NEW YORK – Shortly before he was to be flogged and imprisoned for eight years, Mohammad Rasoulof fled Iran.
His weekslong journey would take him from Tehran, through rural Iranian villages, on foot across a mountainous borderland and ultimately to Hamburg, Germany. As arduous and dangerous as the trip was, Rasoulof’s travels had an added wrinkle: He was trying to finish a movie at the same time.
A week after arriving in Germany, Rasoulof would premiere his film, “The Seed of the Sacred Fig” at the Cannes Film Festival in France. As he fled, Rasoulof was preoccupied with the movie’s edit, which was being carried out in Germany.
“I remember when I was sitting in the car that was driving me to the border,” Rasoulof says. “I had my laptop and I was taking notes and sending them to my editor. The two friends who were taking me kept saying, ‘Put that thing away for a second.’”
In Cannes, “The Seed of the Sacred Fig” won a special jury prize and Rasoulof was celebrated with a 13-minute standing ovation. The movie has since been hailed as one of the best of the year, and arguably its most daring.
Rasoulof made “Sacred Fig” clandestinely in Iran, directing scenes from a separate location to avoid raising suspicions. (The opening titles read: “When there is no way, a way must be made.”) Its story — a devastating family drama set during the 2022 protests that engulfed Iran — would surely only add to Rasoulof’s prison sentence.
So after all of this, how is he feeling? When he recently met with The Associated Press for an interview, Rasoulof shrugged. “Ordinary,” he says.
Rasoulof, 52, has a more gentle, bemused presence than some of his films would suggest. But how could Rasoulof, after what he’s lived through this year, feel anything like ordinary?
“I still haven’t grasped the meaning of exile,” he explains. “I think it will take some time. The feeling of that void has not hit me yet, and I think it may never come.”
Rasoulof has been busy traveling from film festival to film festival. In September, he and his 24-year-old daughter attended the Telluride festival in Colorado. Many more such stops were to come. Since fleeing Iran, Rasoulof has effectively been immersed in the world he’s long known: cinema.
“Maybe I am living in the world of cinema, and maybe that’s why things are so familiar,” he agrees. “Maybe that’s why I don’t feel I’m in exile.”
“The Seed of the Sacred Fig,” currently playing in theaters, is the Oscar submission from Rasoulof’s adoptive home, Germany. He’s settled in with his family, grateful for how the country has welcomed him. Speaking through an interpreter, Rasoulof grants that he’ll probably always mentally have a bag packed, ready to return to Iran should the chance ever come. But what “home” constitutes has changed for him.
“I might be able to change this concept of home for myself,” he says. “I walk on the streets here and I see people of different colors and forms from all over the place, and they all call this place home. So there’s always the chance that one can build something new.”
How oppressive politics can infiltrate the home is central to “The Seed of the Sacred Fig.” It concerns a family of four: Iman (Missagh Zareh), a lawyer newly appointed to the Revolutionary Court in Tehran; his wife, Najmeh (Soheila Golestani) and their two daughters, Rezvan (Mahsa Rostami) and Sana (Setareh Maleki).
Iman is proud of his high position, but, when the government crackdown on protesters following the death of Mahsa Amini accelerates, his daughters are increasingly at odds with him. After Iman’s gun goes missing, his wife and daughters turn into suspects. “The Seed of the Sacred Fig,” populated with real cellphone videos from the protests, plays out as an excruciating microcosm of Iranian society.
“It wasn’t like I put those videos in. They just came in,” says Rasoulof. “The reality is that it was through those videos I realized what happened. When the Woman, Life, Freedom movement occurred, I was in prison.”
Rasoulof has spent several spells in Tehran’s Evin Prison. In 2010, he was arrested on set for filming without a permit. In 2022, he was jailed for seven months after pursuing the release of another of Iran’s most prominent filmmakers, Jafar Panahi. Panahi, who secretly made the film “No Bears,” was only released in 2023 after commencing a hunger strike.
“My windows at home opened to the hills that have the Evin prison in them,” says Rasoulof. “I knew behind those walls many of my friends were sitting.”
Rasoulof, inspired by the courage of the younger generation, resolved to pour the same spirit into “The Seed of the Sacred Fig.” Although it wasn’t until Rasoulof’s appeal of his sentence failed that he resolved to flee, he grants that deciding to make “Sacred Fig” essentially sealed his fate.
“Making this film was part of that decision,” he says. “Although I had made up my mind earlier, because it was such a bitter decision, I was denying it and delaying it, waiting for a miracle to allow me to stay.”
“I would open the fridge to make sure there was nothing there that would go bad,” he adds. “It was a strange circumstance.”
For the film’s actors and crew members, signing up for the movie meant also becoming co-conspirators. Everyone knew the risks. And, like Rasoulof, many of them have since left Iran. Rostami and Maleki also now live in Germany. Asked if his collaborators are all currently safe, Rasoulof responds: “No one is safe from the Islamic Republic.”
In his new life, Rasoulof is experiencing freedoms he never had in Iran. His films, for example, are widely available outside his native country but not in Iran. His prize-winning 2020 drama “There Is No Evil,” about capital punishment in Iran, is banned — though, ironically, Rasoulof’s prison guards enjoyed watching it with him from a flash drive.
“I haven’t seen many of my films on a big screen, especially my last film,” he says. “I really want to see ‘There Is No Evil’ on a big screen. A festival in Portugal has promised to take me to see my own film.”
The name of Rasoulof’s film comes from his memory of an ancient fig tree he once visited on an island in the south of Iran. It’s a tree that, with apparent metaphorical meaning for the Iranian government, spreads its seeds onto other trees, killing them and growing in their place.
Rasoulof pulls out his phone to share a photo of his apartment in Tehran. Outside a large window, you can see the walls of Evin running along a craggy hillside. Inside are many houseplants.
“This is my home,” he says. “I have a lot of plants. I really miss my plants. I have a neighbor who takes care of them for me. I actually have a fig tree at home.”
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