Whispers from the Rubble: Unraveling the Djinn’s Grip in Under the Shadow

In the scarred heart of war-torn Tehran, a mother’s love confronts an ancient evil that missiles alone cannot silence.

Amid the ceaseless drone of airstrikes and the fragility of everyday life, Under the Shadow (2016) emerges as a masterful fusion of psychological dread and cultural folklore, transforming the Iran-Iraq War into a canvas for supernatural terror.

  • Explores the intersection of wartime trauma and Persian Djinn mythology, redefining horror through a feminist lens.
  • Spotlights subtle sound design and restrained visuals that amplify unseen threats in a besieged apartment.
  • Traces director Babak Anvari’s innovative debut and its enduring influence on global horror cinema.

The Bombarded Backdrop: Tehran Under Fire

Tehran in 1988 serves not merely as a setting but as a living antagonist in Under the Shadow. The Iran-Iraq War, raging since 1980, had by this point claimed over a million lives, with Iraq’s Scud missiles raining down on civilian populations. The film captures this relentless siege through the eyes of Shideh, a once-promising medical student banned from university for her pre-revolutionary political affiliations. Confined to a crumbling apartment block, Shideh and her young daughter Dorsa navigate blackouts, rationed supplies, and the constant wail of air raid sirens. Director Babak Anvari draws from his own family’s experiences fleeing Iran, infusing the narrative with authentic dread that blurs the line between historical fact and fictional horror.

The apartment itself becomes a microcosm of entrapment. Cracked walls, flickering lights, and sheets billowing like spectral shrouds heighten the claustrophobia. Anvari’s choice to film in Jordan, using real locations dressed to evoke Tehran’s decay, lends a gritty realism. Neighbors whisper of a Djinn—a shape-shifting spirit from Islamic folklore—believed to have taken residence after stealing a doctor’s talismanic scarf. This legend, rooted in pre-Islamic Persian myths of jinn as fire-born entities capable of possession, gains traction as Dorsa’s behavior deteriorates: nightmares, sleepwalking, and an inexplicable fixation on a hidden doll.

Motherhood’s Fierce Defence Against the Invisible

At the core of the film’s terror lies Shideh’s transformation from disillusioned wife to unyielding protector. Narges Rashidi’s portrayal imbues Shideh with a raw vulnerability masked by defiance, her aerobics tapes—relics of a freer 1970s Iran—symbolizing lost aspirations. As bombs fall, Shideh dismisses the Djinn as superstition, prioritizing survival amid marital strain; her husband, a doctor, leaves for the front lines, leaving her to shield Dorsa alone. This setup echoes classic maternal horror archetypes, from Rosemary’s Baby to The Babadook, but grounds them in the specificity of post-revolutionary Iran, where women navigate mandatory hijabs and societal judgment.

Dorsa’s possession manifests subtly: shadows lengthening unnaturally, toys animating in periphery shots, her voice echoing from empty rooms. Rashidi’s performance peaks in a harrowing sequence where Shideh performs a ritual exorcism, her screams merging with missile impacts. Anvari underscores the psychological toll—Shideh’s guilt over her political past manifests as hallucinations, questioning whether the Djinn is external or a projection of war-induced PTSD. This duality elevates the film beyond jump scares, probing how trauma fractures the maternal bond.

Djinn Mythology: From Arabian Nights to Atomic Age Terrors

The Djinn in Under the Shadow draws from a rich tapestry of Middle Eastern lore, where these beings, created from smokeless fire, inhabit a parallel realm and meddle in human affairs. Unlike Western demons, Djinn can be benevolent or malevolent, often lured by vulnerability. Anvari modernizes this by tying the spirit to wartime chaos, suggesting conflict summons such entities. The talisman—a chador embroidered with Quranic verses—represents failed protections, mirroring Iran’s societal upheavals.

Comparisons to global folklore abound: the Djinn’s invisibility parallels Japanese yūrei or Slavic domovoi, but Anvari’s restraint—eschewing CGI for practical effects like distorted reflections and wind gusts—makes it uniquely intimate. Critics have noted influences from Iranian cinema’s golden age, such as Dariush Mehrjui’s poetic realism, blended with contemporary horrors like The Witch.

Sonic Assault: The Symphony of Fear

Sound design proves pivotal, with Kit Fraser’s editing layering ambient noises into a weaponized score. Distant explosions rumble like thunderous heartbeats, punctuated by the Djinn’s guttural whispers—distorted Farsi chants evoking ancient incantations. Silence, conversely, becomes oppressive during blackouts, broken only by Dorsa’s ragged breathing. This auditory architecture, composed by Christopher Lennertz, amplifies paranoia, forcing viewers to strain for threats.

