AC 30 (1) pp.

109–127 Intellect Limited 2019

Asian Cinema
Volume 30 Number 1
© 2019 Intellect Ltd Article. English language. doi: 10.1386/ac.30.1.109_1

Mostafa Abedinifard
University of British Columbia

Asghar Farhadi’s nuanced

feminism: Gender and
marriage in Farhadi’s films
from Dancing in the Dust to
A Separation

Abstract Keywords
Aiming to contribute towards studies of gender in Iranian cinema, this article draws Asghar Farhadi
on feminist and masculinities theories to examine representations of gender in the Iranian feminist
films of Iranian director Asghar Farhadi, including his first Academy Award- cinema
winning film, A Separation. While most literature on gender in Iranian cinema critical masculinities
equates gender with femininity and women, I show that foregrounding men and studies
masculinities in the analysis of Farhadi’s films enhances our understanding of his gender
films’ feminist concerns and of the underlying structures of gender in current Iranian masculinity
society, as represented in these films. Furthermore, I argue that theories of masculin- marriage
ity can help in expanding the corpus of Iranian feminist cinematography. In current
accounts of Iranian feminist cinema, scholars refer to well-known sets of films that
mostly feature female leads; however, reading Farhadi’s movies in light of mascu-
linities theories shows that even though the films focus on both men and women, a
nuanced feminism has been ever present in his works.

109
Mostafa Abedinifard

The problems faced by women and men tend to be intertwined. But

in Iran it is women who face the biggest struggle to reclaim the rights
they’ve been deprived of.
(Farhadi in Bell 2011: 38)

Introduction
Iranian director Asghar Farhadi gained international fame when his 2011
film ‫( جدایی نادر از سیمین‬A Separation) (Farhadi, 2011) – the first Iranian film to
win an Academy Award – was named the Best Foreign Language Film at
the 2013 Oscars ceremony. This success – repeated in 2017 with ‫( فروشنده‬The
Salesman) – topped other, previous cinematic achievements by him, both
within Iran and abroad. A Separation, with its focus on the marital relation-
ship of a middle-class urban couple, is the third part of a marriage tril-
ogy that also includes ‫( درباره ی الی‬About Elly) (2009) and ‫( چهارشنبه سوری‬Fireworks
Wednesday) (2006); the first of these brought Farhadi outstanding domestic
and international success, including the Berlin International Film Festival’s
Silver Bear for Best Director, among other awards, and the second won
him three Crystal Simorghs at the Tehran Fajr International Film Festival.
Somewhat lesser known, however – at least up until Farhadi’s Oscar win –
were his first two films, ‫( رقص در غبار‬Dancing in the Dust) (2003) and ‫( شهر زیبا‬The
Beautiful City) (2004), both of which foreground urban gender relations in
working-class contexts. Following the international success of A Separation,
all four of Farhadi’s previous films were screened or rescreened interna-
tionally and critically acclaimed. As Tina Hassannia notes, what particularly
distinguishes Farhadi from other Iranian directors is that while the all-too-
familiar binary of art-versus-mainstream movies in Iranian cinema tends
to polarize many critics on the artistic values of films by Iranian directors,
Farhadi is the only Iranian filmmaker who is equally popular within and
outside Iran, bringing together both art films and mainstream cinema and
earning admiration from the public and the critics alike (2014: 66). Despite
their unique national and international success, however, Farhadi’s films
remain understudied in Academe – almost from any perspective, includ-
ing gender, and particularly masculinity, which ironically is foregrounded
in his work.
In this article, I read Farhadi’s first five films – the last one being his
first Oscar-winning film, A Separation – focusing on their representations
of gender, with a focus on men and masculinities, in light of feminist and
masculinities theories. In doing so, I pursue two aims. First, following femi-
nists’ increasing welcoming of masculinities theories, I encourage Iranian
studies scholars to intertwine their analyses of women and femininities in
Iranian cinema with concurrent studies of men and masculinities. In exam-
ining Farhadi’s depiction and treatment of gender relations, I show how
foregrounding men and masculinities in our gendered readings of Iranian
cinematic narratives enables further appreciation of the gendered and femi-
nist overtones of films. Moreover, as I will explain later, this enhanced
understanding of gender in films helps to expand the corpus of Iranian
feminist cinematography in studies focused on gender in Iranian cinema.
While extant accounts of Iranian feminist cinema revolve around a some-
what well-known set of directors and of films that mostly feature female
leads, this article shows that strong feminist perspectives can be found even
in non-female-centric films.

110   Asian Cinema

 Asghar Farhadi’s nuanced feminism

Lessons from critical masculinities studies 1. The field of

‘masculinities
While women’s imagery has been present through most of Iranian cinema, studies’ is called by
Iranian films that consciously address matters of gender inequality have only other names as well,
including ‘studies of
a short history. The prominent filmfarsi in prerevolutionary Iranian cinema men and masculinities’,
abounds with women’s presence, and yet it fails to represent the various reali- ‘critical men’s studies’
ties of women’s lives, instead mostly oscillating between dichotomized depic- and ‘masculinity
studies’.
tions of women as either sexualized or de-sexualized objects (Derayeh 2010;
Lahiji 2002; Naficy [1370] 1991). After the Iranian Revolution of 1979, the 2. For a theoretical
discussion of and
Islamic state’s new hijab regulations ended the overtly sexualized portrayal of annotated bibliography
women, although women remained sexual entities on-screen – albeit nega- related to the value
tively, as veiled and disembodied subjects (Naficy 2012). The subsequent of Iranian men and
masculinities studies,
Iraq–Iran war movies, which featured male-dominated frontline narratives, see Abedinifard
pushed women and their social lives even more to the background (Derayeh (2015). For a recently
published special
2006). During the late 1990s and, especially, the early 2000s – i.e., the period
issue of Iran Namag:
concurrent with the more liberal Muhammad Khatami’s presidential terms A Quarterly Journal of
(1997–2005) – Iranian cinema’s first conventional, feminist films emerged. Iranian Studies on the
topic of ‘Iranian men
Female directors such as Rakhshan Bani-Etemad, Pouran Derakhshandeh, and masculinities’,
Tahmineh Milani and, later on, Marzieh Meshkini and Samira Makhmalbaf see Abedinifard and
are frequently mentioned as representative of this explicit feminism (Derayeh Allamezade-Jones
(2018).
2010; Eyvazi 2011; Ghorbankarimi 2015; Grigoriu and Serban 2014).
Two important, interrelated issues strike us through the scholarly 3. Men as gendered
beings have mostly
literature on feminist Iranian cinema. The first is the degree to which, in their remained invisible
studies of feminist films, scholars use ‘gender’ as synonymous with women throughout history,
and femininity, despite the global developments in critical masculinities even – ironically –
after the appearance
studies. As a growing field of investigation sympathetic with and comple- of feminism. While
mentary to gender studies and women’s studies, masculinities studies are feminism made
gender visible, gender
increasingly welcome among scholars in those fields (see Buchbinder 2013; gradually became
Dowd 2010; Gardiner 2002b; Kimmel et al. 2005; Murphy 2004).1 Significantly synonymous with
imbricated with feminist theory and sharing feminist concerns with gender women. Therefore,
men increasingly
inequality in patriarchal societies and cultures, masculinities studies empha- remained outside
size the multiplicity of masculinity, itself deemed a sociocultural construction the reach of gender
(e.g., Connell 1987, 2005b). In turning men and masculinities into the objects studies. Scholars of
masculinity urge
of gender-focused analysis, the field chiefly aspires to healthier and more us to inquire which
gender-democratic societies and lives for all men – and women – by revealing, particular sociocultural
mechanisms in
for instance, how patriarchy can also significantly harm men. Although origi- patriarchal societies
nating in the West, masculinities studies have attracted the attention of a often work to deter
growing number of scholars interested in studying non-western men and us from questioning
masculinity. Such
masculinities, including those in the Middle East (see Jackson and Balaji scholars, many of
2011). More recently, Iranian masculinities studies, too, have emerged and are whom are also gender
taking hold within the broader field of Iranian studies.2 activists, seek to raise
the consciousness
Masculinities research focused on Iranian cinema remains minimal, of the public,
however, comprising only a few studies (Chavushian and Rashtabadi [1389] particularly men and
boys, about their
2010; Gow 2016; Naficy 2011; Motlagh 2016; Pak-Shiraz 2017) and sporadic places within – and
discussions elsewhere (e.g., Gow 2011; Moallem 2011; Sadr 2006). Mainstream inextricability from –
studies of gender in Iranian cinema have focused on women, thereby leav- issues of gender (see
Connell 2005a).
ing masculinity mostly ‘invisible’ and ‘unmarked’ (Kimmel 1993: 29; Reeser
2010: 8).3 Such studies often imply that ‘gender’ is interchangeable with women
and women’s issues (e.g., Mottahedeh 2008; Zeydabadi-Nejad 2010). However,
with masculinity and femininity being ‘inherently relational concepts’
(Connell 2005b: 43; Gardiner 2002a), prevalent studies of gender in Iranian
cinema must be complemented with examinations of the representations,

