I’m glad you finally had a chance to see it and you liked it! In the land of Jazz, 80/100 might as well be a perfect score!
PS – I’ll have to come back to this thread later with actual comments.
I’m glad you finally had a chance to see it and you liked it!
Me, too! I actually preferred to enjoy films, and I take no pleasure in being disappointed!
As for the score, yeah, I think only Night Fishing got a higher rating.
I’ll have to come back to this thread later with actual comments._
Look forward to it. I hope Nathan, Ari and others chime in, too! Vahid!
I’m neither American, nor Iranian :-)
Have you seen About Elly? The film is not so popular as A Separation, but it is strikingly similar in themes and style. Without seeing anything else from Farhadi I think these two films can very well be regarded as a dualogy. And I liked About Elly as much as I liked A Separation.
Yes, I think the film is fascinating how it sets up narrative expectations in one direction and then completely shifts into something else (almost a murder mystery). I also like how it is able to maintain sympathy for all of the characters. You can understand why Nader does not want to abandon his father. You can also understand why Simin wants to leave. All of the characters remain sympathetic and the characters believable.
In showing the navigation through the Iranian court system, it reminded me of the documentary Divorce Iranian Style (which is also quite good) (http://mubi.com/films/divorce-iranian-style). I think it’s quite accurate at least in terms of comparison with that documentary. It was interesting to see that someone can be charged with murdering a fetus – although not too far from home since in the US, the pro-life has for years been pushing this as one of their goals and even in Canada there was an “Unborn Victims of Crime Act” seriously debated.
The film’s title in Persian is “The separation of Nader from Simin”. Yes, it’s about the unintended consequences unleashed by their separation but shows during the process of what happens during the film itself how a brief separation that would be very easily reconcilable becomes completely irreconcilable.
“I also like how it is able to maintain sympathy for all of the characters. You can understand why Nader does not want to abandon his father. You can also understand why Simin wants to leave”
This is probably what I responded most to. From the opening of the film, when they are talking to the judge and explaining their case, you see both sides. At first you sympathize with Simin for wanting to provide her daughter with a better life. So the assumption is that the Nader must be a selfish asshole as this country leaves much to the discretion of the husband. But then we hear his story and realize his position is just as valid. For me, I found it virtually impossible to choose sides. Then throughout the film, we learn that not only are both of these people working with the best intentions, they’re also very flawed individuals. I think this is really what makes the film a triumph and so universal; even if we can’t identify with the society in which they live we can certainly identify with the characters and emotions.
As an American, I thought the judicial system stuff was a bit odd just in how simple and uncomplicated it was. These two people kept pleading their case to a judge and a lot of it seemed to be based on he said/she said hearsay (although to be fair, the US system is like this too). I don’t know that I’d call it more humane since it seemed like the women typically gets the short end of the stick (it almost seemed like the reverse of family court in the U.S., where the mother typically is assumed to be the more responsible parent and the father is the one that has to overcome the bigger hurdle).
@Ari
Yes, it’s about the unintended consequences unleashed by their separation but shows during the process of what happens during the film itself how a brief separation that would be very easily reconcilable becomes completely irreconcilable.
I think that gets close to what the film is about—or at least a significant part of it. Strangely, while the ideas in the sentences seem obvious, it wasn’t until I read the sentences that those ideas crystallized for me. The film reminds me of something from Proverbs that says the start of an argument is like the first break in a dam, stop it before it goes out of control (or something to that effect). There’s also a passage in the NT where Jesus that if you have something against your brother, go quickly and settle it with him, otherwise he will take you to court and there you have to pay every penny of your fine.
Having said all of this, I wonder if the film tries to make a larger point about marriage and divorce. So, the film may not just be about small problems snowballing into larger ones, but the effects of divorce—or is that a bit of a stretch?
I also would like to hear from Persians/Iranians and anyone else if they felt the film seemed to blame the wife more than the man? For one thing, the film doesn’t explain the reason she really wants to leave the country. Now, given Western perceptions and biases, this may be obvious, but I didn’t want to take that for granted. Plus, their life seemed pretty good. The daughter seemed to be getting a decent education—or at least not a terrible one; the family didn’t seem oppressed by the government.
