‘Woman and Child’ Review: In Iran, a Single Mom Pushes Back on the Patriarchy in Nonsensical, Self-Destructive Ways

One of the thrills of watching what we once called “foreign” films is discovering a movie from an entirely different culture and realizing just how similar we all are: Our dreams aren’t so different, nor the things that make us laugh or cry. But there’s always the risk of having the opposite experience, bumping up against a story where nothing corresponds and the behavior seems so illogical or inexplicable that we may as well be watching science fiction. Iranian director Saeed Roustaee’s “Woman and Child” strikes me that way, despite the fact it takes place in a modern metropolis and hails from a director with the most Hollywood touch of his compatriots.

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Returning to Cannes after being censured for his 2022 film “Leila’s Brothers,” Roustaee seems undeterred by the six-month prison sentence and since-lifted filmmaking ban the regime imposed on him. No surprise, Iranian authorities don’t take well to Roustaee’s brand of feminism — this is the third feature of his, starting with “Life and a Day,” to center on a resilient and fairly independent woman — although he’s managed to upset the other side as well by making this film with government approval. That means “Woman and Child” was produced within certain constraints, including laws requiring its female characters to wear the hijab, even if its lead character Mahnaz (“Life and a Day” star Parinaz Izadyar) would surely object to doing so in real life. Could her haircut be taken as an act of protest?

Since her husband’s death, Manhaz has been raising her two children on her own, while juggling a demanding nursing job at the nearby hospital, where she flirts with a freelance ambulance driver named Hamid (Payman Maadi, who’s starred in all four of Roustaee’s movies). Her son Aliyar (Sinan Mohebi) is just a teenager, but already a little hellion, showing up late to class in order to shoot dice at a local factory — one of a long list of infractions that gets him suspended for a week by Samkhanian (Maziar Seyedi) at school.

Iran has different laws and customs, of course, but it’s not exactly clear what’s expected of a widow in Mahnaz’s situation. Is she supposed to take care of her father-in-law (Hassan Pourshirazi), or the other way around? Is there pressure to remarry, or would Mahnaz’s plans to do so with Hamid be considered controversial? If the couple goes through with it and starts having children right away (as Hamid wants to), what will become of the kids from Mahnaz’s first marriage? It’s not unusual for a culture to have certain expectations about such things, but it can be disorienting when a film fails to make them clear.

Instead of doing anything to correct her delinquent son, Mahnaz coddles the boy and resents those who attempt to discipline him. That’s grossly understating the issue, since something horrible happens to Aliyar, though this twist is so extreme and unexpected, the movie may as well have entered a soap opera-esque parallel dimension when it happens. Mahnaz is supposed to be celebrating her engagement ceremony, but she’s not ready for her kids to know, so she entrusts them to the old man. Bad decision in a film that contains few good ones.

Roustaee treats “Woman and Child” as a tragedy, showing how everything Mahnaz does to make life better for her family seems to take them in the opposite direction. The relationship with Hamid hardly seems like a love story, but turns sour when Hamid meets Mahnaz’s much younger sister Mehri (Soha Niasti) and rethinks his proposal. In theory, one could blame Iranian society for providing so few pathways for someone of her gender, age and class, but Mahnaz has no power to change the system, so she’s left swinging at anyone within reach. In other words, if you can’t challenge the Man, then you’ll have to settle for going after the men who are oppressing you.

After Aliyar’s accident, Mahnaz lashes out, ramming her car into Samkhanian, who suspended him at school. She turns vindictive toward Hamid, who’d been charging homeless families to sleep in his ambulance, threatening to destroy his business. And in a scene of anti-patriarchal fury the likes of which Iranian cinema seldom allows, she all but murders her father-in-law after discovering how he’d used a belt to whip Aliyar without her permission. Mahnaz is woman, hear her roar. And yet, none of her actions makes the slightest sense, while the men still have the upper hand: They can lodge a complaint and have her deprived of custody.

What sets Roustaee’s previous films apart is the way he collapses the distance between Iranian culture and the Western world. His style — with its dynamic camera, efficient editing and plot-driven storytelling — feels much closer to American studio movies, compared to the relatively allegorical approach of other Iranian directors looking to critique the regime without signing their own death warrants. While that should make “Woman and Child” more relatable, the psychology simply doesn’t add up. Instead of kinship, audiences are likely to feel confusion, as Mahnaz behaves in increasingly self-destructive, irrational ways en route to an ending that provides relief, but no real resolution.