No Good Men: A smartly observed political rom-com set in Afghanistan

Shahrbanoo Sadat’s No Good Men, the opening film of the 76th Berlin International Film Festival, was a powerful signal from the festival. A politically aware, feminist film, directed by an Afghan woman director living in exile – in Hamburg, Germany –  and backed by German funds, among others, it seemed a strong choice for a festival that has a long history of political engagement, despite recent iterations being so polarised by controversies around artistic censorship. The film is an astutely observed ‘political rom-com,’ observing how women in Afghanistan are stifled by the patriarchy and denied their most basic rights. Sadat is writer, director, producer and key protagonist of the film, which was largely shot in Germany, standing in for Afghanistan in 2021, just before the Taliban’s return to power. The film’s inspiring women-dominated crew includes – aside from Sadat – producer Katja Adomeit, cinematographer Virginie Surdej, editor Alexandra Strauss and composer Harpreet Bansal.

Sadat plays Naru, a woman cinematographer for Kabul TV, who is dismissed by male reporters, including star journalist Qodrat (Anwar Hashimi), until she steps in for an absent male colleague (No Good Men is the third in a planned five-part film series, inspired by Anwar Hashimi’s unpublished autobiography and Sadat’s life).

Qodrat gets a coup interview with a Taliban leader, but the subject walks off without giving a quote, offended that camerawoman Naru lets her hijab slip a bit, revealing her hair. Miffed, Qodrat drops Sadat off in the middle of the street, ordering her to do lowly vox pops for Valentine’s Day, but his slight backfires – she gets women to open up about love and the abusive men in their lives. Later, Sadat gathers women’s testimonies in a gang rape case, for which Qodrat publicly acknowledges her contribution. The two teeter on the brink of a romance, but both are married: he’s much older and has three kids; she’s separated and on the verge of a divorce, terrified her ex will get custody of their young son Liam. There is a telling scene with Naru and her friends, including one who has returned from the US with a dildo as a ‘divorce gift’ for Naru, that has them squealing with laughter, alongside recalling the misogyny of male family members.  

Sadat’s confident direction underlines the difficulty of having a mutually respectful romance in a volatile political crisis and systemic misogyny in Afghanistan. Her screenplay is nuanced, with comic touches, yet she avoids making Qodrat a ‘good guy’ stereotype: while he ends up making a supreme sacrifice for Naru, he’s still a father having an affair.

As a romcom, it is more mainstream than Sadat’s extraordinary drama The Orphanage (2019), and hopefully will get wide visibility: the shortage of good men, far from being a local Afghan problem, is universal.