When artists attempt to cross genres—for instance a ballet mirroring architecture or a cinematic novel—the result is often abstract, distracting, ineffective. Not so with the film Women Without Men, in which Iranian visual artist Shirin Neshat sought to create poetry in her feature film debut (in collaboration with with Shoja Azari). Using allegory, repetition, imagery, and metaphor, the film is a masterpiece of narrative poetry. Often its images are unforgettable.

Women Without Men posterThe year is 1953, when democratically-elected Iranian president Mohammed Mossadegh is usurped by a British-American led coup that restores the Shah to power. Unlike most history, which is told by men, Women Without Men is conveyed through the personal stories of four women whose struggle in a male-dominated society merge to reveal the larger canvas of the downfall of their country. And who better to tell this story but the very women whose oppression mirrors that of Iran? Dedicated to those who fought and died for Iran's freedom— from the 1906 Constitutional Revolution through the Green Movement of 2009—the film appropriately measures the universal devastation of patriarchy with the triumph of the matriarchal spirit.

Beginning and ending with the suicide of Munis (Shabnam Tolouel) in Tehran—her character represents a democratic and free Iran—the film redefines suicide from a cowardly act into one of transcendence. Then, through magic realism, Munis is resurrected to realize she is not meant to be her brother's captive woman, but a patriot who acts for the freedom of her country and herself. Meanwhile, Fakhri (Arita Shahrzad, in her debut film performance) leaves her oppressive marriage and reinvents herself away from the civil unrest in the capital, purchasing an old mansion in the countryside, surrounded by an orchard and forest that recalls the centuries-old trope of an allegorical garden where the laws of men do not apply.

Heroines in "Women Without Men": (l-r) Munis, Fakhri, Zarin and FaezehIn this paradise, two other women take refuge with Fakhri: Faezeh (Pegah Ferydoni), a conservative girl whose rape awakens her to the reality of women's subjugation, and Zarin (Orsi Toth), a prostitute and living personification of Iran. However, when Fakhri decides to throw a party and invites the bourgeoisie to the orchard, Zarin falls ill. In one of the film's most beautifully tragic scenes, Zarin lies dying in a room upstairs as the military enters the house looking for traitors, planting themselves at the dinner table while a party guest wails a foreboding dirge. Like Iran, Zarin cannot abide the literal and metaphorical penetration of a patriarchy intent on oppressing the people. Zarin's inevitable death is the direct result of Iran's contamination.

Shirin NeshatAt the Q & A after the film's Los Angeles premiere, Neshat declared that making Women Without Men was like giving birth. "The conception was easy," she said, "but the delivery [six years in the making] was difficult." An appropriate analogy for this film, which has been banned in Iran. Neshat's painstaking delivery is seen throughout the film from the costumes to the sets. The street scenes were filmed in Rabat and Casablanca, but many of the interiors, including Munis' humble patio and the more decadent décor of Fakhri's country home were built from the ground up by set designer Shahram Karimi.

Poetry, beloved in Iran and throughout the Middle East, is at the core of this film—and its art lifts us from the captivity of our own limited experience into that of the universal in order to fully empathize, understand, and identify with our fellows. Plain language never evokes the smell of an orange, the feel of bare skin, the depth of heartache the way poetry does. Yet it is rare that the poet and the filmmaker can balance language and image without forfeiting story. Curiously, some critics of the film have judged Women Without Men weak on plot, some even calling it disjointed. It would seem that our way of viewing art is as limited as our way of viewing women; Women Without Men is one of those rare occasions where a film utilizes a perfect balance of visual arts, storytelling, and poetry to narrate a compelling, relevant drama. That drama is the very plight of women, as seen in present day Iran and in America where women make seventy-nine cents for every dollar a man earns.

Sheana Ochoa is a Los Angeles-based writer whose forthcoming book Stella! When There Were Giants is the first biography of acting maven Stella Adler.