Moreover, leaving the father just because he no longer remembers the son seems pretty heartless. (As the husband says, “But I know he’s my father,” or something to that effect.) If the wife at least had a way for the father to be cared for and if the film made gave more compelling reasons for leaving, that would have made her position more sympathetic. (I understand that more compelling reasons might not have passed censors, but still.)
Back to the meaning of the film. So the was the whole court case really much ado about nothing—in a manner of speaking, or is there a larger significance to that section? I ask because at the end of the film, there isn’t really a resolution of who has done wrong, in terms of the miscarriage. No one is blameless. Is there a larger significance to showing this?
@Santino
As an American, I thought the judicial system stuff was a bit odd just in how simple and uncomplicated it was. These two people kept pleading their case to a judge and a lot of it seemed to be based on he said/she said hearsay (although to be fair, the US system is like this too)
The system reminded me somewhat of conflict resolution through mediation—well, not quite, as the state representative is judge more than a mediator. Still, the informal nature is similar, and there is something refreshing about that, as the legal procedures sometimes don’t lead to the most just outcomes, just the opposite.
What I also got a sense of was the way honor and one’s religious beliefs seem to factor in. Obviously, it didn’t prevent Nader for lying, but the tutor actually recants her testimony; and Razieh, also can’t lie as well.
I don’t know that I’d call it more humane since it seemed like the women typically gets the short end of the stick…
By humane, I mean the person adjucating seemed sensible and also showed mercy (e.g., not throwing Hodjat in jail after Razieh begs him not to). I guess, US judges can exhibit this kind of mercy, too, but sometimes the law is such that they cannot. Of course, the problem with this system is a bad judge. This judge seemed compassionate, fair and sensible, but I wonder if that is the exception or the rule. (The American legal system has bad judges, but I think the system mitigates the “badness,” but it also mitigates some of the “goodness” of good judges as well.)
“Having said all of this, I wonder if the film tries to make a larger point about marriage and divorce. So, the film may not just be about small problems snowballing into larger ones, but the effects of divorce—or is that a bit of a stretch?”
Well, she even says at one point that she is almost more upset that he’s doing nothing to stop her. Again, you can understand his position (“if you want to go, go”) but he doesn’t seem able to communicate to her that he wants her to stay. She just wants to hear him tell her that he wants her to stay with him, tell her he loves her, etc,etc.. But he is incapable of that, even though he is demonstrably a loving person (in how he interacts with his daughter and father). I think how the gender relations play out there are quite subtle but very revealing (and I’m assuming it makes it much harder to get a divorce – or even impossible? – if the husband is opposed to it but not abusive, has a job, etc).
The Hodjat character is particularly interesting in the same regard. The film sets him up to be the bad guy – the red herring that we believe that he might be responsible for the miscarriage – and then also nicely reverses it to the point where we can also feel quite sympathetic to his plight (hot tempered, yes, but you can understand why he acts the way he does under the circumstances).
“I ask because at the end of the film, there isn’t really a resolution of who has done wrong, in terms of the miscarriage. No one is blameless. Is there a larger significance to showing this?”
That’s the fascinating part of it. He lies about not knowing she is pregnant so he is implicated in that (although I’m sure he is quite right when he says that at the heat of that moment, he didn’t “know” that she was pregnant) and his actions were probably inappropriate. Did he mistreat her? If someone I had asked to leave my house re-enters after I had already told them to leave, I probably would respond in a similar way. Of course, he’s not responsible for the miscarriage. It’s the car hitting her that has caused it. But there are levels of implication (his own false accusations that she had stolen the money, the woman herself hiding the fact that she had been hit by a car knowing that this caused the miscarriage, etc) that diffuses responsibility on all sides. No one is responsible. Everyone is responsible.
Well, she even says at one point that she is almost more upset that he’s doing nothing to stop her. Again, you can understand his position (“if you want to go, go”) but he doesn’t seem able to communicate to her that he wants her to stay.
