A Haunted House… with Bonus Air Raids
If The Babadook had moved to Tehran during the Iran-Iraq War, learned Persian, and joined a feminist book club, you’d get Under the Shadow. Written and directed by Babak Anvari in his directorial debut, this 2016 Persian-language horror film manages to turn post-revolutionary Tehran into one of cinema’s most oppressive haunted houses.
It’s rare to find a horror movie that combines supernatural terror with sociopolitical despair so elegantly — rarer still for it to be this funny in its bleakness. Under the Shadow is a slow-burn ghost story where the haunting comes from both the walls and the world outside them. Think of it as The Conjuring meets The Constant Gardener, but with fewer priests and more flying chadors.
Meet Shideh: Student, Mother, Skeptic, and Professional Anxiety Host
Our heroine Shideh (Narges Rashidi) is having a rough time — and that’s putting it mildly. She’s a medical student barred from resuming her studies because of her past political affiliations. Her husband Iraj (Bobby Naderi) gets called off to the front lines of the Iran-Iraq war, leaving her alone in their apartment with their young daughter Dorsa (Avin Manshadi), a child who could easily give Damien from The Omen a run for his money in the “creepy kid” category.
Shideh is intelligent, exhausted, and haunted — both literally and metaphorically. She’s trapped by a patriarchal system that’s telling her where she can work, what she can wear, and when she can breathe. Oh, and also by a possible demon that may have stolen her kid’s doll.
You could call her life “stressful.” Or, if you’re feeling less charitable, “an extended panic attack wrapped in a headscarf.”
The Setting: Tehran, Where Everything Wants You Dead
The film’s 1980s Tehran setting is more than just a backdrop — it’s a horror character in itself. Between bombings, sirens, and government-imposed paranoia, the city feels perpetually one step away from collapse. When a missile hits the apartment building and doesn’t explode, everyone’s relieved — until they realize that it might have brought something worse than shrapnel.
There’s something deliciously ironic about watching Shideh deal with a haunting while dodging literal bombs. You start to wonder if the djinn is haunting her or just trying to find a new apartment in the chaos. It’s horror with a real-estate crisis.
The Djinn: The Spirit That Steals Your Peace (and Your Stuff)
According to Iranian folklore, djinns are spirits made of smokeless fire who enjoy meddling in human lives — a sort of supernatural IRS that audits your soul. Here, the djinn arrives not with a dramatic jump scare, but as a subtle creeping presence: an open door, a missing object, a whisper in a child’s ear.
When little Dorsa starts talking about “the boy upstairs” and her missing doll Kimia, it’s clear something is deeply wrong. (Pro tip: if your kid says a stranger whispered in her ear and gave her a charm, move. Immediately. Burn the house if necessary.)
The djinn’s calling card? It steals things that matter most to its victims — symbols of love, comfort, and identity. Dorsa loses her doll; Shideh loses her mother’s medical textbook. The demon doesn’t just take objects — it takes the last scraps of stability these women have left.
And when the chador — a traditional veil — starts slithering across the room like a ghostly python, it’s both terrifying and darkly hilarious. Only in Iran could religious modesty itself become a jump scare.
Motherhood Under Siege
Under the Shadow is less about demons and more about motherhood under impossible pressure. Shideh’s battle isn’t just against the supernatural — it’s against societal judgment, grief, and the suffocating fear of not being “enough.”
Her daughter’s fear mirrors her own powerlessness. Dorsa screams for her lost doll; Shideh screams for her lost freedom. The djinn might be real, but it’s also the perfect metaphor: an invisible, insidious force that feeds on women’s fear and silence.
It’s hard not to admire how Anvari weaponizes domestic space. The apartment becomes a prison, every crack and creak loaded with meaning. Even the shelter, supposedly a place of safety, feels like a coffin. There’s no escape from the patriarchy — or the poltergeist.
Narges Rashidi: The Face of Controlled Panic
Rashidi carries this film like a woman holding a ticking bomb and a screaming toddler at the same time. She plays Shideh not as a victim, but as someone perpetually seconds away from breaking down — or snapping someone’s neck.
Her performance is so restrained it’s almost masochistic; you can see every ounce of exhaustion behind her eyes. When she finally cracks, the release feels cathartic — like watching someone finally scream into a pillow after years of being told to be “strong.”
Little Avin Manshadi, as Dorsa, is equally impressive — which is code for “I never want this child to appear behind me in a dark hallway.” Her wide-eyed terror is so believable that you forget she’s acting. The kid sells possession better than most seasoned horror veterans.
The Real Monster: Bureaucracy
The real kicker of Under the Shadow is that for all the djinn’s tricks, the scariest moments come from ordinary life. When Shideh is told she can’t return to medical school because of her political past, it’s horrifying — and depressingly plausible.
The film makes a not-so-subtle point: ghosts aren’t the only thing haunting women in Iran. There’s a demon in every piece of paper stamped by authority, in every door closed to a woman who dared to dream too loudly.
The djinn, in that sense, isn’t some foreign entity — it’s homegrown oppression with a supernatural makeover.
The Style: Dread with Tasteful Minimalism
Babak Anvari’s direction is sharp, subtle, and beautifully claustrophobic. The cinematography uses muted colors and narrow framing to emphasize confinement. There are no cheap scares, just creeping dread — the kind that seeps in slowly, like smoke under a locked door.
Every element serves a purpose: the thud of distant bombs, the flickering lights, the muffled radio broadcasts. Even silence feels weaponized. You’re not just watching fear — you’re breathing it.
And yet, amidst all the darkness, there’s a grim humor to it. You can’t help but chuckle when Shideh glares at the djinn as if it’s a nosy neighbor who won’t mind its business. It’s horror with a raised eyebrow — aware of its absurdity but unflinching in its bite.
The Ending: The Escape That Isn’t
When Shideh and Dorsa finally flee their haunted apartment, it feels like a victory — until you realize the djinn still holds onto Kimia’s doll head and Shideh’s medical book. Translation: the evil’s not gone, it’s just biding its time.
It’s a chilling reminder that trauma doesn’t vanish once you leave the warzone; it follows you home, invisible and unrelenting. You can outrun bombs, maybe even ghosts — but not the weight of what’s been taken from you.
Final Thoughts: Fear Wears a Chador
Under the Shadow isn’t your average horror flick — it’s a quiet masterpiece that sneaks up on you, whispers in your ear, and refuses to leave when the credits roll. It’s scary, yes, but also sad, funny, and painfully human.
Anvari transforms war, patriarchy, and superstition into a single monstrous force — the kind of fear that lingers long after the movie ends. And while the djinn might be terrifying, the real terror lies in how recognizable everything feels.
If you came for jump scares, you’ll get them. If you came for psychological depth, you’ll leave unnerved. And if you came for fashion inspiration, well, that floating chador is serving gothic realness.
Final Rating: ★★★★★
Mood: Existential dread with a side of spectral feminism
Best Watched With: Dim lights, strong tea, and a healthy respect for ancient Middle Eastern curses.
