I made a great effort to attend the Opening Night screening of No Good Man directed by Shahrbanoo Sadat with my son. I wanted him to experience every dimension of a strong and meaningful film festival , one that supports young filmmakers and discovers new cinematic voices. Watching this film was profound and multilayered for me: a woman, a mother, a cinematographer, a government employee, a broken marriage , and a world of love.
Nora is in love. Every cell in her body breathes to create, to mother, to resist. The deeply rooted culture of patriarchy in countries such as Iran and Afghanistan has shaped shared wounds for her. Born in Iran as the result of a forced family migration, her life has been filled with imposed acceptances , those compulsions we often rename “choice.” Her family crossed borders to survive and reached Iran, where tradition and religion still hold deep roots in society. Decaying ideas do not distinguish between women and men; they simply seek a body in which to grow.
She grew up in Iran until the age of twelve , living with migration, discrimination, and the absence of official identity, of passport and belonging. She walked, as a child, a path that many encounter only after years of life. Yet the Shahrbanoo of our story was fortunate to grow up in a family guided by a profound humanist vision. Her films are not only about the pain of Afghanistan or the Middle East; they weave together the boundaries of humanity and ethics, allowing audiences to understand what they may not yet know.
In No Good Man, Sadat not only directs but also embodies Nora with striking honesty. Alongside Anwar Hashemi, she portrays a woman thirsting for freedom. She speaks quietly of motherhood under the shadow of patriarchal laws, of the heavy gazes of men in streets and institutions, and even of superficial intellectual posturing. The performance is deeply realistic, inseparable from lived experience.
Sadat’s direction demonstrates a precise understanding of cinematic framing. The editing is measured and deliberate, allowing the narrative form to unfold slowly and without anxiety. Even in close-ups and handheld sequences, the viewer never feels manipulated or unsettled. It is as if the lines of her face carry the calm depth of her heart into the spirit of the story , so that we laugh with her, forgetting for a moment how much pain her laughter contains.
Nora’s character reminded me of Nora in The Worst Person in the World by Joachim Trier, where she can imaginatively pause time, escape, experiment, and return. But the Nora of No Good Man stays and fights , until she is worn down, almost paralyzed. She is caught between maternal love and romantic love. Condemned to choose, condemned to leave, condemned to cross.
It is painful that in some societies, a husband must still sign a woman’s permission to travel. These are not slogans; they are realities. Nora expresses these wounds without riding the waves of overt politics or declarative feminism, and without explicitly foregrounding the heavy shadow of war and the Taliban over her life. She reveals them quietly, gradually. She laughs, she cries, and in the end, she leaves. And how powerful that she does not forget the final kiss.
That last moment brought to mind Casablanca, when Rick binds love to the freedom of the beloved, Ilsa. Nora, too, standing at the crossroads of staying or leaving, chooses the road. The difficult choice. The bittersweet liberation.
