The first scene of A Separation, the extraordinary new drama by Iranian writer-director Asghar Farhadi, is a four-minute shot of a husband and wife, Nader (Peyman Moadi) and Simin (Leila Hatami), seated side by side in straight chairs and addressing the camera as if it were the judge who speaks on the soundtrack. Simin has filed for divorce, and as the judge questions her, a messy family situation begins to spill out: she and Nader have obtained a visa to leave Iran that expires in 40 days, but he refuses to go because of his elderly father, who suffers from Alzheimer’s and requires constant attention. “Your daughter and her future are not important to you?” Simin demands of her husband. At this point the judge cuts in: “So the children living in this country don’t have a future?” Suddenly the woman is on the defensive. “As a mother, I’d rather she didn’t grow up in these circumstances,” she says carefully, and when pressed to explain, she falls silent. The judge tells them to go home and settle their differences.
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The scene is a good example of what makes A Separation such a valuable import from a country so feared and misunderstood by Americans. A tale of two families linked by tragedy, the movie is hugely compelling on a moral and emotional level—I was completely hooked—yet it also revealed to me in numerous small and concrete ways what it’s like to live in a contemporary theocracy. Many of the practical complications in the story are caused by personal religious feeling, and when the two families come into conflict with one another, devotion to the Koran becomes a powerful plot device. Each of the families has a young daughter, and though they’re mostly tangential to the drama going on, the movie ultimately boils down to a version of the question posed by the judge at the beginning: do these two children have any hope of enjoying free, happy lives under the Islamic Republic?
All this transpires in about 40 minutes; Farhadi devotes the rest of his two-hour feature to a prolonged investigation of the whole mess. Unlike the interrogator who opened the film, this one appears onscreen (Babak Kirimi), but he’s just as implacable. The murder charge rests on whether Nader knew Razieh was pregnant when he treated her roughly at the door of his apartment; he protests that her pregnancy was never mentioned and her body was hidden by a chador every time he saw her. The investigation stretches out over several sessions, and in the meantime both families try to come to terms with the situation. For Nader and Simin, the case only complicates their marital strife—Simin’s parents must mortgage their home to provide Nader’s bail—and their wrangling over custody of Termeh. “If you hadn’t left, dad wouldn’t be in jail,” the glum girl tells her mother, though on more than one occasion she also presses her father on whether he’s telling the truth.
Directed by Asghar Farhadi
