Shayda review – a moving, necessary picture

Based on the director Noora Niasari’s own childhood, Shayda follows the eponymous protagonist, a young Iranian mother (Zahra Amir Ebrahimi) and her six year old daughter Mona (Selina Zahednia), as they flee from an abusive husband and father Hossein (Osamah Sami), taking refuge in a women’s shelter in Australia.

It’s a harrowing and powerful film that navigates the intricate terrain of going against tradition and longing for freedom, one that aims to extend the personal confines of cultural conflict beyond the fictional characters it portrays.

The film’s thesis explores, in part, the struggles when trying to preserve traditional values but longing for the type of freedom that can slowly but surely break families apart. There’s a scene early on depicting Shayda’s mother trying to justify Hossein’s abuse over the phone – ​“At least he’s a good father!” is a typical example of the efforts to uphold customary norms like that synonymous with a married couple. Later at a party, Shayda is further belittled by friends who attempt to sweep this systemic misogyny under the rug – another contribution to the oppressive and arguably misogynistic system that we see the protagonist try so hard to escape from.

The film is simple and direct, a quality that feels apt for the obviously dismal subject matter. Yet the perspectives do become disjointed at times, with a frequent messy switch between fiction and documentary style storytelling – the use of handheld cameras and natural light, paired with references to custody hearings and graphic abuse details written in Australian court documents all contribute to the shift to realism seen on screen. While at times the change seems gratuitous, it does bring a necessary element of truth to Shayda, resulting in a film that approaches the stark authenticity of a docudrama. This is a large part of what makes the film so affecting – the dramatic change mirrors the similar real life situations many people find themselves in. It gives authenticity and truth to the story.

The emotion present in the performances from Ebrahimi and Zahednia also contributes to the tone and depth it needs. The chemistry between the two leads is palpable, and the compassion felt for the characters by the end is what makes the film so poignant. Ebrahami brings a vulnerable dignity to her character, and through Niasari’s still, silent shots we get a sense of the lingering trauma evocative of her performance. Through an innocent and uncomplicated nightmare in a time of danger and fear, we are also shown that same desperate vulnerability in six year old Mona, inducing a sure sense of injustice and helplessness as the story unfolds.

While the themes covered aren’t uncommon to see in films nowadays, it is the director’s personal experience that ultimately allows for a thoughtful impact on audiences long past the final scene.

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