Deleuzian Ideals & Escapism

Written for CompLit 382: Cinema & Psyche (Instructor: Prof. Kathryn Lachman)

Despite cultural, geographical, and language differences, the ways in which Mohammad Rasulof’s There is No Evil (2021, Iran) and Rogridgo Moreno’s The Delinquents (2023, Argentina) utilize natural and unnatural environments place them in conversation with one another. There is No Evil consists of four separate stories centering Iranian men and their shared struggles with the death penalty and forced conscription into the army. The Deliquents begins with a bank heist committed by two bank employees, Morán and Román, and then follows their lives after the heist, and explores their interpersonal relationships and their quest for freedom. Natural environments, such as forests and desert areas, serve as places of escape from their respective oppressive systems, be that the Iranian authoritarian regime in Rasoulof’s film or capitalism at large in Moreno’s Argentine work. Applying Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari’s concepts of the rhizome, lines of flight, and deterritorialization to the use of varied environments in these films reveals their similarities and shared hope for a liberated future. These similarities include their industrialized metropolises being oppressive, characterized by surveillance and asphyxiation, in contrast with their natural environments as a means of freedom from persecution and the pressures of their respective oppressive social structures. These shared characteristics reveal how the physical environments of film can be a powerful tool of critique, and shape not only the lives of the characters, but the messaging received by the audience as well.

With regard to the unnatural environments introduced in each film, it is interesting to note that the first scenes in both films are within urban, man-made spaces. In There is No Evil, the first shot is of Heshmat, the main character of the first story, helping a man carry a large bag of rice in a concrete parking garage; the only light source in the scene comes from fluorescent lights flickering behind them. He then drives out of the parking garage, following the strict flow of the concrete structure in a slow, drawn-out manner. There is no music overlaying the scene, and all the viewer hears is the sound of the tires driving on the concrete road up and out of the underground and into the natural light. Once he reaches the exit he must wait and be permitted to leave, and then two large metal doors slowly open, the color grey consistent throughout all of the man-made structures. Then, he immediately merges onto a highway lined with tall buildings interspersed with trees. This sudden presence of greenery and nature contrasts starkly with the previous grey man-made environment, which shows a clear distinction between Heshmat’s place of work and the outside world, signalling to the viewer the oppressive nature of his occupation. Ellie Smith’s observations on the role of man-made spaces in the work of Céline Sciamma’s Naissance des pieuvres are relevant here:

Considering that this path has been constructed by the state, its existence is a material reminder of the government’s capacity to overpower nature and, given the function of a pathway, its ability to encourage the movement of people in a predetermined direction…Evidence of state power in this case is, quite literally, concrete (Smith 138).

As the viewer comes to find out later, the building Heshmat was leaving was his job site where he executes prisoners. Similar to Smith’s example, the prison is constructed by the state, and the concrete structures, thus, are evidence of state power. The predetermined nature of Heshmat’s concrete path illustrates his predetermined destiny by the state. He has no agency over his work environment, and his office is physically separated from the actions he commits, as his office and the execution room are entirely separate. This is meant to create artificial distance between his actions and their consequences, and this separation is purposefully made by the state in order for the state’s aims to be more easily achieved.

In relation to Deleuze and Guattari’s idea of deterritorialization, deterritorialization is a process “which begins by selecting or isolating, by artificial means…” (Deleuze and Guattari 13), in regard to dismantling social structures and territories. While deterritorialization is a neutral process, it has both positive and negative manifestations in these films. The Iranian regime has artificially changed Heshmat’s relationship with the state, and by extension other citizens. The state has transferred its authority of deciding who lives and dies into the hands of regular people like Heshmat, reconstituting a new territory/state of being where citizens are forced to do the bidding of the authoritarian regime. Thus, the strict hierarchy of the state has reterritorialized the social relations between citizens and the state, and between citizens themselves. While agents of the state like Heshmat are on some level complicit with the regime, it is clear through Heshmat’s general saddened expression—and his dependency on what might be psychiatric medication he takes—that his relationship with the state is hugely unbalanced. His job as an executioner stratifies him away from the average citizen, and the scene where his wife collects his paychecks could be interpreted as his shame around where his money comes from. His unwillingness to touch his dirty money is his only form of protest against the regime, and signifies on some level that he does not fully condone his actions. However, the state’s successful process of deterritorialization allows for him to continue his work because his relationship with the prisoners he is executing (and other citizens by extension) is distanced, thus making him desensitized to his work.

