By Heidi Noroozy
It’s an undeniable
fact: Life in Iran can be hopelessly complicated. Economic sanctions and the
nuclear issue aside, ordinary Iranians from all segments of society endure
massive hardships just to get through the day. Nothing illustrates this
circumstance better than A Separation,
the Iranian movie that won an Academy Award for Best Foreign Film earlier this
year.
Written and directed
by Asghar Farhadi (who is also the man behind Fireworks Wednesday, which I reviewed here), A Separation is the
story of a crumbling marriage—on the surface, at least. Like so many aspects of
Persian culture, there is far more to the situation than meets the eye.
Simin and Nader are
a middle-class couple from Tehran who live in a wealthy, North Tehran neighborhood
with their 11-year-old daughter, Termeh. Simin wants to emigrate to a country
where her daughter will have a chance for a life far better than what she faces
in Iran, with its government-mandated piety and economic hardships. Nader
refuses to leave because his father, who suffers from Alzheimer’s, is dependent
on him for daily care. Simin files for divorce, but her petition is denied since
the grounds she gives (her husband’s refusal to leave the country) fall short
of the 12 reasons a woman can state for divorcing her husband (such as spousal
abuse, abandonment, or drug addiction). Denied their divorce, the two separate,
and Simin returns to her mother’s house. Termeh remains with her father and
grandfather, clinging to the hope that, if she stays behind, her mother will
return and everything will be well again.
Through an
acquaintance, Simin finds a helper willing to look after the old man while
Nader is at work. Razieh is a devout woman from a working class family with one
small daughter and another baby on the way. She faces a religious dilemma when
it turns out that Nader’s father is incontinent and she must bathe him,
violating the Islamic rule that forbids a woman from touching a man who is na mahram,
not her blood relation. Razieh’s husband, Hojjat, is an unemployed cobbler with
a short fuse and a lot of shame at his inability to support his family. Razieh
doesn’t tell him she’s taken the job—legally, she’s required to get her
husband’s permission to work outside the home—for fear that, in his pride, he
won’t consent.
The arrangement
seems to be working fine until the day Nader comes home from work early and
finds Razieh gone and his father lying unconscious on the floor, tied to the
bed. Some money is also missing from a bedroom. When Razieh returns, Nader has
worked himself up into a rage and orders her to leave. She refuses to go until
she can clear her name and prove that she’s no thief. Furious, Nader pushes her
roughly out the door.
Razieh suffers a
miscarriage and loses her baby. She claims that Nader pushed her down the
stairs outside his apartment. Her hot-headed husband, Hojjat, accuses Nader of
murdering their baby, a charge that would carry the death penalty if the
accused man is convicted. The case hinges on whether Nader knew Razieh was
pregnant. If he did, his rough treatment of her would be a deliberate act
leading to a murder conviction under the law. If not, he is guilty of a lesser
charge.
Nader’s best hope
would be to pay blood money, a provision under Islamic law where a convicted
murderer can pay compensation to the victim’s family and avoid execution. Hojjat
and Razieh are willing to accept the blood money, which would go a long way
toward solving their economic difficulties. However, Nader won’t pay it because
doing so would be an admission of guilt, and he insists he’s innocent. Instead
he files a petition against Razieh for endangering his father with her neglect.
With emotions running high, the situation threatens to get out of hand.
There are no heroes
in this story. No villains, either. Both parties have a potentially legitimate
claim, assuming they can prove their allegations. And everyone has secrets that
complicate matters. Did Nader know that Razieh was pregnant and lied to protect
himself? Or even because he’s indifferent to a baby born into a poor family,
people of a class inferior to his own? That’s what Hojjat thinks, and this
belief adds fuels to his anger.
Razieh is hiding her
own secrets. What was so compelling that she had to leave Nader’s father alone
and tied to the bed? Did her miscarriage have another cause? Maybe Hojjat found
out that she’d taken a paying job without his permission and beat her, causing
the miscarriage. So now she wants to pin the blame on Nader. That’s what Nader
suggests.
In this complex
tale, with its high-tension pacing, each wrong decision entangles the
characters in a hopelessly snarled web that threatens to engulf everyone around
them.
Underneath the
movie’s complex plot lies a bitter social commentary—the idea that the harsh realities
of life in Iran have made these events inevitable. Farhadi shows a world in
which religion collides with economic hardship, deepening fissures in a society
where modernity coexists uneasily with traditional values. But he also provides
a rare glimpse into the lives of ordinary Iranians, who pursue the same dreams
and suffer the same disappointments as people everywhere.
Great review, Heidi. It was such a moving film because the characters are so complex, created of so many shades of gray that we share their humanity. A textured view of a very rich society that remains unknown to many Westerners.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Diane! Glad you enjoyed the review - and the movie. I watched it with my Iranian husband, and we discussed it for days afterward. It is indeed a thought-provoking film.
DeleteThanks for an interesting review, Heidi! I'll have to look for it at the new video shop I found today.
ReplyDeleteI hope you enjoy the movie, Beth. It won so many international awards, you shouldn't have trouble finding it.
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