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Mostafa Abedinifard

4. Hegemonic constructions and contestations of masculinity within and through Iranian

masculinity, as the key
concept in Connell’s
films. When referring to the recent emergence of masculinities studies in the
model, has been west, Shahin Gerami reminds us that ‘[i]n other parts of the world, femi-
applied to research nists and women scholars and organizations are still too involved with many
in such diverse areas
as education studies, problems of women’s rights to divert their attention to masculinity’ (2003:
criminology, ‘media 258). Yet she also deems studying Muslim masculinities to be ‘necessary’
representations’ (2005: 456). Distinguishing between ‘Islamist identity’ and ‘Muslim identi-
and organization
studies (Connell and ties’, Gerami defines the former as ‘an abstract construct applied by others’
Messerschmidt 2005: and yet the latter as ‘concrete, contested, and differentiated identities created
833–35). That Connell’s
concept has ‘withstood
through individual or group agency’, warning that ‘Muslim societies are never
more than twenty monolithic as such, never religious by definition, nor are their cultures simply
years of [international reducible to mere religion’ (2005: 448). According to Gerami, studying Muslim
and mostly empirical]
research experience’ masculinities will not only help women, gender studies and men in Muslim
(Messerschmidt societies, but it also ‘aid[s] Western masculinity studies in going beyond self-
2010: 35) confers absorption with sexuality and in further incorporating the discourse of imperi-
upon it a certain
degree of reliability. alism into the mainstream of gender discourse’ (2005: 456).
For an overview of Moreover, said reductionist or limiting gendered perspective in studies of
Connell’s theory, see
Abedinifard (2016). For a
Iranian feminist cinema can in turn cause the scholarly exclusion of certain
sociological application films from such studies. In considering Iranian feminist cinema, scholars often
of ‘hegemonic focus on movies featuring prominent representations of women; often, they
masculinity’ to
Muslim (including disregard films that pursue feminist concerns more subtly or with a nuanced
Iranian) masculinities, tone. Frequently cited films in studies of Iranian feminist cinema include
see Gerami (2005). those directed by the female directors noted above, but also certain more or
For a recently
published monograph less female-centric films by male directors, including Dariush Mehrjui’s ‫سارا‬
that provides a (Sara) (1992), ‫( پری‬Pari) (1995) and ‫( لیال‬Leila) (1997), Ja‘far Panahi’s ‫( دایره‬Circle)
comprehensive view
of the concept and its
(2000), Bahram Beyzai’s ‫( سگ کشی‬Killing Rabids) (2001), Mohsen Makhmalbaf’s
evolution over time, see ‫( سفر قندهار‬Kandahar) (2001), Abbas Kiarostami’s ‫( ده‬Ten) (2002) and Asghar
Messerschmidt (2018). Farhadi’s Fireworks Wednesday (see Eyvazi 2011; Ghorbankarimi 2015;
Grigoriu and Serban 2014). Yet many other films by the same directors are
less recognized or entirely neglected in gendered analyses. As far as Farhadi
is concerned, for instance, rarely has he been presented as a feminist director
or his oeuvre read with an eye on its constant attention to gender relations.
However, I will show that a nuanced feminist perspective with acute atten-
tion to the relationality of masculinity and femininity has been ever-present
in his works, while none of the films are blatantly female-centric. Given that
Farhadi’s cinematic career began in the early 2000s, the gendered preoccupa-
tions in his films might have been encouraged by the aforementioned suit-
able sociopolitical milieu in Iran during the late 1990s and afterward. His male
identity may have also affected his balanced attitude towards the subject, as
reflected in his statement quoted at the outset of this article.

Dancing in the Dust and The Beautiful City: The pains

and perils of hegemonic masculinity
Zooming in on gender relations among working-class members of Iranian
society, Farhadi’s early films Dancing in the Dust and The Beautiful City high-
light outcast forms of femininity as products of patriarchy, while pointing
out the hazards of men’s participation in hegemonic masculinity. This type
of masculinity is defined as the culturally ascendant, yet idealized and hence
often unattainable, form of being a man in a society (see Connell 1987).4
Dancing in the Dust concerns a young man’s struggle to manage the implica-
tions and consequences of his early divorce. Nazar works in the stable of a