The thing is, we aren’t privy to the conversations the two have had prior to the opening scene—and I assume they talked quite a bit about this. A part of me feels like if they argued about this a lot, and they both couldn’t find a solution—to the point where the wife decided to get a divorce and leave, that’s quite extreme. I mean, if my wife did that to me—even after explaining that I couldn’t leave my father—I suspect I might be quite hurt and maybe even resentful. For Nader to say, “I don’t want you to stay,” would have been difficult and not quite appropriate. But I think the bigger problem is his reaction when Simin leaves—he doesn’t seem to care at all, almost ignores her. That’s pretty brutal, right there. (But for a spouse to say, "I want a divorce and I’m leaving you because you can’t let go of your father, that seems brutal, too.)
At the same time, Nader’s pride is a huge stumbling block, at several points in the film. I think that’s one of the good lessons of the film—especially for people who are in a relationship. As painful as it is, humbling one’s self, swalling one’s pride can really keep a relationship going, if not save it.
I think how the gender relations play out there are quite subtle but very revealing (and I’m assuming it makes it much harder to get a divorce – or even impossible? – if the husband is opposed to it but not abusive, has a job, etc).
Did you feel like women get a raw deal?
The Hodjat character is particularly interesting in the same regard. The film sets him up to be the bad guy – the red herring that we believe that he might be responsible for the miscarriage – and then also nicely reverses it to the point where we can also feel quite sympathetic to his plight (hot tempered, yes, but you can understand why he acts the way he does under the circumstances).
I never really saw Hodjat as the villain—although I admit that I was rooting for Nader for most of the film (hoping that he really didn’t know that the woman was preganant). I’m curious to know if Iranian viewers saw him as a clear-cut villain, and I wondered if the film intended to have viewers question and rethink their perception of the lower classes.
He lies about not knowing she is pregnant so he is implicated in that (although I’m sure he is quite right when he says that at the heat of that moment, he didn’t “know” that she was pregnant) and his actions were probably inappropriate. Did he mistreat her? If someone I had asked to leave my house re-enters after I had already told them to leave, I probably would respond in a similar way.
I could see him “forgetting” that she was pregnant while he’s trying to push away from the door—he actually is fairly patient with her (although he does grab her initially, but then lets go). He has a lot of trouble gettting her out of his apartment on the first attempt, so when she comes back and still persists, that’s a tough situation.
Still, doesn’t he lie about the stolen money? And I presume he does this so he doesn’t have to pay her? I’m not sure why he has to do this. I think he would have been right not to pay her without that lie, given the fact that she left his father alone. (Could she have not explained the reason? If she had to leave because of her baby, I think that would have been more understandable. Still, she could have called Nader, although that might have complicated things.)
Of course, he’s not responsible for the miscarriage. It’s the car hitting her that has caused it.
I’m not as certain as you are, although it seems like he’s not. The problem is that he lied. Still, had he told the truth, would justice have been served if he went to jail? Given that Razieh was hit by a car, that would be really tricky—and I would say it would be harsh if he was sent to jail under those circumstances. Still, he’s just responsible for telling the truth (although that’s easier said than done.) My head is starting to hurt.
“Did you feel like women get a raw deal?”
Obviously, there is a great deal of gender inequality in Iran. I’m not sure if it’s more overt than what is shown in the film where it’s more subtle ( there might be something to how the threat of censorship by an oppressive regime can add richer subtleties and nuances to films).
“Still, doesn’t he lie about the stolen money? And I presume he does this so he doesn’t have to pay her? I’m not sure why he has to do this”
He didn’t. We’re shown the wife taking money when she leaves. She doesn’t tell him so when he checks the money when he finds that she’s not there and has left his father tied up in a locked room, he finds that there is money missing. That’s how I interpreted it at least.
“Still, she could have called Nader, although that might have complicated things.)”
She couldn’t because she couldn’t tell him she was working (again, gender relations).
“I’m not as certain as you are, although it seems like he’s not. "
Yeah, to me, it was very clear that he barely pushed her and that she didn’t fall (maybe more collapse). Obviously the force of getting hit by a car will cause a miscarriage more than what we are shown him doing (although the filmmaker – smartly – doesn’t show us everything to leave the truth in between).
