A queer Iranian woman in Toronto becomes haunted by a malevolent jinn, unleashed through her devout mother’s supernatural attempts to 'heal' her, forcing her to confront deep-seated familial trauma and an ancient force threatening to consume her identity and life.

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CAST LIST:

Narrator: Shawn Devlin
Aunt: Elizabeth Rose Morriss
Zahra: Hannah Ehman

Get to know the writer:

What is your screenplay about?

The Healing is a psychological horror drama about Zahra, a queer
refugee who escapes an oppressive theocratic regime in search of a
normal life in Toronto. But the past refuses to stay buried. Her deeply
religious mother’s legacy—and the violent beliefs she carried—follow
Zahra across borders in the form of a cursed suitcase. What begins as
grief and guilt soon turns into a terrifying descent, as Zahra is hunted by a
monstrous jinn summoned to “fix” her. This story explores how
authoritarian ideologies—whether through family or faith—continue to
possess and persecute queer bodies even after exile. It’s a haunting tale
about survival, identity, and the power of fascism to outlive borders.

What genres does your screenplay fall under?

Psychological horror, supernatural drama, and queer trauma narrative.

Why should this screenplay be made into a movie?

The Healing deserves to be made into a film because it boldly blends
Iranian folklore with urgent contemporary issues—queer trauma, religious
extremism, PTSD, and the immigrant fight for survival. It’s more than a
horror story; it’s a deeply personal yet universal reflection of what it
means to be hunted for who you are. Today, it feels like a red alarm—
because leaders like Trump and Iran’s Supreme Leader Khamenei are
pushing fascistic, theocratic ideologies that aim to erase queer lives. This
story exposes how those in power weaponize religion and culture to
control bodies and silence voices. The Healing gives voice to the silenced
—and through fear, rage, and resilience—it demands to be seen.

How would you describe this script in two words?

Unholy Inheritance.

What movie have you seen the most times in your life?

I was born after the Islamic Revolution and grew up in a country where,
for a long time, watching American or European films was forbidden, and
owning a video player was considered a serious crime. When I was eight
years old, a few Betamax tapes were secretly brought into our home. If
the authorities had discovered them, it could have led to prison. One of
those tapes was E.T., and the first time I watched it, I completely fell in
love with cinema. That was the moment I realized I wanted to become a
filmmaker. E.T. changed my life.

Later, I understood that I saw myself in E.T.—someone who had ended
up in the wrong place, always longing to return home. After that, when I
watched The Omen, The Exorcist, and Rosemary’s Baby, I discovered
that horror was my favorite genre. I’ve always been drawn to the battle
between good and evil—and to the kind of heroes who step into that
battle fearlessly.

How long have you been working on this screenplay?

I developed The Healing over several months, drawing from years of lived
experience and emotional healing. After submitting the screenplay to a
festival, I received some insightful feedback, and I’m currently in the
process of rewriting The Healing. My biggest dream is to see this film
come to life

How many stories have you written?

Over two dozen, including feature screenplays, TV pilots, plays, and short
stories—many of which center around women’s rights. Before I fled Iran, I
mainly focused on women’s issues because I had to hide my true identity
for years. Being queer in Iran is punishable by death, so I couldn’t write
openly about my own life. But escaping that reality has changed my
perspective. These days, my focus is more personal—I write about my
chosen family, my LGBTQ+ community, and the complex dynamics within
it.

What motivated you to write this screenplay?

This story is deeply personal. I wanted to confront the invisible scars that
many queer immigrants carry—especially those who escape religious
persecution. I wrote it to honor survival, truth, and the terrifying legacy of
abuse masked as “love” or “healing.” This screenplay is a battle for me—
a way to fight back. And now, more than ever, I want to challenge
oppressive religious ideologies with my words

What obstacles did you face to finish this screenplay?

As a screenwriter, I believe a script doesn’t truly come alive until it’s made
into a film. One of the biggest challenges I faced while writing The
Healing was staying motivated and not losing hope—especially knowing
that I had no financial support, no producer, and no director waiting for
this script. Emotionally, it was incredibly painful to revisit themes like
conversion therapy, exile, and inherited trauma. Practically, being a
newcomer in Canada with no resources or industry connections made the
journey even harder. But I kept writing because I believed in the story—
and because I had to.

Apart from writing, what else are you passionate about?
Honestly, writing is my only true passion in life—whether it's
screenwriting, playwriting, or discovering historical stories and bringing
them to life through words. I’m deeply devoted to telling the stories of
people whose voices have been silenced and whose identities have been
erased. As someone who belongs to a marginalized community myself,
my greatest purpose is to write about us—with love, rage, truth, and care.
What influenced you to enter the festival? What were your feelings on the
initial feedback you received?

I entered the festival because I was searching for a community that
values bold, personal, and boundary-pushing storytelling—stories that are
often too raw or too uncomfortable for mainstream platforms. As someone
who comes from a silenced background, it meant everything to be seen
and heard.

When I received the initial feedback, I was incredibly moved. The fact that
readers connected with the emotional intensity and originality of The
Healing reminded me why I write. It was validating, but even more than
that, it was empowering. It showed me that even the most painful,
personal stories can carry universal weight—and that there are people
out there who are ready to listen.