112   Asian Cinema

 Asghar Farhadi’s nuanced feminism

pharmaceutical institute that produces snake anti-venom. He obtains a loan 5. In the Iranian culture,
mahrieh, or the bride’s
so that he can afford to marry Reyhaneh, whom he met while commuting marriage portion, is
to work. Soon, however, he is coerced by his family and peers into divorc- a sum of money (or
ing her because her mother is known to be a prostitute. Reyhaneh forgives a number of gold
coins, etc.) that the
her ‫( مهر  یه‬mahrieh),5 but Nazar decides to pay it nonetheless. When unable to bridegroom undertakes
pay the instalments, he escapes arrest by hiding in the delivery van of a snake to pay the bride.
hunter. The reluctant old man takes Nazar to his hunting place in a desert. 6. As defined by Connell,
One day, a snake that Nazar tries to catch bites his ring finger. The old man ‘protest masculinity’
cuts Nazar’s finger to release the venom, saving Nazar’s life, and then takes signifies a masculine
performance
him to the hospital. On the way, the old man reveals that he has been avoid- that goes beyond
ing jail after receiving a life sentence for murdering his wife’s lover. While simply recognizing
stereotypical male
left alone briefly in his hospital room, Nazar leaves his wedding ring for the roles, by being
old man and walks away with the old man’s money, which he then gives to ‘compatible with
Reyhaneh as her dowry. respect and attention
to women, egalitarian
In highlighting the ‘spoiled identity’ (Goffmann 1986) of Reyhaneh’s mother, views about the sexes,
the film points to what Mimi Schippers calls ‘pariah femininities’ (2007: 95): affection for children,
outcast forms of femininity that do not support the dominant masculinity in and a sense of display
which in conventional
a society and culture and thus contaminate the hegemonic gender relation- role terms is decidedly
ship between femininity and masculinity ‘by refusing to complement hegem- feminine’ (2005: 112).
onic masculinity in a relation of subordination’ (Messerschmidt 2010: 31). As a
widowed or abandoned woman, Reyhaneh’s mother is involved in either ‫صیغه‬
(sigheh: ‘temporary marriage’) or prostitution, both of which bear strong social
stigmas for a woman in Iranian culture, where girls are normally socialized
to become obedient wives and mothers (Torab 2007). On the other hand, by
emphasizing Nazar’s deliberate, yet painful, anticipation of hardship, injury
and even crime to satisfy hegemonic masculinity – echoed in the old man’s past
crime of passion, committed to regain his injured masculine honour – the film
also stresses the hazards, for men, of aspiring to hegemonic masculinity. In so
doing, it reveals how the ‘patriarchal dividend’ – that is, ‘the advantage men in
general gain from the overall subordination of women’ (Connell 2005b: 79) –
can sometimes come with a significant price (Dowd 2010).
Yet, in loving Reyhaneh despite her mother’s ‘defamation’, Nazar chal-
lenges hegemonic masculinity by displaying some sort of ‘protest masculinity’
(Connell 2005b: 109–12),6 although he ultimately yields to social pressure.
Nazar, who accepts the stigma surrounding his mother-in-law but attempts
to save Reyhaneh’s identity from being similarly spoiled, declares at work
one day that he is not bothered by what Reyhaneh’s mother does because
Reyhaneh herself is ‘clean-living’. His colleague jeeringly retorts, ‘[o]nce [her
mother] was clean-living, too’, implying that Reyhaneh will eventually also
follow her mother’s course. The fact that ridicule by and pressure from his
friend is what primarily led to Nazar’s divorce (and his subsequent flight from
police to avoid his creditors’ complaints) emphasizes the idea of the dominant
form of ‘masculinity as panopticon’ and the role that shame and fear can play
in the construction of gender identity. Indeed, hegemonic notions of gender
are shown to be reinforced through peer pressure, especially in homosocial
circles (Buchbinder 2013; Kimmel 1994). In this context, Nazar’s conforming
to dominant gender roles out of social fear also demonstrates the disciplinary
function of ridicule vis-à-vis gender (Abedinifard 2016).
Notions of pariah femininity and hegemonic masculinity resurface in
The Beautiful City. 18-year-old Akbar is scheduled for execution, having
murdered his girlfriend Maliheh two years earlier. Maliheh’s father,
Abolqasem, is visited by ‘Ala, Akbar’s former cellmate now out on parole,

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Mostafa Abedinifard

7. All dialogue quoted who, together with Akbar’s sister Firuzeh, asks Abolqasem to forgive Akbar
from Dancing in the
Dust and The Beautiful
for killing his daughter. Because a female victim’s ‫( دیه‬diyeh: ‘blood money’)
City is my translation. is half that of a male, Abolqasem must pay the difference to have Akbar
For the other films, executed. This would require that Abolqasem sell his house; however, his
English subtitles
are the source of new wife, Maliheh’s stepmother, insists that they spend Maliheh’s diyeh
quotations, unless on treatment for her own daughter, who is incapacitated due to a physical
otherwise noted disability. Because Akbar and Firuzeh cannot secure adequate blood money,
(where the subtitles
were inaccurate or Abolqasem’s wife wants Akbar to marry her daughter.
insufficient, I provide Akbar’s killing of Maliheh, which grounds the narrative, occurred during
the translation).
an unsuccessful suicide pact, evoking the practice of so-called honour kill-
8. The nexus of gender ing (see Bakhtiar-Nezhad 2012), which remains ‘common practice, particularly
and bodily non-
normativity and
in traditional Iranian communities’ (Tizro 2012: 244n7). As ‘Ala remem-
its significance for bers, Akbar ‘loved [Maliheh] and did not want her to be someone else’s’.7
interpretations of As Connell reminds us regarding patriarchal societies in general, ‘a struc-
gender in narratives
is under-recognized ture that defines women as a kind of property makes men liable to repris-
in Iranian studies. For als for theft’ (1987: 108). The film’s ending, in which ‘Ala and Firuzeh face a
readings of modern dilemma, encapsulates exactly such a patriarchal structure. Any decision made
Persian literature
with a focus on by ‘Ala or Firuzeh will have consequences for the parties involved. Firuzeh
the interplays of suffers the social stigma of having previously been married to an addict and
masculinity with
infertility and
requires a man, even if nominally, because, as she says, ‘[h]ere, if you’re not
severe kyphosis, living under a man’s shadow, you’d be propositioned a hundred times each
and femininity night’. Firuzeh’s situation echoes that of Abolqasem’s wife, who has long
with ‘ugliness’, see
Abedinifard (2013a, endured domestic violence. Marrying ‘Ala would mean social redemption
2013b). for Firuzeh, but execution for Akbar. Finally, the notion that ‘Ala could save
9. ‫چهارشنبه سوری‬ Akbar by marrying Abolqasem’s stepdaughter seems far-fetched because her
Chaharshanbeh Suri disabled and thus socially devalued body – which aesthetically ranks low on,
is ‘the last Wednesday and falls short of, the hierarchy of women’s bodies (Gerschick 2005: 371) –
of the Persian solar
year, the eve of which is considered ‘undesirable’, or non-sexual, within the hegemonic pattern of
is marked by special ‘cathexis’ or ‘emotional relations’ in a heteronormative society (Connell 1987,
customs and rituals,
most notably jumping
2009).8 Ironically, ‘Ala’s solution, as is twice implied by his own statements,
over fire’ (Kasheff and appears to be the resumption of pickpocketing, that is, the re-adoption of a
Sa‘idi Sirjani 1990: delinquent masculinity. In suggesting this possibility, the film’s narrative,
para. 1).
which opens with the consequences of Akbar’s criminal masculinity, implies
the destructive, self-perpetuating effects of hegemonic masculinity for men
in impoverished conditions. Raising the topic of the harms of patriarchy for
men – as Dancing in the Dust and The Beautiful City do strongly – confirms and
contributes to Gerami’s observations on how the patriarchal gender order of
contemporary Iranian society harms both women and men (2003).

