Women Without Men (2009) is a tragic feminist allegory of Iran. It’s set in 1953, during the political turmoil in Tehran that saw British-American troops bring down the government of Mohammad Mossadegh in order to maintain Britain’s control over Iranian oil. Adapted from a novel by the feminist author Shahrnush Parsipur, directed by the contemporary visual artist Shirin Neshat, and filmed by Neshat’s cinematographer Martin Gschlacht, the film is a confluence of striking visual and narrative moments. It captures the lives of four women from vastly different sections of Iranian society: personal, political and social. Treading on the edge of historical veracity and magical realism, Women Without Men is a story of solidarity and companionship in the midst of a coup d’état, which marks the beginning of Iran’s contemporary issues. If the film doesn’t leave you rubbing your eyes as you seek to tell dreamy elements from real ones, it will definitely leave your mind racing to put all its pieces together.

In an inventive and innovative style, Neshat makes room for presenting feminist characters and invites you to join this 99-minute curated experience. Almost like playing the role of “the mother”, Fakhri is an upper-class matron long married to a general who backs the Shah. Exasperated by her abusive marriage, she leaves her husband to buy an orchard in the countryside. The first to reside with Fakhri is Zarin, a young, emaciated prostitute, who fled the brothel she had been serving to cleanse herself from her traumatising encounters with clients. Munis, “the rebel”, is a 30-year-old budding feminist activist who listens obsessively to the radio, to keep up with political developments. She constantly attempts to subvert her brother who imposes unreasonable restrictions on her actions and choices. Finally, Faezeh, embodying an iteration of the “Madonna”, is Munis’s friend and is in love with this tyrannical brother. Faezeh is rather timid, always veiled, and alarmed by Muni’s boldness. All four women unite in Fakhri’s orchard: the mystical centre of the film and a symbolic safe haven for women who have been victims of Iranian patriarchal institutions.

The variation in cinematography echoes the fragmented storyline. Gschlacht plays with light and shadow, creating mesmerising images in monochrome interspersed with muted colours. The film opens with Munis contemplating suicide on the roof of her home; the white building is beautifully framed against the fierce blue sky. The visual contrasts reflect the stark difference between life and death. More importantly, they shine a light on Munis’s state of mind, grabbing your attention and hooking you on to her story. The scenes in the streets of Tehran are predominantly black and white. You might find yourself navigating the print of a daily newspaper, or making sense of a newsreel. Neshat creates a blueprint to experience the repressed livelihoods of women. In an alternative reality, bright colours emerge in the orchard. While readjusting to chromatic changes, beware of the cuts replaced by dissolved transitions. Hold on tight to your chair: don’t float away with the surreal fluidity that envelops the screen.

The juxtaposition of visuals with sounds—or the lack thereof—compels you to listen and assess the background noises. Without any direct relation to the plot, these sounds tie the film in as one final product. The prayers, birdsongs, roaring crowds, wailing women and rushing water create a document-like reality, complete with historical accuracy. At the same time, Ryuichi Sakamoto’s morose soundtrack invites you to wander the world of fantastical constructs. Neshat seamlessly switches between authenticating reality and fuelling fragmented tales. The presented conversations between the four women are strained and hushed, allowing the audience to view their defiance through an intimate lens. Yet, profound and uncharacteristically loud monologues urge you to map out the possibilities of a democratic and feminist Iran: a construct of Neshat’s imagination.

Women Without Men balances on a tightrope between illusion and reality. Following Munis’s suicide, she is buried in the backyard of her house by her brother. As a citizen of the democratic world, this is your initiation to the horror of being silenced in your own home. As Faezeh returns, she hears Munis’s muffled voice and digs up her resurrected body. Like a ghost, she spends the rest of the film haunting the streets of Iran with her fierce intelligence, loyal activism and resolute feminism, making use of her newfound freedom from patriarchal oppression. Munis’s progression  stands as an emblem of everything Iran could have been, but failed to be. Another instance of a fantastical allegory is Zarin’s last interaction with a client in the brothel. In the hyperreal setting of the whorehouse, the sudden appearance of an eyeless, mouthless man is monstrous, and stupefying. As the catalyst of Zarin’s escape, the client represents everything the four women aim to get away from: the despicable institution of patriarchy. By now, you are sensitised to the reality of Iranian women.

Frail and helpless, Zarin acts as a metaphor for the exposed and vulnerable among the women of Iran. Withdrawn and silent from prolonged sexual exploitation, she strips naked in the public bath, violently rubbing herself to cleanse the marks left on her by the men who have used her. Even after reaching Fakhri’s mansion, Zarin is suspended between life and death. When Fakhri decides to host a party, she symbolically opens up the women’s safe space to the Iranian public. With this, the function of the villa as a safe haven dissipates, embodied by Zarin falling ill at hearing the news. Invested neck-deep in the powerless dame, you’re now aware that the safety of the sanctuary is intertwined with her fate.

This film is not just a work of entertainment and a political statement, but also a piece of art in itself. Different elements in Women Without Men work in unison to create a collage, that is an allegory, an artwork, a kind of poetry. The film offers a multidimensional perception of what Iran could have been by holding up a mirror to the harsh reality of its present. These women champion the journey of a ship scouting for the port in the storm: feminism in a man’s world. Something that makes your eyes pop out of their sockets, makes the hair on your hands stand on end, and leaves your stomach unsettled, this is a must-watch masterpiece.