“Women Without Men” (2009) is a radical push to expose the severe gender inequality in 1953 Tehran, but the esoteric scenes and surrealist moments of the film keep it from fully making its point. Directed by Shirin Neshat and based on the novel by Shahrnush Parsipur, the film follows the stories of four women as they navigate a society rampant with sexism. Faezeh is a traditional young woman who will do anything to marry her friend’s abusive brother Amir. She is an example of how women are raised to perpetuate the systems that oppress them. Zarin is a prostitute who desperately needs to escape her brothel; her situation testifies to the violent dehumanization of women in financial need. Fahkri is a disillusioned middle-aged woman who longs to leave her husband. She’s not afraid to question and challenge society’s idealized view of marriage. Then there’s Munis, a young woman fascinated by the political realm around her. She alone packs the punch of the movie’s underlying theme: that patriarchal society leaves no hope for women, and that it is time to fight for gender equality and a better future.
Right after we meet Munis, we see that Tehran is in uproar. In order to secure an Iranian government that is sympathetic to their oil interests, the CIA and British intelligence have successfully enacted a coup to overthrow the democratically appointed Prime Minister Mohammad Mosaddegh. The streets are filled with turmoil, including anti-coup protests which capture Munis’ attention. However, Munis’ harsh older brother Amir condemns her interest in anything but marriage, threatening to break her legs if she leaves the house. This first interaction between these two characters follows the opening scene where Munis makes herself fall off a building to her death. This juxtaposition is not an accident. The two scenes set the stage for the depiction of oppressive systems that the film will later explore.
In the surreal portrayal of her suicide, it’s clear that Munis is hopeless to the point of death. As she fades into the sky, her voice says, “Now I’ll have silence, silence, and nothing,” then she hauntingly adds that the only way to obtain freedom is to escape from the world. Since this opening scene is paired with the next one, her brother subjecting her to his commands and threatening her if she does not comply, we understand that he is the cause of her suicide. Neshat seems to be saying that as long as society condones men’s control over women, the women are doomed. Their fate is utterly hopeless.
The film shows Munis’ surreal suicide three times, marking the beginning, middle, and end. It also punctuates every other scene of the movie, recurring as a constant reminder of Munis’ destiny. In an interview, Director Neshat elaborates on how Munis provides structure for the story:
Munis represented a political character, a woman who believed in social justice and political activism without being ideological. And also by her being dead, in a way in her spirit and being, she connected the story of the country and the woman together, so she became the narrator.
By saying this, the director gives Munis’ story and voice more external authority than those of any other character, because it is she who stands as a bridge between the political climate and the personal experiences of the characters. In these ways, Munis drives the film. We always return to her perspective, as well as to her death.
The film’s intense focus on death is the principal reason this film seems bereft of hope. What is left but nihilistic surrealism? The answer: the very existence of the film. Elsewhere in her interview, Neshat speaks of the courage it took to make and distribute such a movie. Not only was the original book banned in Iran, but many of the people involved with the story were banned from their homeland as well. The writer spent five years in jail. Many cast and crew members hired to work on the movie were prohibited from being involved. However, the movie is still in circulation, even if illegally, and in response Neshat exclaims: “I couldn’t be more delighted that there is a piracy of distribution.”
The impetus to produce such a film, and the effort of distributing it, whether under the table or openly, are moves for the exposure of unjust systems. The film refuses to let these problems exist without confronting them and shares with the world just how destructive they can be. By using a movie as a tool for social reform, the creators are combining the audience’s desire for entertainment and and society’s need for justice–an effective and accessible way to mobilize for action.
On the other hand, the film is often ambiguous and opaque. Many may watch it and leave without a clear sense of its meaning. The surrealistic elements and magical realism make the plot hard to follow and the message difficult to decipher–even Munis’ triple death, the repeated centerpiece of the movie, makes no logical sense. Between a faceless man and unrealistic shifts in color–from almost monochrome shots to vibrant garden scenes–viewers are hard pressed to say exactly what happens. Arguments for social justice may be lost in such esoteric scenes. Perhaps these abstract features allow the film to cram in more meaning, but the challenge of unpacking that meaning may mitigate the benefit.
Neshat and her team may feel truly passionate about their political achievement, and the risks they took to create it are admirable. However, the means they employ blur their mission and leave viewers confused. The movie may have paid tribute to the magical realism of the novel, but was it worth keeping such convoluted metaphors?