The unnatural environment in the opening scene of The Delinquents is seemingly quite different from There is No Evil, but underneath these differences there is a shared intention of illustrating the constricting nature of their work environments and the power of their respective regimes. The film opens with a shot of an office outfit draped over a chair as the morning light pours in from the window, and Morán, one of the protagonists, begins to get dressed and stares out his apartment window into the street below. While his commute to work is overlaid by lively instrumental music and is much more colorful than There is No Evil, when he enters the bank, he is greeted by similar security measures. The monochromatic rooms, metal doors, locking and unlocking, and being accompanied by someone who permits him to enter and exit are all aspects overlapping with Heshmat’s introduction. The strict nature of the predetermined paths he must follow may appear as merely procedural, but are actually indicative of Morán’s entrapment in his occupation, just like Heshmat’s, as these paths once again show the power of the regimes that control these institutions. Similar to the prison, the bank employees are under constant surveillance, and are expected to be dutiful workers in a space they have no agency over, determined by their need to make money to live under capitalism.

The viewer also sees another type of surveillance in the shots of Morán on his way to work, which feature long shots panning upwards to show buildings with immense amounts of glass windows. He can neither escape the watchful eye of other citizens nor the eyes of his superiors, and, on a much larger scale, the eyes of the state that expects his compliance with capitalism. The surveillance states within each film present differently, but are both symptoms of much larger systems that seek to police their citizens. Not only are state-produced facilities surveilled, but other citizens are expected to be enforcers of the wishes of the state. This can be seen in the second story in There is No Evil when Pouya, a soldier and the main character of this story, is arguing with the other soldiers in the grey prison barracks about the ethics of execution and complying with their orders, and one soldier remarks:

“It is just our bad luck. Be glad that you ended up here. Before I got transferred here, the sergeant wouldn’t sign my leave pass unless I wept in front of him. I used to clean 32 toilets a day. Because the guy didn’t like my face. This is Iran. There is no law here” (0:38:45-39:05).

The soldier’s mistreatment and humiliation by the sergeant is a purposeful divide manufactured by the state to maintain their power. The Iranian regime has isolated and deterritorialized the judiciary and created a new government entity or territory, reterritorializing it to one where a citizen views the state as a lawless, self-serving entity. This new state pits citizens against one another and denies the fundamental human nature of collectivism. A similar case can be made for capitalism, as in The Delinquents the bank employees are pitted against one another after the bank heist committed by Morán and Román, causing the true root of their suffering to be obscured (e.g., capitalism). All of these scenes occur within or around the confines of man-made, urban environments constructed by the state, which reinforce the oppressive social orders these systems have created.

In relation to natural environments and their Deleuzian function in these films, they both use natural spaces as a means for their characters to escape from their respective power structures. As stated previously, deterritorialization is a neutral phenomenon, and in the case of escapism it is a positive means through which the characters can break free and establish new territories of existence. After successfully completing the heist, Morán visits a mountainous region outside of Buenos Aires, and a long scene ensues where he traverses through the woods and ends up in a stream where he walks barefoot in the freshwater. From 0:39:03-0:39:09, the camera slowly pans upward to capture the height of the mountain and then cuts to the surrounding area of rocks and vegetation. These shots are very similar to the ones previously mentioned of the tall glass windows of buildings in the city, yet there are no watchful eyes present in this mountainous area. Morán then sits down on one of the rocks, breathing heavily, the realization of his freeing isolation washing over him. The natural environment, which is outside the purview of the state and with no man-made structures near it, is a means through which Morán can remove himself from the existing metropolitan territories and the oppressive social relations and expectations that exist there. Román, his accomplice, goes to the same region when transporting Morán’s money, and also ends up spending significant amounts of time away from his life in the city to be in the mountains. Their breaking away can be seen as a line of flight, which in its simplest understanding is “movements of deterritorialization and destratification,” (Deleuze and Guattari 3), and their attempt to free themselves from the suffocating expectations of their mundane and monotonous everyday lives. Their shared nomadism is a topic discussed in A Thousand Plateaus, as Deleuze and Guattari propose the following:

the tactics of nomadism may be employed to attack capitalist and State power. Both schizoanalysis and nomadism operate along a vector of ‘deterritorialization’, where desire and matter spread beyond the boundaries of property, where identities and bodies are pushed towards absolute destratification, and where radically new forms of social life may be created on a ‘new earth’ (Munro and Thanem).

Morán and Román’s ability to escape the confines of capitalism through their nomadic lifestyle in nature allows the viewer to challenge the fundamental construction of modern city life. The parallels between Morán and Román’s lives, the distortion of time, and the surreal, dream-like qualities of forest are all elements that contribute to the magical realism of the film. This magical undertone supports the possible creation of a ‘new earth’ and the possibility of liberation from capitalism.

