Shayda

This powerful and affecting drama tells the story of Shayda, who is a young Iranian mother who has immigrated to Australia. She seeks refuge with her daughter at an Australian women's shelter during the two weeks of the Iranian New Year (Nowruz) after experiencing abuse from her husband. Shayda wants to build a new life for herself and her daughter. But when a judge rules that her husband can have unsupervised access to see Mona, things become more complicated.

The acting in Shayda is excellent, especially Zar Amir Ebrahimi's performance as Shayda. The characters are well-developed and three-dimensional. The slow pacing allows time for this to happen. Shayda and Mona's characters are very compelling. The dialogue is well-written and feels authentic, particularly in the scenes when Shayda tells her story to a lawyer. It's a potent scene.

Nora Niasari's direction is strong, and the movie's verité-style intensity gives it the feel of a thriller (in terms of predictability rather than action), which adds to the tension and emotional impact of the story. The cinematography by Sherwin Akbarzadeh feels immersive, and the use of shadows and lighting adds to the film's atmosphere. The movie is also shown on screen in a tucked-in aspect ratio where the image is presented with black bars on all four sides of the screen, creating a smaller, more condensed image. This makes our experience of the story more intense and immersive because it concentrates the drama and emotion of the story. I mentioned the pacing of the movie, allowing for the development of rich three-dimensional characters. There are times, however, when the film feels a bit slow.

Shayda made me feel a range of emotions: sadness and anger at the abuse Shayda and her daughter experienced to hope and admiration for the resilience and strength that enabled them to survive and rise above their circumstances.

Shayda is not just a drama for entertainment. It tells about the struggles of Iranian women everywhere and the strength of the love of a mother for her children. The relationship between Shayda and Mona was portrayed with such authenticity and heart, and the tenderness with which Shayda nurtures and guides Mona through the complex situation they are experiencing was profoundly moving to me.

Shayada is a powerful movie, and if you are interested in stories about women's struggles and resilience, then make sure you check it out. A word of caution: the movie deals with heavy themes and may not be suitable for all audiences. Highly recommended.

Shayda is an astonishing debut film. It lays bare the complex and at first subtle ways the husband tries to use and manipulate his 'beloved' wife and daughter, and the enormous resilience, strength, courage, adaptability, and intelligence the women, including the wife, the 6-year-old daughter, the shelter owner and the other women and children living there, require and display as they fight hard to preserve their joy and inner peace and retake control over their lives. The best possible performances, directing, cinematography, and writing. Incredibly inspiring and empowering despite the painful subject matter.

Shayda and her six-year-old daughter, Mona, attempt to find their freedom and footing in the world after fleeing from Iran to Australia to escape Hossein, an abusive husband and father. Shayda and Mona live in a secret shelter for women as the divorce and visitation rights are worked out. Hossein doesn't give up easily though. He uses all the considerable powers at his disposal to lure the mother and daughter back. Tricks, false promises of change, violence, and threats are all on the table as Hossein journeys from Iran to bring the women back. He will lure Mona alone if needed.

Writer and director Noora Niasari, present at this Canadian premiere screening at the Toronto International Film Festival, draws upon her own childhood experiences to craft this heart-rending and captivating thriller. Zar Amir Ebrahimi (Shayda) won the Best Actress award at Cannes for last year's Holy Spider. As Shayda she plays a similar role as in Holy Spider; a lone woman fighting the might of an authoritarian and male-dominated society (if she tackles Australia, next she can battle Iran, LOL)! Again, Zar Amir Ebrahimi is spectacular.

I wish that Niasari was better able, through imagery and dialogue, to emphasize her themes of rebirth, the Persian new year, and the fires of joy and love that burn away pain, but the results are good enough. May we always recognize such scumbags as Hossein from the beginning so that we can avoid them before they sink their claws into us. The film helps us recognize them with their hollow promises and their disguised yet unempathetic nature.

Except it is not iranian drama. The whole iranian part is completely irrelevant. This is a movie about a woman running away from her abusive husband. They are both in australia and she cannot go back to iran because she has sinned (im paraphrasing) and nothing good awaits her from the morality police.

She and the kid take refuge in a shelter while trying to avoid her husband and sort her immigration paperwork. She is paranoid, feels he is stalking her etc etc. The usual. Nothing new in the script.

Where does the movie go astray here then.. Simply, the movie fails to create any meaningful care for the characters. I genuinely was rooting for the father here because shayda was so wooden so unlikable and just unmemorable. It did not resonate with me at all and the movie is based on emotion, without really giving you such. The mother daughter scenes were forced and felt awkward and the scenes with the father and his people failed to portray him as the evil person she was desperate to avoid.

Social workers were good, they fit and probably the highlight of this movie... Expected better here. Was left disappointed.

5\10 unlikable characters and badly written relationships.

Noora Niasari's Shayda is a measured, quietly powerful debut that marks her as one of the most promising new filmmakers on the Australian scene. Based on her own childhood experiences, the film tells the story of an Iranian mother and daughter seeking safety and stability in a women's shelter in 1990s Australia. It's a deeply personal story, but one that speaks to wider issues of displacement, domestic violence, and female resilience.

At the centre of the film is Zar Amir Ebrahimi, who gives a performance of remarkable control and emotional precision. As Shayda, she radiates both vulnerability and strength. You can feel the weight of her decisions without the film ever having to overstate them. It's the kind of performance that's all the more effective for what it holds back.

Niasari directs with restraint, prioritising character over exposition and intimacy over spectacle. There's a clear confidence in how she paces the story: scenes breathe, silence is used intentionally, and emotional tension builds slowly but purposefully. She trusts the audience to stay with her-and it pays off.

The cinematography by Sherwin Akbarzadeh complements this tone perfectly. The boxed-in aspect ratio draws us closer to Shayda's inner world, while close-ups linger just long enough to make us sit with her emotions. It's the kind of subtle visual storytelling that doesn't try to impress but ends up doing just that.

One of the film's most gut-punching scenes comes in the form of a phone call-Shayda's own mother, from afar, urging her to give her abusive husband another chance. It's handled without melodrama, but the implication is brutal. It speaks to a cycle that many women are caught in, culturally and generationally. That's where the film's strength lies: in capturing specific moments that feel tragically familiar and widely resonant.

If anything, the film's final act drags slightly, but it's a minor issue in what is otherwise a tightly constructed, emotionally rich experience.

Shayda doesn't aim for fireworks. It's not trying to be a crowd-pleaser. It's an honest, grounded film that speaks to the real lives of women trying to escape violence-and rebuild from the rubble. It deserves to be seen and talked about, not just as a work of cinema, but as a window into lives often overlooked.