Obviously, there is a great deal of gender inequality in Iran. I’m not sure if it’s more overt than what is shown in the film where it’s more subtle ( there might be something to how the threat of censorship by an oppressive regime can add richer subtleties and nuances to films).
Well, it would be interesting to hear from Iranians.
He didn’t. We’re shown the wife taking money when she leaves.
You mean Razieh takes money or Simin? I don’t remember this at all.
Also, I thought Nader says at one point that he knows she didn’t take the money. (I think he’s talking to Razieh’s daughter.)
She couldn’t because she couldn’t tell him she was working (again, gender relations).
No, I mean Razieh could have called Nader, her employer—i.e., “I might be giving birth and I have to leave to see a doctor, so I’m leaving your father…etc.”
Yeah, to me, it was very clear that he barely pushed her and that she didn’t fall (maybe more collapse).
Right, the push doesn’t seem so hard—at least we don’t see what happens to her immediately after the push. (The camera is inside the house.) Only a little later do we see her pause on the steps, but she clearly doesn’t look well. Does she hit railing hard from the push? It doesn’t seem like it’s likely as Nader is pushing her through a small crack in the door.
I will try to participate in this one tomorrow. Things been crazy here.
<“Still, doesn’t he lie about the stolen money? And I presume he does this so he doesn’t have to pay her? I’m not sure why he has to do this”
He didn’t. We’re shown the wife taking money when she leaves. She doesn’t tell him so when he checks the money when he finds that she’s not there and has left his father tied up in a locked room, he finds that there is money missing. That’s how I interpreted it at least.>
Yeah, that is how I interpreted it, too, although the daughter was present in the room when the wife was taking the money in that very early scene in the film, so I was confused why she didn’t tell him that, because he actually asked his daughter if she has taken any money when he found out the money was missing…
I sympathized with Nader in his dilemma until he said to his daughter, “If you believe me, I will….” That was a terrible burden to place on a child and totally unforgivable. He lost me at the moment, and probably his daughter.
Yes, but it’s also completely believable. And consistent since the parents do the same when they allow her to decide who she wants to be with in the the end. Note: the daughter also insists on staying with the father when the mother wants her to come with her although it’s insinuated that she does so only in order to make the mother return. I think the implication at the end is that after seeing what her father did, she’ll choose the mother but that’s open.
Believable, Ari, yes, but still totally reprehensible. There are no perfect parents. We all do the best we can, based on our upbringing and education, but he went beyond the point of excusable or forgivable error.
I’m not sure I understand why you find his actions that reprehensible. In my mind, he was saying that his daughter’s faith in him was the most important thing in his life. He was doing what he thought was right. He was not going to admit causing a miscarriage when he honestly believed that he did not. So when he thought that his daughter was starting to have doubts about him, he told her that he would accept responsibility if she thought he was responsible. It’s definitely problematic to put this burden on a young girl but no more problematic, I would imagine, than letting a daughter decide which parent she wants to stay with.
@Janitor
Yeah, that is how I interpreted it, too, although the daughter was present in the room when the wife was taking the money in that very early scene in the film…
I’m confused. Let me go through so that we’re on the same page. Nader accuses Razieh, the pregnant woman caring for his father, of stealing money, right? So when you say “the wife” took the money, you’re now talking about Simin, right? So does Razieh steal?
@Robert
I sympathized with Nader in his dilemma until he said to his daughter, “If you believe me, I will….” That was a terrible burden to place on a child and totally unforgivable…
Are you referring to the scene where Nader tells his daugther that he will agree to pay Hodjat, if she thinks he’s guilty? If so, I thought this was harsh and unfair. (Earlier I think he says something like he’ll turn himself in if she thinks that’s what he should do or something to that effect, which seemed a bit tough. On the other hand, I’m not sure what else he could say, as it was the scene she confronted him about his lying.) Indeed, it makes me wonder about how decent a person he really is.