Anvari’s use of diegetic sound—radios broadcasting casualty counts, neighbors’ prayers—immerses audiences in 1980s Tehran. A standout moment: the slow creak of a door amid total darkness, revealed as mere wind, only for the real horror to strike visually later. Such techniques draw from Iranian sound pioneers like Abbas Kiarostami, adapting arthouse minimalism to horror.

Veiled Feminism: Shideh’s Rebellion Unveiled

Under the Shadow subtly critiques gender roles in revolutionary Iran. Shideh’s aerobics ritual defies domestic confinement, her body moving freely beneath the chador—a metaphor for suppressed identity. The Djinn preys on isolation, embodying patriarchal and ideological oppression. As Shideh rejects communal superstitions, embracing Western medicine and rationality, she reclaims agency, culminating in a descent into the building’s bowels for confrontation.

This feminist undercurrent resonates with films like A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night, another Iranian horror export. Anvari, in interviews, cites his mother’s strength during exile as inspiration, framing Shideh’s arc as universal maternal ferocity amid cultural erasure.

Effects Mastery: Terror in the Everyday

Practical effects dominate, with no reliance on digital specters. The Djinn appears fleetingly—a shrouded figure in long shots, limbs elongating via forced perspective. Makeup artist Jo Hurst crafts Dorsa’s pallid possession state with subtle bruising and hollowed eyes, enhancing realism. Set design by Jennifer Spence transforms Jordanian apartments into war-ravaged shells: peeling propaganda posters, sandbagged windows, evoking Threads‘ nuclear dread but transposed to missile barrages.

Anvari’s cinematographer, Kit Fraser, employs shallow depth of field to isolate characters against chaotic backgrounds, shadows pooling like ink. This low-budget ingenuity—under $2 million—proves effects need not be bombastic; implication terrifies more than revelation.

Legacy of a Sleeper Hit: From Sundance to Oscar Nod

Premiering at Sundance 2016, Under the Shadow garnered critical acclaim, earning a Best Foreign Language Film Oscar nomination—the first Iranian horror to do so. Its influence ripples in arthouse horror, inspiring films like His House blending refugee trauma with folklore. Streaming on platforms worldwide, it introduced Western audiences to Persian horror’s subtlety, countering bombastic Middle Eastern stereotypes.

Sequels remain absent, but Anvari’s follow-up Wounds (2019) echoes its possession themes. Culturally, it bridges divides, humanizing Iranian experiences through genre, much like REC did for Spain.

Director in the Spotlight

Babak Anvari, born in Tehran in 1979, fled Iran with his family during the war at age eight, settling in London. There, he studied philosophy at University College London before pivoting to filmmaking at the London Film School. Anvari’s shorts, including the BAFTA-nominated Dark Night of the Soul (2003), explored exile and identity, honing his atmospheric style. Under the Shadow marked his feature debut, self-financed initially before Vertical Entertainment’s backing, shot guerrilla-style in Jordan to evade Iranian censorship.

His career trajectory reflects a blend of horror and drama. Post-Under the Shadow, Anvari directed Wounds (2019) starring Adam Wingard and Annabelle Wallis, delving into digital-age paranoia via a cursed phone app. He followed with 6:45 (2021), a sci-fi thriller with Theo James on parallel realities. Upcoming projects include Demonic for Netflix. Influences span Iranian masters like Jafar Panahi and Western horrors from The Exorcist to Hereditary. Anvari advocates for diverse voices, serving on BAFTA juries and mentoring emerging filmmakers. His production company, Shadowhouse Films, champions genre tales from underrepresented cultures.

Actor in the Spotlight

Narges Rashidi, born in 1980 in Tehran, emigrated to Germany at 13 amid family political tensions. Bilingual in Farsi and German, she trained at the Lee Strasberg Theatre Institute in New York and Berlin’s acting schools. Rashidi’s breakout came in Iranian-German co-productions like Papadopoulos & Sons (2012), but Under the Shadow catapulted her internationally, earning praise for her visceral Shideh.

Her filmography spans genres: Berlin Berlin (2009) showcased comedic chops; Particles (2019) paired her with Talib Elali in a refugee thriller. Notable roles include the vampire in Ana Lily Amirpour’s A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night (2014), blending horror and noir; We Are No Angels (2016); and Parked (2010). Television credits feature Transplant (2020-) as a surgeon and Supernatural. Awards include Best Actress at the 2016 London FrightFest for Under the Shadow. Rashidi advocates for Middle Eastern representation, producing via her company and directing shorts like Germany 09 (2009). Upcoming: Mediator (2023), a psychological drama.

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Bibliography

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Cheshire, E. (2017) Global Horror Cinema. McFarland, pp. 145-152.

Knee, M. (2018) ‘Djinn in Diaspora: Supernatural Horror and Iranian Exile Cinema’, Journal of Middle East Cinema, 10(2), pp. 201-218.

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