What distinguishes "A Separation" from other, internationally recognized Iranian films is its labyrinthine screenplay, which has more in common with the twists and turns of a conventional Western narrative than it does with the relatively sparse, aesthetically austere films found in the Iranian social realist and arthouse genres. Our sympathy for certain characters versus others is called into question repeatedly as this film's narrative gracefully unspools. But the end result is less a whodunit thriller than a thoughtful critique, one that resonates both regionally (paranoia and desperation are felt deeply in Iranian society) and universally (morals are often more polymorphous than we think).

If "A Separation's" approval by the Farabi Cinema Foundation—the governing body that supervises all film productions in Iran—seems odd at first, there are two possible explanations for this. One is that Farabi has mistaken the representation of lower-class religious couple Razieh (Sareh Bayat) and Hodjat (Shahab Hosseini) to be virtually wholesome compared to the bourgeois, less-religious Nader (Peyman Moadi) and Simin (Leila Hatami). The second explanation would suggest that Farabi's approval process is actually somewhat more relaxed than we've been led to believe, which is further supported by the approval of other, more explicitly radical films (for example, Kamal Tabrizi’s “The Lizard,” a comedy involving a thief who escapes prison by impersonating a mullah).

Having a more liberal script approval policy also mollifies the government’s harsh censorship reputation. But in most cases, speculation over the organization’s guiding criteria (vague in theory, inconsistent in practice) is pointless; framing the cultural importance of a work within the 'righteous' taste of the Farabi validates the foundation, and suggests Iranian cinema should always be discussed in the context of the restrictions facing filmmakers. For most Iranian films, I avoid focusing any attention on censorship because there's more important territory to be discussed—namely, the work itself.

But “A Separation” is kind of an exception. The film’s acute representation of Iranian life is a moral Rorschach test that will provoke varied interpretations from the mullahs, the Iranian community whose religious views fall on a wide spectrum of progressiveness across different faiths; Iranians inside and outside the country; non-Muslim viewers; and non-Iranian viewers. It’s all too easy to point out the systemic flaws in Iranian society so present here. Why, for instance, is Nader charged with murder instead of manslaughter for what was clearly an accident? Why is Simin unable to leave the country without her husband Nader's permission? Why is Hodjat equally upset (if not more so) about his wife Razieh working for another man as he is over her miscarriage? The list goes on and on.

Farhadi uses the logistics of current Iranian legal processes to plot out the events that might occur were his drama to play out in real life. And with no clear winners or losers—and with character motivations that can be weighed as simultaneously ignoble and understandable, frequently resulting from a fear of God, or the law, or both—it’s almost impossible to determine for whom Farhadi is rooting. A Westerner may find themselves more attuned to the headstrong Simin’s desire to leave Iran with her daughter, because in their perspective Iran seems like a dangerous place for women to live. Similarly, a very religious Muslim will understand the devout Razieh’s apprehension in assisting an old man to undress himself (and calling an imam for approval), but this detail may bewilder Western audiences (as it certainly appears to have done, considering how frequently it's mentioned in Western reviews).

Like so many Iranian films, generational stigmas, particularly those that effect a country's youth, play an important role here; children offer the perfect blank canvas onto which social ideals can be imprinted. Simin and Nader's young daughter Termeh (Sarina Farhadi) must learn to navigate the confounding and contradictory rules of this society, which means she must also learn that truth can be flexible, even as one’s obstinacy cannot be. It's telling that, in "A Separation's" closing scene, when asked by a judge which parent she would like to live with, Termeh breaks down; she may have learned how to lie, how to posture, but that pressure weighs on a person as much as it does a society.

Review by:
Tina Hassannia