Australian cinema is sometimes chocolate, sometimes fudge.

SHAYDA is chocolate. A bittersweet tale of a brave Iranian mother, Shayda, who finds refuge in an Australian women’s shelter with her six-year-old daughter.

The film opens ominously with the six year old Mona being schooled in evasive action should she find herself at the airport kidnapped by her father. The training comes at the hands of domestic violence veteran Joyce, who runs the shelter and is savvy to the coercive behaviours of some men.

The shelter is home for a myriad of women from varying ethnic backgrounds, all in protection, albeit the protection is a form of prison, a purgatory or limbo. Protected from physical spousal abuse, there remains the impending threat of retribution and abduction.

Shayda has fled her husband, Hossein, and filed for divorce. She is shunned by her community, and continually harassed by Hossein. The succour the shelter offers is appreciated but it is not perfect.

Struggling to maintain some shred of normalcy for her daughter, Shayda coaches Mona in Persian culture, finding solace in Nowruz rituals, music, dance and poetry.

Shared accommodation can be hard, but the commonality of their experiences aided by the power of music and dance, bring these women together, breaking down solitude into a certain solidarity.

SHAYDA is an accomplished directorial debut from Tehran-born, Australia-raised Noora Niasari, anchored by a lived experience screenplay and given unfettered flight by Zar Amir Ebrahimi’s performance in the title role.

Nothing aleatory in its form and style, and devoid of sentimental rhetoric, SHAYDA is a triumph of restraint even as it delivers a state of nervous stimulation.

A strong ensemble cast gives a striking sense of verisimilitude. Leah Purcell as the pragmatic den mother, Joyce, particularly strong.

The film trusts the audience to the point of there’s no tying up the lose ends with ribbons of predictability, rather the sense of hope and the triumph of resilience.