The Story of Rostam and Sohrab (*) – with a Different Ending
Three hours of staring at a film, feeling as if you couldn’t bear to miss even a single shot…
The experience of encountering and following well-developed characters, of engaging with themes that mirror the daily struggles of ordinary people, and, ultimately, of witnessing exceptional character-building and the exploration of deep psychological, cultural, sociological, and philosophical concepts — all combine to deliver a cohesive, unforgettable, and unparalleled work.
From the very beginning, we meet a broad spectrum of characters — from dopamine-driven libertines with no commitment to any moral principle, who recognize only two things: pleasure and power (and who acknowledge no limits in attaining them), to idealists who remain faithful to their human values from the opening to the final scene.
Gholam Bastani and his friends, instead of understanding the changing world, choose to rely on mechanisms of denial and repression. Alcohol, drugs, a dark and filthy house bearing little resemblance to the concept of a home, and a car that, despite Gholam’s wealth, hasn’t changed in decades — all are symbols of stubborn resistance to change.
Psychologically, Gholam lives in the state of “I’m not OK – you’re not OK”, a mindset rooted in his relationship with his father (who severely abused him, and whom Gholam, in turn, allowed to die in the worst possible conditions). This mindset is visible in all of Gholam’s behaviors and lifestyle: neglect of cleanliness, poor eating habits, complete alienation from culture and its elements, sloppy dress, refusal to drive a decent car, and the ugliest possible means of satisfying his sexual needs.
He attacks and insults everyone, loves no one, and uses all those around him as tools. He is full of anger and hatred but, instead of confronting and analyzing it, merely reproduces violence and malice. In stubborn defiance, rather than seeing the structure of the home — decaying and collapsing in every way — he tries to maintain authority through sheer bullying.
Ali, Gholam’s eldest son, seems cut from a different cloth. He has a humane character and a love for culture, traits seemingly inherited from his cultured mother. Even after witnessing inhumanity in various situations — from the girl buying a book, to a backstabbing colleague, to a belittling boss, and a father who never ceases to humiliate and mock — Ali never loses faith in kindness or doing good. In the final scene, he even tries to rescue his younger brother Reza from falling into their father’s demonic games, or at least keep him away from them. This effort is also evident in his conversations with Rana, where he strives to act as a mirror, reflecting reality so she might see it clearly. Her eventual change in perspective and behavior keeps us hopeful about the power of wisdom, culture, and humanity.
When Rana steps into the story (quite literally, steps — in catwalk heels), it’s immediately clear we’ll be seeing the use of feminine allure to achieve her goals. She doesn’t hide her willingness to use her femininity, coquetry, and charm for gain — traits associated in psychology with the histrionic personality type. These tendencies may not always be consciously acknowledged; they can be suppressed or rationalized into the unconscious. Through Ali’s analysis, however, they slowly rise to the surface. (Why, after all, should Gholam rent her a house for one-tenth its price?)
One of the works from which Old Boy’s creators draw inspiration is The Shahnameh. In the story of Rostam and Sohrab, Rostam, in order to preserve the existing order (the power and throne of the foolish King Kay Kavus), tears out his own son’s heart. But in Old Boy, with a hopeful twist, we are led toward a different ending — one that promises the end of Gholam’s line and those like him. With their demise, this house will at last be razed, exposing the filth of long-hidden crimes. Even Reza, who bears some resemblance to his father, does not survive. And in the end, it is only Ali’s eyes that remain open, keeping alive a glimmer of hope for a wise and humane future.
(*) Ferdowsi’s Shahnameh, completed in 1010, is a 50,000‑couplet Persian epic preserving myths, legends, history, and values from ancient Iran to the advent of Islam.
Its most famous tale is the tragedy of Rostam and Sohrab, in which the hero unknowingly kills his own son in battle.
The story unfolds when Rostam, after a brief encounter with Princess Tahmine, fathers Sohrab, who later leads an army against Iran without knowing his father’s identity.
Through concealed truths, fateful decisions, and chivalric codes, the epic explores themes of fate, family, love, and the irreversible consequences of human actions.