Farhadi’s marriage trilogy: Critiquing male privilege

and entitlement
Fireworks Wednesday marks a turning point in Farhadi’s filmmaking career.
While still concerned with working-class characters, he shifts his focus to
middle-class characters through a technique also seen, subsequently, in About
Elly and A Separation. Farhadi skillfully inserts indigent female characters into
the lives of the well-to-do. These visitors, while serving as foils for the mari-
tal relations of their hosts, eventually become disillusioned with their own
marriages or prospective relations.
In Fireworks Wednesday, the betrothed Ruhi is sent by a cleaning services
company to the house of Morteza and Mozhdeh, a rich middle-aged couple,
on the night of Chaharshanbeh Suri.9 Ruhi soon realizes that the couple’s

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 Asghar Farhadi’s nuanced feminism

marriage is disintegrating. Mozhdeh suspects her husband of having an affair 10. Iranian chador has
been entangled
with Simin, a middle-aged divorcee who runs a beauty salon next door. Ruhi with gender politics
learns of the relationship but remains silent in part because Simin shapes her particularly since Reza
eyebrows for free. Earlier, Mozhdeh, a manteau-wearer, had borrowed Ruhi’s Shah’s modernization
project, which included
chador for a stealthy visit to her husband’s workplace.10 However, her attempt the compulsory
at surveillance fails; Morteza recognizes Mozhdeh and beats her in the street. unveiling of women.
She returns home without Ruhi’s chador. In the final scene, when Morteza While the chador
gained relative
gives Ruhi a ride home, he repays her for having kept his secret of infidelity by hegemony following
misinforming her fiancé, Abdol-Reza – who is surprised by Ruhi’s ‘even more the 1979 Iranian
Revolution, this has
beautiful’ face in the absence of her chador – that Ruhi’s veil had been left been challenged
behind with his wife. Moments earlier, Ruhi had asked Morteza to let her out through alternative
of the car before Abdol-Reza could see them together. clothing, especially
the manteau. Used as
Fireworks Wednesday comments on the imbrications of working-class and semiotic signs in many
middle-class masculinities, as manifested in Morteza’s and Abdol-Reza’s postrevolutionary
entitlement to male privilege (see Johnson 2005). In particular, both charac- Iran-based films, these
two garments can
ters perform ‫( غیرتی‬gheyrati: ‘honour-motivated’) masculinities. ‫( غیرت‬gheyrat) signify religiosity,
signifies ‘the [imagined] protective and possessive shield constructed around traditionalism
and working-class
a woman, who is perceived as carrying and personifying a Muslim man’s designation (the
honor (namus)’. In turn, the woman is expected to ‘[observe] the codes of chador) and secularism
chastity (effat) and modesty (haya)’; otherwise, she can expect a passion- and modernism (the
manteau).
ate and sometimes aggressive response from her husband (Tizro 2012: 51).
Ruhi fears Abdol-Reza’s enforcement of gheyrat upon seeing her without 11. The DVD’s English
subtitle of Mahmud’s
her chador and in a strange man’s car. While Abdol-Reza displays decent comment reads,
behaviour, he comments that Ruhi’s chador was ‘worn out’, implying that inaccurately, ‘[w]hat
she needed a new one anyway. An educated person working in a film edit- have you done?’.
ing office, Morteza also operates within a gheyrat paradigm when he beats
Mozhdeh, whose peculiar appearance at his workplace has, he believes,
disgraced him. After beating her, the perturbed Morteza returns to his
office, where a colleague, Mahmud, comforts him. Mahmud conjectures
that Mozhdeh has ‘seen something from you; [perhaps] you have blundered
[‫’]یتوس یا یزیچ یداد‬.11 In using the slang ‫( سوتی دادن‬suti dadan: ‘blunder’) – that
is, ‘uttering/committing inopportune words/acts that could bring disgrace or
cause a secret to be disclosed’ (Sama’i 2003: 59) – Mahmud legitimizes a
man’s betraying his wife, provided that it remains a secret.
Overlaps in differing masculinities can prove costly to patriarchy by unit-
ing women – even those whose statuses differ. Earlier, Ruhi asks to use
Morteza and Mozhdeh’s phone to ask for Abdol-Reza’s permission to visit the
beauty salon. Ruhi’s request, she must think, will leave undisturbed Abdol-
Reza’s masculinity and, therefore, their relationship. Noticing Ruhi’s concern,
Mozhdeh’s sister advises Ruhi to ‘learn from now on to not tell him [Abdol-
Reza] everything’. Her advice shows how nondemocratic gender relations
may encourage, if not necessitate, unethical behaviour at the expense of patri-
archy. This and the aforementioned themes are further developed in About
Elly.
The second film in Farhadi’s trilogy is about more than its (fleeting) titular
character. About Elly begins with three young middle-class couples – Sepideh
and Amir, Shohreh and Peyman and Nazi and Manuchehr, all past law-
school classmates – on a brief vacation to the southern shores of the Caspian
Sea. They take along Ahmad, a young divorced Iranian man visiting from
Germany, and Elly, the kindergarten teacher of Sepideh and Amir’s son,
aiming to bring the two guests together. The group knows little about Elly.
Fearing disgrace she has told her ailing mother in Tehran that she is travelling

