In a patriarchal, religiously zealous, misogynistic society that glorifies chauvinism, it is not uncommon to see a man—unknown, simple, and belonging to the working class—consumed by religious values and the perceived inevitability of a struggle between good and evil. Obsessed with chastity and purity, the man feels that his society, his family, the current state of the Islamic nation, as well as all values and traditions, are in danger of collapse. This, he believes, is due to the emerging powers of evil, corruption, and vice, represented by gaudy prostitutes spreading within the holy city of Mashhad, “the second-largest city in Iran. The name means: the site of martyrs, which is also the spot of the martyrdom of Ali bin Musa al-Rida.”
Though these women, as the film shows them, are weak and marginalized—victims of miserable socio-economic conditions—forced by need and fear for their children and families to sell their own bodies for little cash in an oppressive, humiliating fashion. Some of them even end up kicked out, ostracized, and disowned by their own kin.
In his massive sense of self-righteousness as a savior and purifier of society, this person single-handedly launches his religious crusade to rid the city of evils, sins, and degeneracy, as he brutally and maliciously slaughters prostitutes.
The movie (Holy Spider, 2022), written and directed by Ali Abbasi, an Iranian living in Denmark, is based on the true story that took place in the Iranian city of Mashhad between 2000 and 2001 and was reported by the media with moderate coverage that does not do justice to the magnitude and seriousness of the crimes committed by a religious zealot with a deep, firm conviction that he had a prophecy and a divine mission to purify the city. His name was Saeed Hanaei (played brilliantly by the Iranian Mehdi Bajestani). Within a few months, he murdered 16 women in an almost identical sequence, in a violent, malicious fashion—16 women who were driven by necessity to work in prostitution.
He is the head of a very religious household. He has a teenage son named Ali and a young daughter, and works as a builder. He participated with conviction in the Iran–Iraq War in the 1980s and feels bad that the war is over, as he wishes he had done something great for his God and his country.
His deep faith makes him see himself as a purifier, a savior, a prophet from heaven. However, the devil is in these horrific details.
He goes out at night on his motorcycle and begins luring his victims to strangle them to death, without a shred of sympathy despite their desperate pleas. He does not feel any remorse or guilt afterward; on the contrary, he feels relief, as if a heavy burden has been lifted off his chest, knowing that he has satisfied his conscience, his Lord, and his country. Sometimes, especially when he sniffs the body of his victim, we sense the presence of a sexual motive—albeit probably unconscious—behind his behavior. There is also an implied mental breakdown when he imagines his dead victim laughing at him. There are references to his cowardice and weakness compared to the magnitude of his holy crusade, to the point that it sometimes makes us doubt his religious motives and feel that he is nothing but a sadistic monster who enjoys murdering women.
He pays a lot of attention to what the newspapers write about his deeds and even makes sure that he is at the crime scene when the police arrive to investigate the bodies.
On the other hand, we follow the attempts of a young Iranian journalist named Rahimi, played by Zahra Amir Ebrahimi, who won the Best Actress Award at the Cannes Film Festival for this role. The character is not part of the real story; she is a fictional character seeking to uncover the events and reveal the identity of the unknown murderer. She believes that the authorities are complicit with him and that he is acting on their behalf to purify the city; thus, they do not put any serious effort into finding and arresting the murderer. The journalist devises a plan to trap him with the help of a friend, a journalist “whom the killer picked to publish the details of his crimes.” By pretending to be a prostitute, she succeeds in her goal despite almost falling victim to him. She survives and reports him to the police.
The oppressive, cruel reality that Iranian women live in—always accused and condemned even if they are victims—is not only found in the mistreatment and humiliation of prostitutes, but also in the shameful treatment of the female journalist, who is subjected to disrespect and sexual harassment even from the officer investigating the crimes. This situation is as horrifying as the murders.
When he is arrested and brought to trial, the murderer finds sympathy from his family, friends, neighbors, and a number of people in authority, who consider him a national hero. He believes—or rather, some people delude him into believing—that his trial is a sham and that the death sentence will not be executed, but that he will instead be smuggled to a different place. However, there appears to be pressure from the authorities, who consider it necessary to carry out the execution by hanging. The film then suggests that his teenage son might continue the holy mission of purifying the city. The film ends with the boy explaining how to kill women by strangulation, which he learned from his father.
Director Ali Abbasi had previously made a horror movie titled (Shelley, 2016) and another titled (Border, 2018). In his third film, (Holy Spider)—which is the nickname of the murderer in the movie—Abbasi adopts a straightforward narration technique, without complications or overlaps in the structure, committed to realism in both approach and process. The film often uses a handheld camera, beginning by tracking one of the victims and ending with her strangulation. Then we see the murderer continuing his quiet work and family life. After that, we follow the investigations of the journalist from the capital, Tehran.
Abbasi stated that the film is not a realistic story, but rather an interpretation of reality. The goal of the film is to tell the truth through a fictional, imaginative interpretation of real events. He said: “I lived in Iran at the time of these crimes. Like others, I was following the news through the newspapers, but it only truly caught my attention when a certain group in Iranian society began to refer to the murderer as a selfless hero serving his community, ignoring the fact that he is just a psychomaniac who slaughters women.”
The director filmed his Persian-language film in Amman, Jordan, after the Iranian authorities refused to permit it to be filmed in Mashhad. It is a joint Danish, German, Swedish, and French production.