Osama

Osama is a distressing drama with a forceful premise and a rather narrow sense of its central character. To save her family, a girl must become a boy: writer-director Siddiq Barmak puts a child’s identity under pressure before she has much chance to establish it for herself. The situation commands attention, and the film has enough feeling to warrant an evening for those drawn to the subject. Our reservation is how thoroughly the girl’s predicament comes to define her.

Marina Golbahari carries the title role, and much of the film’s value lies in our concern for her. We found the obligation placed on this girl upsetting: she is being asked to protect her family by concealing who she is. That is a cruel reversal of what a child should be able to expect from adults. Golbahari makes the responsibility feel too large for the person carrying it, without requiring us to mistake endurance for maturity.

Zubaida Sahar’s Mother and Hamida Refar’s Grandmother make the family more than an excuse for the disguise. Their presence gives the girl’s task a human purpose, and prevents us from treating her change of identity simply as an exercise in suspense. Yet Barmak’s writing gives need so much importance that other qualities struggle to register. We understand the family’s dependence on the girl, but have too little opportunity to consider what she might want for herself.

Ebrahim Ghafori’s cinematography and Akbar Meshkini’s production design give the drama a convincing physical presence. The girl’s need to be accepted as a boy gives her appearance enough importance already, and their work does not distract us from that. We are chiefly occupied with how others might see her. That is useful for suspense, but it leaves us wanting more of what she thinks and notices for herself, beyond the practical business of maintaining a disguise.

Siddiq Barmak also edits, and the 83-minute running time is welcome. There is discipline in keeping such a severe premise this compact, though the emotional pressure becomes wearing. Mohammad Reza Darvishi’s music contributes less to our unease than the obligation imposed on the girl, which is troubling enough without assistance. The chief difficulty could not be solved by a cut or a musical cue: the writing needs to give her qualities that have nothing to do with her family’s requirements.

Films about children under pressure need to leave some room for childhood, even when the circumstances offer little of it. Osama earns sympathy readily, but its tight concentration on the family’s need makes our acquaintance with the girl feel incomplete. Golbahari holds our concern even as the writing keeps her within these narrow limits. If the premise speaks to you, her performance is reason enough to consider it; expect a constricted, demanding evening.