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Mostafa Abedinifard

for business and will return tomorrow. Similarly, the group falsely introduces
Ahmad and Elly to the locals as a couple on their honeymoon. The next day,
Elly strangely disappears while all her belongings remain with the group,
causing events to take a turn for the worse. The group of friends – shocked
to learn from Sepideh that Elly has been engaged for two years – disregards
Sepideh’s insistence that Elly does not love her harassing and stalking fiancé
and had attempted to separate from him. While attempting to call Elly’s
family, the group inadvertently reaches her fiancé, Ali-Reza, who then sets off
to find the group. As a result, a series of lies begin to be uttered among the
group for the purposes of self-preservation. Finally, despite Sepideh’s pangs
of conscience, the group tells Ali-Reza, whose only concern is whether Elly
had ever told the group of her status as an engaged woman, that she had not.
As in The Beautiful City’s ending, gender is at the centre of the conclusion
here. The major conflict within the group after Elly’s disappearance encapsu-
lates the undemocratic gender order under which the characters live. Gender
order is ‘a historically constructed pattern of power relations between [and
among] men and women and definitions of femininity and masculinity’ in a
society (Connell 1987: 98–99). The group’s attempt to bypass this entrenched
societal pattern causes them considerable distress. The process begins with
Elly’s attempt to ignore the ‫( عفت و حیا‬effat/haya) codes that would keep a single
woman from joining a group that included ‫( نامحرم‬na-mahram: ‘unrelated’)
men. The group must then keep the police from learning that Sepideh had
been aware of Elly’s engagement because that awareness would not only
render the group guilty of planning adultery but also expose them to possible
revenge attempts by Ali-Reza – concerned as he is about restoring his violated
gheyrat. Thinking that Ahmad had seduced his fiancée, Ali-Reza attacks and
injures Ahmad, calling him ‫( بی ناموس‬bi-namus: a person, normally a man, lack-
ing honour). Yet, led to believe that the friends were clueless about Elly’s
engagement, Ali-Reza develops a sullen calmness and becomes disillusioned
with Elly’s virtue. After identifying Elly’s corpse in the morgue, Ali-Reza
leaves for Tehran without contacting her family. For him, Elly has come to
represent pariah femininity and is now a ‘vamp’ rather than a ‘victim’, a
‫( ددری‬dadari: ‘party girl’) and not an innocent ‘fallen woman’ (see Sadr 2006:
78–84). Gheyrat codes no longer permit him to be associated with her.
It remains unclear whether Elly committed suicide and, if so, what her
motivation was. Yet, the film strongly suggests that she reached an epiphany
concerning male privilege and entitlement. At one point, the group sends Elly
and Ahmad out to purchase some provisions, obviously to give them a chance
to chat. When Ahmad refers to his German ex-wife, Elly insists on know-
ing why they separated. His response is revealing: ‘Well, we woke up one
morning, washed our hands and faces, had our breakfast, and then she said,
“Ahmet, [Ahmad utters a sentence in German],” meaning that a bitter ending
is better than an unending bitterness’. This (and a following event) apparently
has an impact on Elly. At dinner, when Ahmad asks for salt, the others josh
one another, stalling until Elly finally heads out of the room to grab it. Over
the group’s jests and laughter, we see Elly restless in thought in the kitchen,
a condition that continues for almost fifteen seconds. Presumably, Elly – who
joined the group hoping for release from a doomed future with Ali-Reza – is
comparing her experience with him with the mental impression that she has
begun to construct of Ahmad.
After Elly’s disappearance, tensions escalate within the group, and partic­
ularly within two of the couples. Shohreh complains about Peyman’s verbal

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 Asghar Farhadi’s nuanced feminism

abuse in front of the others. Amir, to his own astonishment and that of
others, severely beats Sepideh. Both husbands abuse their male privilege. Like
Fireworks Wednesday, in juxtaposing working- and middle-class masculinities,
About Elly suggests how men of different social statuses might consciously or
unconsciously exploit male privilege to secure the patriarchal dividend. This
nexus, key in Farhadi’s trilogy, is expanded even further in his first Oscar-
winning film, A Separation.

Nader’s Separation from Simin and its relation to male

privilege
A Separation begins with an intriguing title sequence. The camera faces up
from within a photocopier as it duplicates legal documents, including Iranian
ID cards and birth and marriage certificates. Later, we learn that we are in a
family court. The documents are those of Morteza and Mozhdeh from Fireworks
Wednesday and of Nader and Simin, A Separation’s lead characters, whom we
will shortly see. The film is intertextually connected with Farhadi’s past films.
As a particular case in point, a diegetic sound in Fireworks Wednesday, involv-
ing a phone message left for Mozhdeh, gains significance; the message reveals
Mozhdeh’s attempts to seek residency abroad. Thus, in a sense, A Separation is
an organic sequel to Fireworks Wednesday.
Originally titled ‫( جدایی نادر از سیمین‬Nader’s Separation from Simin), the film
relates the marital breakup of its main characters, a couple in their late 30s
with an 11-year-old daughter named Termeh. The family had applied for
residency visas for a foreign country; now, the visas have been issued and
must be used within 40 days. However, Nader has changed his mind about
leaving Iran because his father, who suffers from Alzheimer’s disease, cannot
accompany them. Simin wants to leave immediately with Termeh, but Nader
disagrees. Seeing no other option, Simin has filed for divorce. But the court
deems Simin’s reason (i.e., Nader’s refusing to travel with her) to be insuf-
ficient; in response, she withdraws her request. Simin moves in with her
parents, arranging beforehand to hire a female servant named Razieh to look
after Nader’s father (Grandpa) while Nader works at his bank job. Being poor,
Razieh must commute a long way with her school-aged daughter, Somayyeh.
For fear of losing this new job, Razieh conceals her pregnancy from Nader.
One day, when Grandpa soils himself, the religious Razieh cleans him up –
with substantial consternation. This event makes her decide to quit the job;
instead, she arranges for her husband, Hojjat, to replace her. However, when
Hojjat is arrested following complaints by his numerous creditors, Razieh has
to resume the work at Nader’s. While unattended one day, Nader’s father
leaves the house, but Razieh manages to find him. The next day, Nader and
Termeh arrive home and are shocked to find that Grandpa is tied to – and has
fallen from – his bed, while Razieh and Somayyeh are nowhere to be found.
When the latter pair return, Nader argues with Razieh and pushes her out of
his home. The following night, Simin informs Nader that Razieh has been
hospitalized. Both rush to the hospital, where they learn of Razieh’s miscar-
riage. At the hospital, Hojjat learns that Razieh had been working at Nader’s
and he attacks Nader.
The film’s remaining events mostly involve court sessions in which Nader,
Hojjat and Razieh are cross-examined in regard to Razieh’s miscarriage.
Outside court, Hojjat continues to threaten Nader, his family and their daugh-
ter’s tutor, Mrs Qahrayee, who appears as a witness for Nader. Desperately,

