in deep ideological commitment. Often, material or even psychological needs—and frequently a blend of both—drive their involvement.

On the other hand, while in the past we might have stereotypically associated such families with strict religious enforcement, I believe this dynamic has shifted. In our story, the mother is less concerned about whether her daughters pray and more worried about them posting questionable images of the family on Instagram—something that could jeopardize the father’s position and, by extension, the family’s stability.

What you see in this family as a distinctly modern characteristic reflects a broader directive from an authoritarian political power: “As long as you maintain appearances in the public sphere, your private transgressions can be overlooked.”

In the family depicted in The Seed of the Sacred Fig, one could associate “supreme leader,” “the executive branch,” and “the people” with Iman, Najmeh, and the daughters, respectively. What are your thoughts on this arrangement and distribution of roles?

I don’t agree with equating these elements so directly. As I mentioned, this is not a deliberate arrangement—it is the interpretability of art. You create a pattern, and that pattern may evoke something larger in the viewer’s mind. We are talking about a structure, and it is not surprising that smaller examples bear similarities to larger ones. For instance, when telling a story about patriarchy, it may naturally resemble authoritarianism. This is the nature of cinema and art.

Najmeh considers her husband, Iman, sacred and does not allow their daughters to speak against him, even going so far as to slap them to prevent it. Is this behavior symbolic of “blasphemy” in the Islamic Republic’s system?

The mother is trying to preserve the survival and balance of her family. However, I believe this is the power of art—it can convey meanings across multiple layers. For me, this is neither a fully deliberate arrangement nor entirely coincidental.

Portrait of Director Mohammad Rasoulof. / Courtesy of “The Seed of the Sacred Fig” team

In one of the early scenes of the film, Iman, having attained an important position, proudly shows Najmeh his gun, excitedly telling her that he received it for his protection. Mohammad Rasoulof, who, through The Seed of the Sacred Fig, has not only achieved significant recognition in world cinema but also exposed the crimes of the regime and amplified the voices of protesters—while still confronting the security and judicial mechanisms of Iran—does he have a weapon to protect himself?

I am a filmmaker; I tell stories. My work may anger the regime, but that is not my choice—it is a reflection of the regime’s totalitarianism. To be honest, compared to the activists inside and outside prison in Iran who are sacrificing every moment of their lives for the country’s freedom, it feels meaningless for me to think about how to protect myself. That has never been my concern.

At the premiere screening of The Seed of the Sacred Fig in the Netherlands, you mentioned that you directed the film remotely. Let me pose a hypothetical question: If you had not faced such severe restrictions last year and had more creative freedom in making the film, what details in its narrative and execution would have changed?

A lot could have been different; however, this film is the product of working under the pressure of fear and tension, along with significant financial and technical limitations.

Mohammad Rasoulof, Mahsa Rostami, Setareh Maleki and Missagh Zareh arrive on the red carpet of the 97th Oscars® at the Dolby® Theatre at Ovation Hollywood on Sunday, March 2, 2025. / Photo credit: Etienne Laurent / © A.M.P.A.S. / Courtesy of The Academy

For a considerable percentage of filmmakers, making it to the Oscars shortlist and receiving an Academy Award nomination is a major goal. During your filmmaking career in Iran, was this ever an aspiration for you as well?

Being at the Oscars has never been a concern of mine. We all know that, from the past to the present, the Islamic Republic has never submitted films by filmmakers who were deeply critical of it. A clear example is Offside by Jafar Panahi. That year, almost everyone was convinced that the film would win an Oscar, but this possibility was of no significance to the decision-makers at the time.

When The Seed of the Sacred Fig had its world premiere at the Cannes Film Festival, did you anticipate the path it would take and the success it has achieved, particularly its BAFTA, CESAR and the Academy Awards nominations?

No! Around this time last year, we were still filming, and the movie wasn’t even halfway finished. To be honest, I didn’t think it would ever be completed. Every day during the shoot, I assumed it would be our last day of filming. So, everything that has happened for the film is the result of believing in hard work, not hoping for an outcome.

What are your thoughts on The Seed of the Sacred Fig’s success at the Oscars?

At this point, the film’s successful international release and its presence among the nominees for Best International Feature at numerous major awards ceremonies is the result of an extraordinary team of filmmakers who, under immense pressure and with minimal resources, took significant risks and faced many threats to reclaim their artistic freedom. Their efforts succeeded in bringing this work to global audiences alongside the year’s most significant films—works that were created without restrictions and with sufficient budgets.

Note: This interview was conducted by Navid Nikkhah Azad on February 3, 2025, at De Doelen, on the sidelines of the 54th International Film Festival Rotterdam (IFFR 2025), and was first published by Filmpardaaz.