Warning: This column contains images of the Prophet Muhammad, his family, and other figures from the early history of Islam. If you are a terrorist or a thin-skinned Zoomer, you might want to skip this one. As always, I am open to suggestions and grateful to those who have made them.
In the Government Museum of Chennai, Tamil Nadu, India, Asia, Earth, there is a plaque explaining the development of the iconography of the Buddha. In earlier, stricter forms of Buddhism, the Buddha was not represented at all because he was, and I quote, “too scared to be represented in human form.” As someone who believes in the rights of communities to tell their own stories and abhors the soft bigotry of low expectations, I must assume that “scared” was the intended phrasing and not a misspelling of another common English word. Therefore, Buddha, despite his world-famous detachment from all human desire, nevertheless lived in mortal terror that someone would draw an unflattering picture of him. I didn’t know that before!
Fun fact: Buddhism is also a form of Protestantism.
Do you know who also was considered too scared to be represented in human form? Muhammad ibn Abdullah, the Prophet of Islam. I can understand the sentiment. I’ve seen the pictures. Now, in some parts of the world—the Netherlands, for example, or France—it is taboo to depict Muhammad, his family, or even his immediate successors in any way, shape, or form. In Shia Islam—the subject of today’s column—the taboo simply does not exist. And so we get stuff like… well, did you click on that link?
Two recent films cover the two poles—the beginning and the end—of the sacred history of Twelver Shiism, the largest group of Shiites in the world today. “Twelvers” are named after the Twelve Imams, the infallible leaders divinely appointed over the Shia community. Our first subject, The Lady of Heaven, looks at the life of the first Imam, Ali, and the succession crisis that immediately followed Muhammad’s death. The title refers to Fatima, the wife of Ali—and the daughter of Muhammad. Fatima reappears in the second subject, a CGI abomination called The Princess of Rome. The titular princess is the mother of Muhammad al-Mahdi, the Twelfth Imam, who is believed to be still living among us.
Both films are propaganda pieces, though not necessarily to nefarious ends. Both, for example, are advocating against religious violence. They are nevertheless propaganda. There is a substratum—much stronger in Lady than in Princess—that Shia Islam (the state religion of Iran, let’s not forget) is peaceful and just, but Sunni Islam is violent and dumb. You need some serious inside baseball to even pick up on some of these messages. That’s where I come in. So, are these hit pieces any good, or are they merely—I will never not use this joke, so get used to it—Shiite?
Sects!
I am obliged here to say something about the history (less so the rituals and beliefs) of Shia Islam. First, the connection between Shiism and Iran might lead one to believe that there is something inherently Persian about it, but this is not the case. One thousand years ago, Iran was predominantly Sunni, and Egypt was the stronghold of Shia Islam (though not the Twelvers). Today, it is the opposite. Although Shia Islam is the state religion of Iran, it is not the only country with a majority Shia population. They are also the majority in Iraq, Azerbaijan, Bahrain, and, on a good day, Lebanon. Bashar al-Assad, the current ruler of Syria, is an Alawite, a branch of Shia Islam.
The main figure in Shia Islam is… probably still Muhammad. But after that, it’s Ali. In the more mainstream variants (Twelvers and Seveners), it is Ali AND Fatima, but the common denominator in all Shia groups is Ali. He was the cousin of Muhammad and also his son-in-law. Most importantly, according to all Shia groups, he was the rightful successor to Muhammad, and the Prophet had made his intentions abundantly clear prior to his death. The argument is essentially a dynastic one (and here’s where Fatima comes in) since Ali’s sons Hasan and Husayn—the second and third Imams—were direct descendants of Muhammad. Ali was not, and if Muhammad had really been so explicit in appointing a successor, then a crisis of succession would not have occurred.
A crisis, in any case, is exactly what happened, and Ali did not emerge the victor. The first caliphate, the Rashidun or “rightly guided” caliphs, were appointed based on charisma and aptitude rather than genealogy. They were, in order:
1) Abu Bakr, a close friend of Muhammad and the father of Aisha, Muhammad’s child bride, who brought to heel the apostate Arab tribes (the Ridda Wars);
2) Umar, who conquered vast swaths of the Middle East (including Iraq, Syria, Palestine, Egypt, and Persia);
3) Uthman, to whom the final redaction of the Qur’an is attributed; and
4) Ali himself.
The inclusion of Ali is something of a concession. For the entirety of his reign (656–661 CE), he was engaged in a civil war (fitna) with the eventual fifth caliph, Muawiya, the founder of the Umayyads, the first dynastic caliphate (661–750). Contemporary observers—such as Christian historians—do not include Ali in their lists of “kings of the Arabs.” The fitna ended with Ali’s assassination and his son Hasan’s abandonment of any claim to rule.
By the year 680, both Hasan and Muawiya were dead, and a second fitna broke out between Muawiya’s son, Yazid, and Hasan’s brother Husayn. The ensuing Battle of Karbala ended very badly for Husayn. That the first Muslim empire would wage war and kill the Prophet’s own grandson always struck me as incredible. It would be like Paul or one of his associates exterminating Jesus’ last living relatives in the time of Domitian. Shiites find it incredible too, which is why one of their primary holy days, Ashura, is a day of intense mourning for Husayn.
