It’s hard to reconcile the masterful cinematography with the subject matter of Shirin Neshat’s Women Without Men. There is a magical quality about the filming, something that fits in with the film’s central theme of freedom, and Neshat’s artful shots, each frame itself a photograph, almost seem out of place in such a violent setting.
The film takes place in 1953 in Tehran, Iran, during the Anglo-American-backed coup d’état that overthrew Mohammad Mossadegh’s democratically-elected government and restored the Shah as dictator. The narrative begins with Munis (Shabnam Tolouei), a thirty-year-old woman who is trapped in her home by her fundamentalist brother. The opening scene shows her suicide, taking place directly after her brother unplugs her radio—her only connection to the world outside the walls of the house. Instead of mourning her, her brother curses her for disgracing him and buries her in their garden.
Faezeh (Pegah Ferydoni), a friend of Munis’s, discovers her body. She secretly wishes to marry Munis’s brother, and when she learns of his marriage to another woman, she seeks the help of a seer to ensure that the marriage fails. Instead, she hears Munis call out to her when she is in the family’s garden; when Faezeh digs through the dirt, Munis returns to live a double life as an independent woman, protesting against the planned coup d’état against Mossadegh.
Zarin (Orsi Toth) is a prostitute. So many men have abused her body that it becomes impossible for her to tell one from the next, and she flees the brothel when she sees that her last customer is seemingly faceless. The next time she is on screen, she tries to wash the marks of these men from her body; it is a painful thing to watch because these marks are indelible, and no matter how hard she scrubs, even leaving her skin raw and bloody, they will never disappear. It is only by leaving Tehran and the men who hurt her that Zarin breaks free from the loveless caresses that haunt her.
Finally we meet Fakhri (Arita Shahrzad), a wealthy woman married to a war general. Following the arrival of an old flame, Fakhri leaves her husband and purchases a villa at the edge of town. This villa becomes her refuge—and in turn becomes a safe haven for Faezeh and Zarin, who eventually arrive at Fakhri’s door. Here, the three women help each other heal from the invisible injuries men have left on them. In this newfound freedom, they can live their lives undisturbed by men. Together, they take care of each other without fear of saying or doing something wrong; Neshat seems to be telling us that they understand each other in a way that a man never could. Meanwhile, Munis is free to pursue her desire to not only interact with the world beyond her radio, but become an activist herself and fight for what she believes in.
Each shot and frame of the film is ethereal, reflecting the surrealistic nature of the cinematography. It is a unique contrast that both invites the user to question the reality of the film and decide for themselves what hidden message each scene might contain. But in keeping with this artful, ever-shifting style, the peace at the villa and Munis’s activism do not last. When Fakhri announces that she is going to throw a party to celebrate the opening of the orchard in which the villa is located, Zarin falls ill; meanwhile, the coup begins in earnest, and Munis watches helplessly as the leadership of the protest fractures after the capture of one of the key activists.
The party and the crumbling of the protest unfold in tandem as the film progresses. At first it seems odd that the two events happen together, but they are linked the moment that a woman voices her distaste for the Shah at the party. Suddenly the viewer is reminded of the coup and the ensuing rebellion, and not long afterwards the Shah’s men arrive at the villa’s door, searching for one of the activists. This marks the end of resistance as their leaders scatter and Munis mourns the freedom that could have been. When Fakhri walks around in her empty villa the next morning, it dawns on her that that party was perhaps the last moment of freedom for Tehran and its citizens.
That Neshat’s work is forbidden in Iran, as is the novel, a magic-realistic book written by Shahrnush Parsipur, that the film is based upon, creates another tension with the film’s central theme of freedom. Women Without Men is a self-explanatory title that explores the possibility of freedom—a place where women can dictate their own lives in any way they choose—in an environment where there is no way to win. Perhaps it is a reflection of how Neshat sees the world today, or perhaps it is a call to arms to fight for the freedom she shows us in the film. Whatever the case, Neshat’s love for Iran is apparent at every turn, and her artful depiction of freedom and what it means to women is central to each frame, surreal and real.