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Mostafa Abedinifard

12. Iranian male mourners Simin convinces Hojjat to accept blood money and withdraw the complaint
who are closely tied
to the mourned are
against Nader. Razieh abruptly states that she was hit by a car on the day she
normally expected to left Nader’s home to find his father and hence is uncertain of what caused
wear a beard for at her miscarriage. Razieh then requests that Simin and Nader not pay Hojjat
least 40 days after the
death of the deceased. the blood money. Simin, fearing Hojjat’s threats, ignores her request. While
at Razieh and Hojjat’s home to pay the money, Nader wants Razieh to swear
that his push caused her miscarriage. Razieh refuses, turning the gathering
into a fiasco. The film ends with Nader and Simin at family court, petitioning
for separation with or without Termeh.
Reviewers often link Simin’s final resolution, to separate from her husband,
to her initial plan of leaving Iran (see Alleva 2012; Franklin 2013). However,
according to the original screenplay, the final scene signifies the death of
Grandpa (who had been Nader’s main reason for wanting to stay in Iran),
while also suggesting that the family’s 40-day window for using their visas
has closed: ‘It is the following season. […] [Nader and Simin] are dressed
head to toe in black winter clothing. It is clear from the length of Nader’s
beard that he has not shaved it for a few months’ (Farhadi 2010: 141).12 A
hitherto unnoticed question arises: why does Simin still want to separate
from Nader? The question, given her earlier uncertainty regarding divorce,
gains special significance. What events or chain of events, we must ask, can
explain Simin’s determination to separate with or without Termeh, whom
Simin had previously identified as her sole reason for keeping the marriage
intact? I argue that male privilege and its ensuing entitlement cause irrespon-
sibleness and self-centredness in Nader and push Simin towards separation.
Compared with Farhadi’s two preceding films, A Separation depicts male privi-
lege with further subtlety, particularly because Nader’s masculinity, compared
with that of Hojjat, carries an obvious façade of gender-democracy. Indeed,
Nader’s performance of masculinity evokes what Gerami terms liberal Muslim
masculinities – which feature, among other things, ‘cultural tolerance’ – as
opposed to more traditional Muslim masculinities (2005: 454–55), which are
apparent in Hojjat’s gender performance.
Hojjat, introduced through a line spoken by his daughter, is presented
and represented through allusions to masculinity. Somayyeh, upon noticing
her mother’s distress over Nader’s soiled father, utters, ‘I won’t tell Dad’.
Her father is presented as a man who, as Farzaneh Milani would put it,
embraces ‘stringent codes of Mardanegi [masculinity] and Gheyrat [honour]’
(1992: 131). Hojjat, we infer, must be domineering if not also violent towards
Razieh; further evidence supports this characterization. While Hojjat is never
seen committing violence against his female kin – we see only his occasional
self-harm – its possibility is indicated by a drawing by Somayyeh that depicts
her parents fighting. Hojjat’s attack on Nader at the hospital – during which
he shouts, ‘[y]ou live alone in that house [with my wife]’ – reveals his bellig-
erent gheyrati masculinity. Hojjat also admonishes his sister A‘zam for not
informing him of Razieh’s work situation. Apologetically, A‘zam repeats
‫( غلط کردم‬ghalat kardam: a strong self-demeaning term for ‘I’m sorry’) while
Hojjat keeps hitting his own head. Hojjat’s gestures suggest that he might
beat A‘zam, too. Apparently, he avoids hitting his female kin only when in
the presence of others.
Hojjat’s hyper-masculinity is understandable through the notion of
marginalized masculinity. Hegemonic masculinity requires that the ideal
male ‘be not only wealthy, but also in a position of power over others’.
Marginalization violates this rule, leaving the marginalized with two opposing

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 Asghar Farhadi’s nuanced feminism

options: ‘to overconform to the dominant view of masculinity as a way

to stake a claim to it or to resist the hegemonic and develop a masculinity
of resistance’ (Coston and Kimmel 2012: 98). Being an unemployed work-
ing-class male, and feeling emasculated due to his wife’s work, Hojjat feels
powerless – hence his inclination, as a manual labourer, to deploy his body
as his most immediately available ‘social currency’ to resuscitate his mascu-
linity (Gerschick 2005: 372). Hojjat’s threats towards Mrs Qahrayee, who
accordingly withdraws her testimony in support of Nader, are instructive. As
a teacher, Mrs Qahrayee may normally exercise social power over a man like
Hojjat, and yet the dynamic is reversed when Hojjat induces feelings of shame
and disgrace in her during the bullying scene at Termeh’s school. Hojjat
intimidates Mrs Qahrayee: ‘Come to the court and say you lied, or I’ll get to
the bottom of what’s between you and her [Simin’s] husband’. Despite his
marginalization along class lines, Hojjat’s maleness in a patriarchal culture
of shame and honour grants him gender privilege (Milani 1992; Coston and
Kimmel 2012) and substantial legal, psychological and cultural power. When
Mrs Qahrayee’s colleague suggests that the former call her husband to fetch
her from school – reiterating Mrs Qahrayee’s vulnerability as a woman –
her response is more revealing: ‘No, I don’t want him to know. I’m sorry’.
The involvement of Mrs Qahrayee’s husband might jeopardize his personal
and social standing and her professional and marital status. While he might
brawl with Hojjat, he may also confront Mrs Qahrayee for engaging in the
‘disgracing’ interaction. Once more, a link between women of differing social
statuses – here, Mrs Qahrayee and Hojjat’s female kin – is apparent, as both
seem susceptible to similar masculinist sociocultural mechanisms.
Hojjat’s masculinity, as a particular configuration of gender practice in
his society, is obviously not generalizable (Connell 2005b: 72). His and other
men’s possibilities for enacting masculinity are conditioned by their social
and class statuses. As an educated white-collar employee, Nader is involved
in interactions that invalidate Hojjat’s gendered acts. Nader’s abstaining from
violence, even when Hojjat attacks him or injures Simin, implies Nader’s
different masculinity. Similarly, while Hojjat evokes fear in Somayyeh, Nader
befriends Termeh and heeds her development, as implied by their joyful
race over the stairs and the gas station scene where Nader teaches Termeh
to perform a typically masculine act and to not compromise her rights even
before adult male strangers. However, Nader’s and Hojjat’s masculinities do
overlap in their uncritical enjoyment of male privilege and entitlement. Both
men have undergone similar gender-socialization processes and enculturation
into the same legal regimes (see Kretchmar 2011: 98).
The theme of male privilege is first suggested through the film’s allu-
sions to legal discourse and its gendered implications. The opening sequence
begins in medias res, and yet at a critical point: with the judge warning Simin
that her reasons for divorce are insufficient, but that she may propose other
reasons, ‘[l]ike if he is an addict, beats you or does not give you an allowance’.
The judge’s suggestions, cited from articles 1129 and 1130 of the Iranian
Civil Code, are revealing. While the first two reduce the violation of rights to
blatant forms of abuse and violence, the third presumes women’s economic
dependency on men. The whole situation – that is, women’s conditional right
in requesting divorce as opposed to men’s unconditional right (Article 1133) –
establishes a moot point; instead, Simin confirms that Nader is a ‘nice’ (‫خوب‬
khub) and ‘healthy’ (‫ سالم‬salem) guy (see Nayyeri 2013). Termeh’s case also
adds to Simin’s predicament. Nader, as Termeh’s state-appointed guardian,

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Mostafa Abedinifard

has sole authority to permit her migration (both as a minor and as an unmar-
ried adult in the future). The case proves successful for Nader, who courte-
ously bids farewell to the judge, while Simin, discouraged by her humiliating
condition, leaves disrespectfully. The scene cuts to the piano-moving scene
where we witness a scatterbrained Simin.
Degraded before Nader by Iranian civil law, Simin seeks his apprecia-
tion of her place in their life. Her vital place in the family is suggested even
before she leaves for her parents’ home. Razieh is hired to render services
previously provided gratis by Simin, who has also built an emotional bond
with Grandpa – suggested by his unwillingness to release Simin’s hand upon
her departure. Later, when Razieh attempts to help Grandpa to change his
clothes, he mistakenly calls her ‘Simin’ three times. While these utterances
stem from his deteriorating Alzheimer’s, they also indicate that, for Grandpa,
the experience of being cared for evokes his daughter-in-law. Moreover,
moments before Simin’s departure, a significant exchange occurs between
Nader and Termeh, as they try to understand the washing machine settings:

Nader: Which setting does she usually use?