@Ari
I’m not sure I understand why you find his actions that reprehensible. In my mind, he was saying that his daughter’s faith in him was the most important thing in his life. He was doing what he thought was right. He was not going to admit causing a miscarriage when he honestly believed that he did not. So when he thought that his daughter was starting to have doubts about him, he told her that he would accept responsibility if she thought he was responsible. It’s definitely problematic to put this burden on a young girl but no more problematic, I would imagine, than letting a daughter decide which parent she wants to stay with.
The daughter wanted him to pay the money and return to his mother. At this point, for all Nader knows, he could have killed the fetus—I don’t think he knows that Razieh was hit by a car. And he knows that he lied about knowing she was pregnant—so he’s in the wrong there. Now, Simin’s resolution seems reasonable. Nader doesn’t want to go to jail—and if he tells the true, he very well might go to jail. So to avoid both lying and going to jail, he can pay the couple—plus, he may have caused the woman to lose her baby. (If he suspects that the Hodjat caused the miscarriage via physical abuse, that would seem like a huge classist assumption.) At this point, he’s not completely in the right at all.
My feeling is that his pride is the bigger issue here—and, perhaps, his sense of superiority and prejudice against Hodjat and Razieh. So instead of overcoming these things himself, he put the burden on this daughter and essentially puts her in an impossible situation. Nader will agree to pay, if the daugther admits that she believes the father is guilty—which, both the daugther and the father know, would be extremely painful to the father. Given the framing of the situation, the daugther can’t do it—understandably so, imo.
(Btw, how did Nader come to agree to pay? We don’t see that, right? The assumption is that he swallows his pride and agrees?)
@JAZZALOHA
‘’I’m confused. Let me go through so that we’re on the same page. Nader accuses Razieh, the pregnant woman caring for his father, of stealing money, right? So when you say “the wife” took the money, you’re now talking about Simin, right? So does Razieh steal?’’
Yes, I am talking about Simin, I’m sorry I didn’t make myself clearer. There is a scene in the beginning when Simin is preparing her luggage and is taking money from a drawer or something like that and her daughter, Termeh, is with her in the room. When Nader finds out that Razieh has left the house, he checks that same place from where Simin took the money earlier and finds out that there is money missing and he asks his daughter if she has taken any, she says no but does not tell him that her mother took some money, even when Nader accuses Razieh of stealing… I cannot be sure if Razieh actually stole or not, Nader says the missing amount is the same as her daily wage and I have no idea how much money Simin actually took in the beginning…
‘’(Btw, how did Nader come to agree to pay? We don’t see that, right? The assumption is that he swallows his pride and agrees?)’’
My own assumptionn is that Simin has shared with him what Razieh had shared with her (about being hit by a car), so they agree to pay the money only if Razieh swears by the Qoran that she is sure Nader caused the miscarriage, hoping that such a religious woman would not lie in this situation…
I thought it was a wonderful multi-faceted movie. Farhadi explores every possible angle in this domestic situation. One of the interesting scenes was when Nader made Termeh go back and get the change for the gas. At the time, I thought Nader was teaching Termeh to assert herself, not be pushed over, but then you come to realize that in many ways Nader is a weak man, passing off difficult situations onto others, like putting his daughter into another tight spot when she has to verify that he didn’t know Razeih was pregnant. Obviously, Termeh wants to keep her parents and will say what it takes to keep her father out of jail. But, pride still very nearly lands him in jail.
His “soft” pride is contrasted sharply with Hodjat’s “hard” pride. It is easy to sympathize with Nader at first, but as the story unfolds and more is discovered about Hodjat I realized he is not the plotter I initially took him for, but a frustrated young man who values his honor and that of his family. It is Razeih that ultimately turns out to be the most duplicitous one, but then she is protecting her family as well. What a complex web, all stemming from a simply push.
I like the fact Farhadi didn’t make this film feel allegorical, he kept it straight up throughout, although one can no doubt read much into this film. I also thought the judge was very good, as he seemed like a perfectly reasonable person. We read all this shit in the papers about how horrible the Iranian judicial system is, as if it is something out of the stone age, and here is a middle-aged judge trying to get to the bottom of these domestic disputes the same way a judge would anywhere else in the world. I suppose the judge represented the director’s point of view.
