A Separation (2011): Best Movie of the Year?

Iranian writer/director  Asghar Farhadi’s A Separation  is one of the best films, if not the best, of 2011.  I totally loved it, and it moves to the top of my list of best films of the year. It’s been nominated for two Oscars (best foreign film  and best original screenplay), having already won a slew of other awards.  A Separation is a small, carefully observed, exquisitely rendered motion picture about – well, it’s about a lot of things. The title refers, most explicitly, to one of these: the apparently irreconcileable disagreement between Nader, a thirty-ish bank officer, and his wife, Simin; their resulting separation; and the effect of all this on their family, including most particularly their daughter, Termeh, who’s caught in the middle. The picture presents  one of the most honest portrayals of a family’s marital dissolution ever portrayed in a feature film.  As a matrimonial lawyer, I know a little something about this.

Another layer of irreconcileable separation lies between Nader and his father, caused by the latter’s physical decrepitude and galloping dementia. Despite Nader’s best efforts, there is no longer any possibility of real communication between the two.

There are other disconnects as well: His wife gone, Nader hires a caretaker, Razieh,  to take of his dad, while he is at work and Termeh is at school. Whereas Nader and Simin are educated, secular and solidly middle class (or perhaps upper middle class), Razieh is none of those things; her husband is an unemployed cobbler, she is devoutly religious, and she comes from a different cultural milieu entirely. Everyone speaks Farsi, but really, they do not speak the same language. Within a few days, Nader comes home early to find his father tied to his bed and Razieh absent.  When she returns, an argument ensues, during which Razieh’s reticence about the reason for her absence and Nader’s angry refusal to allow her the opportunity to explain, culminates in her being fired. Nader has to literally throw her out of his flat. A lawsuit, and eventual criminal charges, ensue.

Communication and its limits are a major theme of the movie. Without honest, open communication, there can be no connection and  no understanding, only misunderstanding. Misunderstanding breeds conflict, which impedes honesty and communication.  Pretty soon there are multiple levels of separation: within the nuclear family, and by extension within the extended family of relatives, friends, and acquaintances (even Termeh’s teacher gets drawn in); between the white collar and the blue-collar classes, between the secular and the devout and between people and their government (limited here to the judicial system – for political reasons). 

The film opens with Simin and Nader in domestic court, where each explains why his/her position is the most reasonable. Simin wants to leave the country, but Nader says he has to stay to care for his father. He is willing to let Simin divorce him but will not consent to her taking Termeh. They are at impasse.  Faryabi keeps the magistrate offscreen - the camera is where he would be - so the couple seem to be pleading directly to us. Later, there are several scenes at the courthouse, where we eavesdrop on the proceedings between Razieh and her husband on one hand versus Nader on the other.  Accusations fly wantonly; Razieh’s husband, a hothead, gets disturbingly yet credibly hotheaded; and the hearing officer, sweating, in shirtsleeves, tries to hold it together while seeking to winnow  out the truth.  But which truth, whose truth?

From the start and throughout this perceptive and moving picture, our sympathies for the characters constantly shift, because we are getting acquainted with basically good people, acting badly at times, but trying to do the best they can under trying circumstances. There are no heroes, no villains. None of the characters are perfect, all are wholly believable.  The actors dissolve into their roles in the most naturalistic way, so we forget they are actors.

The themes of separation and impaired communication are augmented by the creative cinematography. Conversations occur through half-closed doors, characters are viewed through panes of glass, or in enclosed vehicles. We get extreme close ups of faces struggling with awful dilemmas: what do I say? Do I tell the truth? The whole truth?  Then there is the haunting, heartbreaking final scene, back at the courthouse.  [spoiler alert]  Mom and Dad can’t agree on custody. They both sorely love their daughter. The magistrate has asked Termeh  if she has made a decision who she wants to live with. She has, but she doesn’t want to say so in their presence. It’s just too painful.  Nader and Simin are asked to leave the room. They go out into the hall. They do not speak. Simin sits on one side of a glass partition, Nader is on the other. They wait. Eventually, the credits roll.

Through the lives of these characters, through a relatively simple narrative,  with the aid of an honest screenplay and great acting, photography and direction, Faryabi demonstrates  a compassionate understanding of human behavior and the forces with which ordinary people sometimes must struggle, navigating between empathy and self-righteousness, principle and compromise, self-protection and honesty, anger and compassion, love and duty. He has given us a moving, thought provoking, intelligent masterpiece.

For us in the US, there is another dimension of A Separation to savor. After months and years of political conversation about the dangers of a nuclear Iran, and the extremism of the Islamic regime running that country, we tend to forget that this is a country of people. And these people, it turns out are remarkably like us, notwithstanding their government. Startling so, to my sensibility. They drive cars, they have jobs, they dress like us (notwithstanding the mandatory headscarves for the ladies and the occasional birqa), the furnishings in their flats and public buildings look pretty ‘Western.’ At several moments, we get glimpses of ‘the people’ of Iran as a community. When the caretaker, Razieh, almost faints on a bus, the reaction of the community is remarkably supportive, trying to help in an any way they can. Even the magistrate in the legal action between the families shows signs of compassion, constrained though he is by Shariah law. I do not know what I was expecting, but somehow this glimpse into urban Iranian life and of the Persian people was a fascinating and reassuring bonus.

Subsequent to this review, A Separation did indeed win the Oscar for best foreign language film.

In Farsi, with English subtitles. So easy to read, one quickly forgets they’re even there. 
In limited release at selected theaters, and worth a drive.
Available streaming from multiple services, including Amazon, iTunes, Vudu and others; also available on dvd from Netflix.