Like the judo mats of its namesake, Tatami is a construction of many folds. But what sticks out most in Zar Amir and Guy Nattiv’s sports film about two female Iranian judoka is the way that it flatlines the interiority of its characters, while all the while dancing around the question of whether or not it’s an act of prejudice to boycott an Israeli athlete.
Taking place at the Judo World Championships, Tatami is a bog-standard sports film for its first half hour, as Leila (Arienne Mandi), representing Iran, steadily runs through the competition. But things take a turn when her mentor, Maryam (Zar Amir Ebrahimi), receives an order from Iranian officials telling Leila to quit, in order to avoid facing an Israeli opponent.
From that point on, the story transforms into a political drama, with Leila feeling the pressure to forfeit as agents close in on her. But the film doesn’t expand on why the boycott of Israeli opponents is happening, evading the topic entirely to focus instead on the Iranian judokas’ lack of autonomy, and in heavy-handed fashion. In a particularly clumsy scene, the competition’s chairwoman (Nadine Marshall) asks Leila if she’s being made to forfeit against an Israeli opponent, to which Leila replies that she’s never had a problem with facing such an opponent.
Even as danger to Leila’s family becomes imminent, it’s never clear whether she wants to escape Iran or to renounce Islam. While Mandi fiercely homes in on Leila’s resolve, the character is ultimately a cypher. There’s a generally schematic quality to the inter-relationships throughout, though there’s a striking authenticity to the one between Leila and Maryam, who are generational mirrors of one another. You never lose sight of their shared pain, and the camera takes it time to show the genuine affection the two have for each other.
Tatami uses its black-and-white images and Academy ratio to claustrophobic effect, especially when capturing Leila’s anguished expressions during fights. But that’s about as hard-hitting as this film gets, given how limply it gestures at ideas around women’s rights and athlete boycotts.
That becomes unmistakably clear toward the end of Tatami when Leila removes her hijab. It’s a moment that, in part because of earlier cutaways to Leila’s happy familial life in Iran, raises questions about the filmmakers creating a composite character out of several real-life Iranian athletes, such as Sadaf Khadem, Elnaz Rekabi, and Kimia Alizadeh, whose experiences varied greatly. Just as it’s a political film that’s politically tepid, Tatami ultimately offers a ham-fisted vision of multicultural feminism that’s conspicuous for its lack of nuance.
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