I didn’t see a clear connection between the scene where Simin was counting out the money and that when Nader was looking for the money. She seemed to take quite a bundle of cash, and I thought it was intended for her trip. She did it openly, so I took it to be her money. From it, she counted out money to pay Razeih since she was the one who apparently arranged the day nurse. Seems Farhadi was content to leave the money dispute open ended. I have expected it to turn up in the little girl’s backpack when Nader was putting the school book into it. For all we know the old man could have taken it, because later Nader says he knows she didn’t steal the money.
“I have expected it to turn up in the little girl’s backpack when Nader was putting the school book into it. "
That’s what I expected, too.
I see I should have said “half expected.” Can’t get this movie out of my head. I look at the typical American family melodrama, like the recent Descendants, and it clearly delineates the good characters and bad characters with less than satisfying results, but Farhadi chooses to blur the lines, much like Chekhov, resulting in a complexity of characters that defies any easy resolution. You just can’t sit down on the couch and cuddle in your mama’s blanket watching March of the Penguins after everything this family went through.
What I find very interesting about this film is how every character is able to justify betraying their principles for the sake of family until the very end when Razieh’s religious faith ultimately tears both her family and Simin and Nader’s apart. Is the film an attack on abstract notions on morality? Is it telling us that however much you may try and cling to particular strictures, real life puts these ideals to the ultimate test and shows that black and white ideas about justice and morality are dangerous? I think a great debate could be had from these questions.
One thing for certain is there is no black and white in this film. To watch a film which contains complexities on so many levels is quite exhilarating. A brilliant, brilliant work that needs to be watched a few more times until I can get near grasping it.
It says a lot for this film that I was planning to watch another almost immediately after, but can’t get it out of my head. To be honest, I feel it would be quite insulting to the work’s brilliance for me to put it to the back of my mind and start watching something else.
It says a lot for this film that I was planning to watch another almost immediately after, but can’t get it out of my head. To be honest, I feel it would be quite insulting to the work’s brilliance for me to put it to the back of my mind and start watching something else.
Jazzaloha
Just saw this. (80/100—although this could change). I’ve been feeling under the weather, and I worried that this might be too intense. (I thought the film was going to be about a family that gets separated as they immigrate or something.) Anyway, from the get-go, the film captured my attention, and it’s one of the best 2011 mainstream films I’ve seen. I say “mainstream” just because I think grown-ups in America wouldn’t have trouble appreciating this film.
Before I get into some comments and questions, I really hope people from Iran on the board can participate in this discussion. I’m really interested in hearing their insights and feedback to the film. So, off the top of my head:
1. What do you think about the title of the film? The Iranian title seems to focused on the the married couple, while the broader English title makes me think the film is about various types of separations—e.g., the separation between classes, for example.
2. I’m really curious to hear what Iranians/Persians think about the role religion played in the behavior of the characters as well as the courts? Specifically, I’m curious to know if this is a idealized or realistic portrayal of how things work in Iran. I must say that I felt moved and impressed by the sense of honor and piety of some of the characters—even the father (despite the big lie). As an American, I’m sad to say that I found the behavior surprising and foreign. In my experience, Americans don’t have the same sense of honor or take seriously religion and God in their relations to one another—and I’m talking about American Christians, too.
I’m thinking of the reliance on testimonies in these hearings, the way lying or telling the truth seems to be a really, really big deal. I don’t know if other Americans who will agree with me, but the type of concern about things like these don’t seem to exist or seem to be the exception.
3. There’s another thread, where we talk about the American criminal justice system (from the film, Paradise Lost 3: Purgatory) that I can’t help thinking of. Again, maybe the system portrayed in the film is idealized (which, wouldn’t be surprising), but there was something more humane and appealing about it.
4. What do people make of the ending—specifically the move from the conflict between Nader and Razieh and Hodjat to Termeh having to choose which parent to live with? That sort of through me off a little, and I’m still not sure what to make of it. What do people make of the twist and turns in the moral terrain and the final resolution? A part of me feels cheated—the situation seems so complex that I don’t even know if a moral problem even exists by the end of the film.
OK, I’ll leave it there for now.