Termeh: Should I go ask her?
Nader: [She hasn’t left yet, and] you [already] want to make me look
bad?!
Termeh: I say four.
Nader: Why four?
Termeh: ’Cause the button has faded. See? She must’ve used it the most.
(Nader looks proudly at Termeh, sets the dial on four and turns the
machine on.)
Nader: Four it is. From now on we’ll set everything in this house on the
faded settings.
Termeh (worried): She is really leaving.
Nader: She’ll be back, dear.
(Farhadi 2010: 12–13)

Later, Nader asks Termeh where Simin keeps the dry tea. Such seeming
trifles expose the family’s gendered division of labour, which is all-
important because Simin, besides housekeeping, works as a teacher.
Nader’s concern that he might ‘look bad’ even before Simin leaves suggests
that he considers her absence a site for power struggles. He must show
he is still in control even without his multitasking wife. Nader’s reassur-
ing tone, upon uttering ‘[s]he’ll be back, dear’, implies a sense of power
related to his legally privileged status. Although the employed Simin may
not become economically disadvantaged after divorcing, she would, like
Firuzeh in The Beautiful City, lose social status and reputation (see Satrapi
2003: 332). Nader’s advantages concerning child custody could also coerce
Simin to ‘be back’. Hence, while appearing disturbed upon Simin’s leav-
ing, Nader feels assured enough of her return that he does not ask her
to stay. This proves traumatic to Simin, whom we see silently shedding
tears in the next scene. Later on, Simin complains to Termeh and Grandpa
about Nader’s self-centred attitude, a concern that she had introduced in
the opening court scene: in response to Nader – who had asserted, ‘[m]y

120   Asian Cinema

 Asghar Farhadi’s nuanced feminism

father. I can’t leave him’ – Simin had asked, ‘[b]ut you can leave your wife?’
Simin’s failure to win Nader’s attention, his recognition of her significance,
becomes a central theme in the narrative.
Despite his occasional internal conflict, Nader’s tendency to main-
tain power during his encounters with Simin prevents him from fulfill-
ing Simin’s need for his recognition. In one court scene, the handcuffed
Nader is seated beside Termeh, who insists that he promise to ask Simin
to return. Nader’s initial response is that if he does so, Simin will ‘think it’s
’cause she bailed me out’. Termeh’s challenging retort (‘So, let her’) and
her subsequent pleading (‘Dad, for God’s sake!’) secure Nader’s pledge
– which ultimately, however, is no match for Nader’s vanity. He changes
his mind later when he assumes that Simin, by disclosing to Termeh that
her father had been aware of Razieh’s pregnancy, had intended to turn
Termeh against him.
If conflicts are to be resolved through dialogue, effective dialogue must be
theoretically and practically possible. A main condition for effective dialogue
is a lack of significant power imbalance (Saffari 2012). As the stronger party in
this marital conflict, Nader obviously feels little need for meaningful conversa-
tion, as indicated by his two lengthy exchanges with Simin in the film. In both
cases, Simin returns home to initiate a talk. The second exchange opens with
Simin’s explicit invitation: ‘Come sit. I want to talk to you’ – to which Nader
inattentively responds, ‘I can hear you’. Elsewhere, when Nader states that
he wants Termeh to stay in Iran and learn, Simin, as if hinting at the above
high-handed attitude on Nader’s part, responds, ‘[l]earn what? Fighting and
stubbornness?’.
Nader’s ‘stubbornness’ in preserving his power paradoxically comes at
a cost; that is, the more he persists, the farther he recedes from a solution.
Male privilege, as Bourdieu puts it, is a ‘trap’ (2001: 50–52); it ‘overreward[s]
us and yet also paradoxically damage[s] us’ (McIntosh 2010: 17; see also
Cohen-Mor 2013). This condition is apparent when in response to Simin’s
reiterating her key concern – ‘You said leave whenever you want’ – Nader
lets her down: ‘Yes, I say so now, too. Why did you come back? Leave!’
(my translation). As Nader learns from Termeh shortly after, this time Simin
had come over to stay permanently. Nader shows signs of regret, but leaves
it to Termeh to decide who is at fault. Imagining that she has chosen Simin,
Nader appears content. However, the family ends up going to Hojjat and
Razieh’s home to pay them the blood money they have promised, indi-
cating that Termeh, contrary to Nader’s inference, must have concluded
that her dad is also responsible for the family’s situation. Irrespective of
the soundness of their decision, what ultimately changes the course of
events during this penultimate sequence – not only for Nader and Simin,
but also for Razieh and Hojjat – appears to be Nader’s last attempt to prove
himself. From the moment Nader demands a Qur’an until Razieh returns
perturbed from the kitchen and admonishes Simin for having neglected her
warning, the camera takes sporadic shots of Simin, in whose face we read
worry and unease, if not shock. According to the original screenplay, when
Nader requests a copy of the Qur’an, ‘Simin who was not expecting such
a request is worried’ (Farhadi 2010: 138). The film’s original Persian title,
Nader’s Separation from Simin, starts to make increasing sense because while
Simin initiated the divorce, Nader, as the stronger party in their relationship,
appears to have been able – through self-criticism – to cause the events
to take a different course. Simin’s final resolution to separate therefore

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Mostafa Abedinifard

appears understandable since, as Peggy McIntosh observes, ‘[a]t the very

least, obliviousness of one’s privileged state can make a person or group
irritating to be with’ (2010: 17).

