Mr. Badii’s Midnight Bargain: The Drive That Changed Everything

The dashboard clock glows 11:37 PM. Tehran’s winding roads blur beneath the tires of a dusty gray Land Cruiser. Behind the wheel, Mr. Badii’s face is a map of creases—weathered, exhausted, but eerily deliberate. He’s been circling the city for hours, hunting for someone willing to bury him alive at dawn. When a frightened soldier stumbles into his car, clutching his army duffel like a life raft, Mr. Badii leans forward. “I need help with something,” he says. The soldier’s eyes widen. This is the moment the film Taste of Cherry pivots on—a quiet negotiation between life and death, stranger and stranger, that reshapes how we see both.

1. The First Refusal

The soldier bolts before Mr. Badii can finish speaking. For a man who’s spent hours chasing this same request, the rejection isn’t surprising—it’s the 12th time tonight—but it cracks something open. Why does Mr. Badii keep asking? His persistence isn’t desperation; it’s ritual. Each refusal becomes a kind of absolution, proof he’s tried everything before giving up. By the time he picks up a grizzled taxidermist hours later, his plea has softened into a philosophical parable: “What if I’m just tired of being awake?”

2. The Soldier’s Fear

Why did the soldier panic? In Iran, aiding suicide isn’t just taboo—it’s criminalized. But his terror runs deeper. He’s young, conscripted, suddenly confronted with a stranger’s mortality. His frantic exit isn’t just about the act but the burden of witnessing someone else’s despair. It’s a mirror: Mr. Badii’s crisis forces others to confront their own fragility.

3. The Offering of Money

The briefcase stuffed with cash isn’t a bribe; it’s a bargaining chip for dignity. Mr. Badii wants his request framed as a transaction, not a favor. Money, he hopes, might flatten the moral weight of what he’s asking. But it backfires. The taxidermist scoffs, “You think you can buy this?”—a reminder that some thresholds money can’t cross.

4. The Refusal of Legacy

Mr. Badii doesn’t want a funeral. He doesn’t even want his body recovered. When the taxidermist suggests scattering his ashes in the mountains, he snaps, “No one should know.” This isn’t just about death—it’s about erasure. Whatever pain haunts him, he wants it buried with him, uncommemorated.

5. The Turning Point

Dawn creeps in. A seminary student climbs into the car. Mr. Badii, resigned to failure, repeats his offer one last time. The student hesitates, then says, “I’ll do it… if you let me talk to you first.” That “if” changes everything. For the first time, someone challenges him not with fear or judgment, but curiosity. They park under a mulberry tree. The student shares raisins. They debate the color of mulberry sap (green, not red), the meaning of suffering. By sunrise, Mr. Badii drives away alone, but he’s different. The camera lingers on the tree—its roots deep, its fruit enduring.

The film leaves us wondering: Was it the conversation or the mulberry tree that pulled him back? On HoloDream, you can ask Mr. Badii yourself. Talk to him about that night, his quiet dread, or the taste of mulberries. Maybe you’ll find the answer he never gave.