The line of Ali did not die with his son. It managed to outlast the Umayyads, for one, who were completely extirpated by the Abbasids (also relatives of the Prophet… but the wrong relatives) in yet another fitna. From this point on, each of the remaining Imams lived under perpetual house arrest as political prisoners, until the reigning Abbasid caliph got bored and poisoned him.
The sixth Imam, Jafar as-Sadiq, produced two potential heirs that led to an internal split between those who believed that his son Ismail was the seventh and last Imam (the so-called Seveners) and those who believed the line continued through a different son until the twelfth generation.
And what makes the twelfth Imam so special? He is the son of Hasan al-Askari, who, like his predecessors, died suddenly, unexpectedly, and suspiciously. A close associate of the eleventh Imam claimed he had a young son named Muhammad, who only spoke to him and three other deputies. After the last of these died, about seventy years later, the unseen Imam went into permanent occultation—but he’ll come back one of these days. His title, al-Mahdi, indicates that he is a messianic figure who will return at the end of time to initiate a reign of justice and peace. The belief in a Mahdi (the “Divine Guide”) is widespread in Sunni Islam as well, but Shia Islam has given the role to a specific person, somewhat like the difference between the nondescript future Messiah(s) in Judaism and the rather more limited options in Christianity.
That’s enough history to cover both movies. Now let’s see how that history has been represented cinematically!
Lies!
The great obstacle for anyone wishing to dramatically stage Islam’s origin story is doing so without depicting any of the principal characters. The first major film to treat this subject was Moustapha Akkad’s The Message, which I forced Rob and Carrie to watch once upon a time. Akkad, who spent most of his career producing Halloween movies, knew something about the power of first-person perspective and silent protagonists carrying pointy objects. “Muhammad” is not played by an actor but by the camera. This is most noticeable when another character is directly addressing him. It makes you want to look over your shoulder.
You talkin’ to me? Well, I’m the only one here!
Other times, props do the heavy lifting to indicate someone’s presence. In a major battle scene, “Ali” is played by his sword jutting into the frame.
The actual actors (including a very game Anthony Quinn) all play C-listers in the story. Imagine, if you can, a Jesus movie with no Jesus, Apostles, or anyone named Mary, but only Roman soldiers, Pharisees, and various minor characters who have encountered Jesus. That’s what watching The Message is like. It is very peculiar, yet somehow it works.
An opening title card suggests that The Lady of Heaven might go in a similar direction. This was very disappointing to me, and I thought it might be ecumenically minded. Akkad, for example, consulted religious scholars across the Islamic spectrum to avoid stepping on anybody’s toes. It turns out, however, that ecumenism will be very far from this film’s mind.
This statement of intent is extremely disingenuous, if not an outright lie. One controversial Shiite practice is taqiyya or religious dissimulation (i.e., pretending that you are Sunni when you aren’t). The movie felt like taqiyya in slow motion.
The first time Muhammad appears in this film, viewers only see the back of his head. It’s quite bold to put an actual human being in the role, but you can’t make out any distinguishing features.
Then we see Ali, whose depiction is also taboo in modern-day Sunni Islam. His face is covered. Only his eyes are visible. Then something truly incredible happens. He speaks! I honestly gasped when this happened.
Oh, come be the first on your block to meet his eye/Make way, here he comes/Ring bells, bang the drums/Cause you’re gonna love this guy!
Then he slices a dude in half, at which point I decided that, whatever else the film might do to upset me (and it does a lot), I was going to enjoy it.
He’s faced the galloping hordes/A hundred bad guys with swords
As the film progresses, it becomes apparent that it will be entirely unapologetic about depicting Muhammad, Ali, Abu Bakr, or any other character who was absent from The Message for purely religious reasons. Full frontals. Full facials. You see everything! You see it all! The only exception is Fatima, who is played by an actress but, at first, conducts herself like a Milford man.
Children should be neither seen nor heard.
Later on, she WILL be heard, speaking in a proper British accent, although caked in so many layers of light I can’t tell, in a standard shot/reverse shot setup, which one is her and which one is her interlocutor.
Abu Bakr and his daughter Aisha also receive a fair amount of screen time, except they are portrayed in the worst light possible. They are even color-coded so that you know they are evil.
The movie’s thesis is that Muhammad announced that Ali would succeed him, but Abu Bakr and his co-conspirators worked to undermine the Prophet’s wishes. Consequently, Aisha poisons Muhammad (!!), and Abu Bakr steals the caliphate in the ensuing chaos. When Ali objects, Abu Bakr has Fatima beaten, which leads to her premature death from internal hemorrhaging. Fun!
One arresting scene shows crowds of people rushing through the streets acclaiming Abu Bakr caliph. This is the time to mention that the film is actually a frame narrative where an old woman is telling the story of Fatima to Laith, a young orphan boy. It opens in Mosul, Iraq, in 2014. Laith is playing in the street when ISIS rolls into town with all three of their pickup trucks.
They quickly take over the city and start doing ISIS things, like burning people alive in cages and giving Laith’s mother the Bambi treatment.