Contrastingly, an instance of a failed escape from oppression lies as a warning in There is No Evil. The third story centers around Javad, a soldier who visits his girlfriend, Nana, and her family in an unnamed, flush mountainous region of Iran after executing a political prisoner so he can be granted three days off. The first scene of the story is of Javad bathing in a river, seemingly cleansing himself from his duties, but he cannot fully rid himself of his actions when he discovers that he killed Nana’s family friend whom they are mourning. Upon realizing this, he runs down to the same river and tries to drown himself and then proceeds to strip off his military uniform and place it onto a fledgling tree, making a scarecrow-like figure. This scarecrow figure is symbolic of how the oppressive aspect of forceful conscription is inherent and a natural part of the regime. Despite his line of flight into the lush environment, he is unable to escape the regime and the consequences of his actions; the imbalanced relationship between the state and its soldiers bleeds into the social relations between citizens, as shown above. Deterritorialization, in this instance, is unrealized, as Javad does not reject his position in the regime and does not question it like other characters have, thus not being afforded a new territory through which to find freedom.

Despite this, the lasting possibility of liberation lies in the final scenes of these films. In the final story of There is No Evil, the audience finds out that Bahram, the main character of this story, had to leave his family to protect them from punishment as a result of his refusal to kill a prisoner during his time as a soldier, similar to Pouya. As a result, he had his daughter Darya raised abroad and without knowledge of the true nature of her birth. Bahram and his wife Zaman live in a remote desert region of Iran, presumably to live quietly away from the oppressive metropolitan area from which he was forced to flee. Additionally, he cannot leave Iran because he was not granted a passport, having failed to complete his military service. His relegation to the hostile environment of the desert is a consequence of his refusal, unlike Javad who was able to escape to the lush forest after his compliance, but his existence in a space that actively defies him (lack of vegetation, animal attacks, etc.) is in itself a sign of resistance to the oppressive regime.

In The Delinquents, Román and Morán are able to live out their days in the mountainous regions they escaped to throughout the film, with the last shot being of Morán riding off on a horse into the countryside. Both have defied capitalism, and it is hinted in the film that they were able to successfully live out their days against the odds and societal expectations, and are rewarded, unlike Bahram. However, both of these films highlight the possibility of successful deterritorialization and are evidence of the concept of the rhizome. Despite the seemingly bleak end of There is No Evil, pockets of hope for liberation exist in nature itself, as Bahram is an avid beekeeper, and in bee colonies the possibility of the overthrow of a defective queen bee is an inherent possibility, similar to how liberation is possible in societies through collective action. This can be understood in the idea of the rhizome and the shared struggle for liberation in these films, and how all of these seemingly disparate narratives are inextricably linked. Each of these stories is interconnected, each challenges its respective hierarchy, and each illustrates the power of non-linear structures on positive social relations. The idea of the rhizome draws on a natural phenomenon, one that is often referenced in opposition to the idea of the root that is vertical, and intrinsically hierarchical. In contrast, the rhizome is egalitarian in its horizontal state of being. Recognizing how nature has a fundamental effect on the film narratives themselves, and on the philosophical lens through which to understand these effects, is profound.

Paying close attention to the use of unnatural and natural environments in There is No Evil and The Delinquents through Deleuze and Guattari’s ideas of deterritorialization, lines of flight, and the rhizome offers a unique perspective through which to understand their shared aims. The unnatural, man-made spaces of the metropolitan cities in each of these films put the characters in close proximity to the social order of the oppressive regimes they detest, and these spaces are evidence of how these regimes have deterritorialized and reterritorialized social relations between the state and citizens to achieve their aims. Contrastingly, natural environments are lines of flight through which these characters can escape these oppressive social and structural territories and form new social orders. Both films challenge the viewer to understand the interconnectedness of these given societies and to look for the rhizomatic systems that can challenge these systems of power, not just in film, but in real life.

Work Cited

Rasoulof, Mohammad, director. There is No Evil. 2021

Moreno, Rodrigo, director. The Deliquents. 2023.

Deleuze, Gilles, and Félix Guattari. A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia. Translated by Brian Massumi, 1980.

Munro, Iain, and Torkild Thanem. “Deleuze and the deterritorialization of strategy.” Critical Perspectives on Accounting, vol. 53, June 2018, pp. 69-78.

Smith, Ellie. “‘Des plafonds dans les yeux’: representing the New Town in Naissance des pieuvres (Céline Sciamma, 2007).” French Screen Studies, 23:2-3, 133-144, 2023 https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/full/10.1080/264389

River Riddle is a recent graduate of UMass Amherst with a BA in Comparative Literature.  During their time at UMass, they completed an honors thesis titled “Art of the Dutch Caribbean: Themes in Postcolonial Art”, became the inaugural undergraduate Comparative Literature ambassadors for the senior class, and was an award-winning writing center tutor!