MEDUSA OF THE ROSES

Two gay men must navigate a partnership defined by secrecy and violence in this Iran-set noir.

Anjir has been in a tempestuous clandestine relationship with his childhood friend Zal since they were both teenagers. In a culture of deadly homophobia, they have stayed together—not sharing a home, but having regular assignations—perhaps longer than they should, but finding new life partners is simply too dangerous. Zal has carved out a safer public life for himself by marrying a wealthy woman named Mahtob, but Anjir has a lonelier day-to-day routine: working at a hotel and staying in an apartment both owned by his uncle, who lives in America. To escape this untenable situation, the two concoct a plan straight out of the VHS bootlegs of 1940s film noir they watch together: They’ll kill Mahtob, Anjir will have gender reassignment surgery and then become Zal’s second wife. The scheme is possible because of a peculiar Iranian policy, described by Leyli, a transgender woman Anjir befriends: “​Strange government. Could kill you for being gay, but will foot the bill if you agree to a sex change.” When Zal disappears after being brutally beaten while with another man, Anjir must unravel the truth of what happened and decide whether to go forward with their plan alone. Sinaki’s prose is dense with sensory detail and mythological allusions, but his dialogue, which has neither a naturalistic cadence nor the caustic wit typical of the genre, proves a stumbling point. Likewise, some poetic turns of phrase seem off by a word (e.g., “Afterward, we made planets by connecting thorn wounds on my arm”), interrupting an otherwise hypnotic flow.

A muddled but memorable descent into love and betrayal in queer Tehran.