Iranian mother, daughter flee dad’s abuse in delicate drama
Noora Niasari’s moving “Shayda” puts the viewer in the shoes of an Iranian woman in Australia living in a women’s shelter with her 6-year-old daughter.
The violence happens before we enter the story, and yet actor Zar Amir Ebrahimi’s face and body tell us all we need to know. Whatever bruises that might have been there are gone, but the trauma is palpable. We understand immediately that she is terrified of her husband, of what he’s done and of what he might do, especially as she begins a process that would have been unthinkable in Iran: divorce.
We’re introduced to Shayda (Ebrahimi) and Mona (Selina Zahednia) as they attempt to act out what the child should do if her father tries to flee the country with her. It is a delicate dance of conveying danger and urgency without saying so.
“Shayda” is the directorial debut of Niasari, who based it on her own experiences. She was the child in the shelter with her mother 30-some years ago. In a director’s statement, she said it was her first experience of freedom. Even without knowing this, it’s evident that this is a gaze that isn’t just empathetic. Niasari isn’t just interested in showing Shayda’s fear. There is a considerable amount of the film in which we watch Shayda and Mona just being together, playing, dancing and enjoying one another’s company. It’s a love letter to a mother who was able to preserve some of the magic of childhood during a difficult time.
With a different storyteller, “Shayda” could have easily been exploitative, but Niasari and her actors make it feel like real life. There are no grand monologues overexplaining everything or gratuitous flashbacks of the abuse — it’s more powerful and compelling without them.
As they make their case for custody, Mona’s father, Hossein (Osamah Sami), is granted unsupervised time with her. Niasari similarly makes a carefully considered case in depicting him. Hossein is gentle and deferential, but the cracks of possessiveness and ingrained cultural expectations begin to show in subsequent encounters. Shayda can barely look at him. Meanwhile, he’s proposing that they go back to Iran immediately.
“Shayda” illuminates the isolation of an abusive relationship, even once there’s been a physical separation. Her friends don’t know where she and Mona have been living. Even with the pressures, she starts to carve out her own existence away from the constraints of her home country. She cuts her hair, goes out dancing and even allows herself to flirt with a man. There is a distinct growth arc as she evolves from the wounded bird in hiding who we see at the beginning.
There is a bit of a movie contrivance (that may still be rooted in reality), in that we’re watching all of this play out during Nowruz, the Persian New Year, in which Shayda and Mona are often in public with people who know them and Hossein. This, of course, means he will show up at some point.
His character leaves something to be desired. You understand enough, though, and ultimately, this film isn’t about him. During a climactic moment in which he causes a scene, you can hear another man off camera say that he has a right to see his wife, even in this rageful state. It’s a throwaway line, but it also says everything about the uphill battle Shayda faces just trying to separate from him.
“Shayda” is set in 1995 and yet still feels relevant, and not just for Iranian women. In Niasari, we have a brave new filmmaking voice. This drama will leave audiences wanting more from the director.