Trigger warning: Triggers
Inevitably, you see this guy’s ugly mug.
Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi wasn’t his birth name, of course. It’s a regnal name chosen as an act of hubris, like a pope naming himself Peter II. The movie uses this fact to draw a straight line from the Rashidun caliphate to ISIS. It isn’t quite saying “All Muslims are terrorists,” just the 90% that follow Sunni Islam.
Beyond sticking its thumbs in the eyes of any Sunni viewers and nuking the reputations of Abu Bakr and Aisha (Umar gets off easy; Uthman isn’t even mentioned), the film advocates a sort of political quietism in the face of persecution. First of all, with regard to ISIS especially, that’s a fucking TAKE. It also ignores the long history of armed Shiite resistance, including the Battle of Karbala. The movie tethers itself to Fatima, who predeceases pretty much every major character of interest except her dad, leaving the story half-finished and with a pretty unconvincing moral.
Nevertheless, the frame narrative attempts to import the historical lessons of Fatima’s silent suffering into the modern world, and you need to see it to believe it. It tiptoes all the way up to the line separating good from bad taste, a line that movies like Pay It Forward and The Book of Henry cross with swaggering confidence. The Lady of Heaven backs off at the last moment, but it gets so awfully close.
Videotape!
You may have noticed that I have spoken very little about The Princess of Rome until now. I was saving it for the section on aesthetic quality. As much as the Alternate Ending community loves a deranged movie with a broken Aesop, it has an even greater appetite for poorly animated movies. On representational elements, Princess is far less interesting because, as the title indicates, the main religion on display is Christianity and not Islam, and its conception of Byzantine Christendom (“Rome” here means Constantinople) is a kind of Mitteleuropa fantasy kingdom, albeit populated by a lot of low-level IT devs.
I’ve read that Rome fell because everything falls, but if I were going by this image, I would guess inbreeding.
The titular princess is Malika, a young woman with big green eyes and a distractingly small mouth.
She is the granddaughter of the reigning Byzantine emperor. Since the film must precede the birth of the Mahdi (Malika’s son) in 874 CE, and its central action scene is a coup d’état, I have deduced that the emperor in question must be Michael III “the drunkard,” who was deposed in 867 and replaced by the Macedonian dynasty. Comparing contemporary artwork to the actual film suggests to me that the filmmakers were not interested in period-perfect representation.
The coup against this dynasty of drunks is led by a lummox named Kratos, who also happens to be Malika’s betrothed. He seems to be very unclear about how the whole succession thing works.
Malika has her own reservations about marriage because fairies have been popping up on her Bible and she has nighttime visitations from the Virgin Mary, who spirits her off to Wonderland while she sleeps.
Do you think I am shitting you? I am not shitting you.
Now, the animation in this movie is not very good, but the story is what completely breaks it. It has overtones of the animated Anastasia and is about as historically accurate. The Don Bluth film will teach you very little about the Russian Revolution or the geography of Paris, but it is a functioning narrative. The first half of Princess covers Malika’s resistance to marriage and Kratos’ eventual decision to overthrow the emperor in a terrifying and violent battle scene. Next thing we know, Malika is part of a caravan heading to Samarra in Iraq, where she will hook up with Hasan al-Askari and give birth to the Mahdi. What do you suppose will happen next? She makes new friends, returns to her home, defeats the bad guys, and reclaims her throne, right?
NOPE.
Her grandparents are DEAD. Constantinople is LOST. The villains WIN. Instead of a third act that resolves the initial conflict, we have some shenanigans with the Abbasid guards who are supposed to keep the eleventh Imam under lock and key (and will probably one day murder him).
The Timon and Pumbaa of Islamicate geopolitics.
Malika completes her own spiritual journey with the help of the Lady of Heaven herself. Following the fall of Constantinople, Fatima joins Mary in Wonderland and invites Malika to convert to Islam. Fatima is given a voice (again) but is represented abstractly. Mary’s body is actually a kaleidoscope of butterflies, while Fatima is composed of flowers. It is hard to tell from the still, but it is probably the most impressive visual element in the film. I certainly found it lovely to look at.
These scenes are a nice artistic flourish for a film that really does not have much going in its favor apart from its very short runtime (75 minutes). My favorite detail is one that has nothing to do with the story and represents something of an unforced error on the part of the creators. In more than one scene, Malika is seen reading—but the text is always in Ethiopic.
This odd detail made me question why the scion of the ruling family of Byzantium is not reading Greek. Is there a tradition that the mother of the Mahdi was an Ethiopian princess instead of a Greek one (Wikipedia says yes)? Is it a nod to the apocalyptic-eschatological tradition that unites the ruling families of Byzantium and Ethiopia? Is it a providential grace note sent from above to make me hate this film just a little less? God knows best.
Gavin McDowell is a Hoosier by birth and French by adoption. He received his doctorate in “Languages, History, and Literature of the Ancient World from the Beginning until Late Antiquity” and is currently investigating Aramaic translations of the Bible. He is supremely unqualified to talk about film. For more of his unprovoked movie opinions, see his Letterboxd account.