Through a nuanced lens: Farhadi’s portrayal

of gender issues
Anton Oleinik, contemplating marriage failure as a central theme in Farhadi’s
films, asserts that ‘[m]arriage does not work anymore, at least in the way
it supposedly worked in the past’ (2013: 22). The role of marital failure in
Farhadi’s films, he contends, could be explained by Farhadi’s conservative
view of western modernization. Specifically, ‘Farhadi is a conservative […]
in the sense of being uneasy with outcomes and by-products of the process
of modernization’ (Oleinik 2013: 22). Taking Fireworks Wednesday’s open-
ing motorbike scene as emblematic of Farhadi’s romanticization of happi-
ness, Oleinik claims that in Farhadi’s films, the ‘closer one lives to Tehran
and the better one is off [sic] in pecuniary terms, the fewer chances there are
of remaining loyal to the spirit of the “happy motorbike ride in the moun-
tains”’ (2013: 22). However, in Farhadi’s films, the traditional lives of work-
ing-class people are not necessarily more stable, and thus happier, than the
more modernized relations of the more well-to-do. For Farhadi, both types
of marriage are equally susceptible, due more to gender-related issues than
to ‘outcomes and by-products of the process of modernization’. In the case
of the failure of traditional marital relationships, Farhadi blames a combina-
tion of poverty and adherence to detrimental traditional beliefs about gender,
while in particular holding accountable what we might call flawed moderniza-
tion for the disintegration of modernized marriage.
In Dancing in the Dust, poverty and patriarchy together cause Nazar and
Reyhaneh’s relationship to fail. In The Beautiful City, Firuzeh’s relationship
with her indigent husband has fallen apart due to his addiction, whereas her
relationship with ‘Ala cannot advance due to his poverty. Also, Abolqasem’s
disabled stepdaughter may never achieve a romantic or a sexual relationship
because of her impoverishment but particularly her non-normative body. In
Fireworks Wednesday and About Elly, Ruhi and Elly experience disillusion-
ment about their forthcoming marital/engagement experiences. Finally, in
A Separation, as Razieh’s last distraught lines indicate, the film’s epony-
mous separation also anticipates her relationship with Hojjat, which seems
vulnerable to abject poverty and to Hojjat’s questionable masculinity. On
the other hand, Farhadi’s films imply that modernized gender relations – as
represented by the lives of his middle-class characters – if based on unequal
legal regimes, could similarly fail. A Separation’s opening and closing
sequences, both occurring in court, contain pertinent off-screen diegetic
sounds. The initial sound, in which an apparently working-class woman is
complaining to a judge about her domineering husband, is a replay of (and
thus pays homage to) parts of the opening episode of Kim Longinotto and
Mir-Hosseini’s 1998 film Divorce, Iranian Style – an exceptional documen-
tary showing how unequal gender codes can work to construct and main-
tain male privilege. The diegetic sound at the end of A Separation includes
a man’s coercing his wife, through verbal and possibly physical violence, to
follow him along the corridor. Both sounds occur over images of Nader and
Simin. While the sounds evoke traditional relations seemingly detached from
Nader and Simin’s modernized and more liberal lifestyle, they nevertheless

122   Asian Cinema

 Asghar Farhadi’s nuanced feminism

remind us that all of these characters are living within the same cultural
sphere and under the same family laws.
Complementing Farhadi’s complex representations of marriage and class
intersection is his highly nuanced depiction of gender issues in marriage.
Farhadi’s films, despite their feminist perspectives, avoid reducing gender
issues to any simplistic ‘women-are-oppressed-by-men’ discourse repre-
sentative of encounters between ruling men and oppressed women. Farhadi’s
female personae deal with more than individual men; they are engaged with a
structure of gender relations that, sometimes through women’s own conscious
or unconscious complicity, reproduces a gender hierarchy. This is why these
women frequently feel indecisive. In Fireworks Wednesday, Mozhdeh shows
little interest in divorcing Morteza, which would leave her in an unprotected
and socially stigmatized situation, if not also exposed to worse men. This fear
on the part of women is best suggested when Fireworks Wednesday’s Simin,
shortly after she bids farewell to Morteza, wants to return to him because she
is harassed by two male motorcyclists in the street. A gender system granting
more power to men than to women, while simultaneously enforcing heter-
onormativity, turns men into ineluctable sources of protection for women. In
About Elly, the title character, as if faced with an invincible structure, surren-
ders by (ostensible) self-annihilation. Shohreh and Sepideh, too, despite their
husbands’ verbal and physical abuse, apparently find it best to endure rather
than separate. It is as though they sympathize with their husbands in their
contradictory positions of power and powerlessness, of privilege and disad-
vantage. Therefore, despite their gendered issues, Farhadi’s female characters
seldom tend to condemn only their men as responsible for their own prob-
lems. As Farhadi’s first female character who dares to change her situation,
Simin of A Separation, despite her criticism of Nader, does not think he can be
demonized. Razieh, too, recognizes and respects important aspects of Hojjat’s
humanity.
Similarly, Farhadi’s men, while enjoying various degrees of male privi-
lege, experience internal conflicts and pangs of conscience over their ques-
tionable gendered behaviours. During such moments, they seem to gain sad
insights into the paradoxical nature of male privilege as a ‘trap’. In Dancing
in the Dust, Nazar, despite social chastisement, never stops loving Reyhaneh.
In Fireworks Wednesday and About Elly, Morteza and Amir agonize over their
gendered violence. In A Separation, Hojjat’s self-beatings suggest his despera-
tion if not also his caring (for others). Also, Nader, as a son and a father, shows
remarkable care and affection. At the end of the film, he does not appear – nor
does Simin appear – to be happy with their separation and its probable conse-
quences for Termeh.
Far from reducing gender relations to an arena of conflict between subju-
gated women on one side and oppressive men on the other, Farhadi’s films
both recognize multiple forms of masculinity and femininity and depict them
all within complex structures of gender relations. In doing so, these films
reveal how individualized gendered practices gain legitimacy and meaning
from an interplay with a broader structure of gender relations. Irrespective of
obvious feminist inclinations in Farhadi’s films, we cannot regard these films
simply as feminist epics that leave their audience contented. While raising
a vigorous critique of contemporary Iranian hegemonic masculinity (and
rightly so), Farhadi’s films often demand sophisticated re-examinations of the
current Iranian gender order, pushing us to ask holistic questions, beginning
with: ‘What went wrong in the first place?’.

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Mostafa Abedinifard

Acknowledgements
The author is grateful to Marco Katz Montiel, Lahoucine Ouzgane and Henry
Suderman for their helpful feedback on earlier versions of this article.

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Suggested citation
Abedinifard, M. (2019), ‘Asghar Farhadi’s nuanced feminism: Gender and
marriage in Farhadi’s films from Dancing in the Dust to A Separation’, Asian
Cinema, 30:1, pp. 109–27, doi: 10.1386/ac.30.1.109_1

Contributor details
Holding a Ph.D. in comparative literature, Mostafa Abedinifard is currently
an assistant professor without review of Persian literary culture and civiliza-
tion in the Department of Asian Studies at the University of British Columbia.
Before joining UBC in 2018, he was an SSHRC postdoctoral fellow in the
Department of Near and Middle Eastern Civilizations at the University of
Toronto (2017–18). Mostafa’s publications have appeared in The British Journal
of Middle Eastern Studies; HUMOR: International Journal of Humor Research;
Social Semiotics; de genere: Journal of Literary, Postcolonial and Gender Studies;
Iran Nameh; Naqd-e Adabi; Mahoor Music Quarterly and elsewhere.
Contact: The Department of Asian Studies, Vancouver Campus, 607 – 1871
West Mall, Vancouver, BC, V6T 1Z2, Canada.
E-mail: mostafa.abedinifard@ubc.ca

https://orcid.org/0000-0001-7196-3494

Mostafa Abedinifard has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and
Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work in the format that
was submitted to Intellect Ltd.

www.intellectbooks.com   127
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