Fasil Muhammed’s 'Feminichi Fathima' Review: A Bed, A Woman, And The Weight Of Patriarchy
There are films that tell stories, and then there are films that quietly hold a mirror to society, to its silences, its accepted cruelties, normalised patriarchy, and the invisible chains that women wear in the name of custom. Feminichi Fathima (Feminist Fathima) written, directed, and edited by Fasil Muhammed, belongs unmistakably to the latter.
Premiered at the 29th International Film Festival of Kerala (IFFK) to deeply emotional applause, and now released theatrically under Dulquer Salmaan’s Wayfarer Films, produced by Sudeesh Scaria & Thamar KV, the film unfolds in Ponnani, a place that holds centuries of faith and tradition.
But within its walls and alleys, we meet Fathima, a homemaker whose story is both painfully specific and universally resonant.
Spoiler Alert
Fathima (played beautifully by Shamla Hamza) lives in a modest rural home, juggling housework, children, and a conservative husband, Ashraf Usthad (Kumar Sunil), a Madrasa teacher known for his spiritual counselling and amulets.
Her world revolves around her family’s needs, yet she exists invisibly within her own home. Her struggles, though mundane to the outside world, are suffocatingly real. And Fasil’s film does not dramatise this pain; it breathes it.
At first glance, the film seems to revolve around a trivial problem: a bed. Her elder son wets it every night, and one day, a dog’s accidental touch renders it “impure” by religious standards.
What follows is a series of quietly devastating moments, of cleaning the bed with soil as dictated by belief, of hanging charms and chants, and of Fathima being ridiculed by her husband for her supposed incompetence.
But as we slowly realise, the bed is merely a metaphor — a symbol of the weight that women carry without complaint, of a life soaked in restrictions and guilt, and of a soul denied basic freedom under the garb of faith and duty.
Fasil Muhammed crafts these moments with an extraordinary sensitivity. There is no loud confrontation, no cinematic outrage — only the rhythm of ordinary suffering, of how patriarchy has been normalised so deeply that even women no longer recognise their own subjugation.
When Fathima’s husband remarks, “If women start ruling the house, it will become a pigsty,” it’s not merely a line — it’s a wound, one that echoes across generations of silenced women.
The film finds brief moments of light through Suhara (Viji Viswanath) and Shana (Babitha Basheer) — two women who represent different shades of awareness.
Shana, a younger, tech-savvy blogger, reminds Fathima of the world beyond her walls — a world where scarves and smiles coexist with confidence.
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She voices the importance of financial independence, urging Fathima to join a small community kuri (chit fund).
The film doesn’t attack religion. On the contrary, it reveres it — but it boldly calls out how religion is misinterpreted by those who wield power within households and communities.
A particularly compelling scene contrasts two Usthad figures discussing whether a man can work under a woman. One ridicules the idea, while another gently reminds him that even during the Prophet’s era, women were respected and men worked under women. That exchange crystallises the film’s moral compass: faith, in its truest sense, never oppresses; people’s distorted readings do.
As Fathima’s journey unfolds, her attempts to buy a new bed, through EMI, then through a chit fund, become acts of rebellion, tiny revolutions disguised as domestic decisions.
Every denial she faces from her husband, every sigh from her mother-in-law, and every whispered word of encouragement from her friend become part of a quiet feminist anthem.
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What makes Feminichi Fathima so affecting is how ordinary its storytelling is. The humour in the dialogue, the small-town cadence, the details of everyday life — all feel disarmingly real.
Yet within that ordinariness lies a storm of emotion. There’s a haunting moment where Fathima, exhausted, is asked to switch on the fan for her husband, who sits barely a few feet away. It’s not the act itself that hurts; it’s the ingrained belief that her servitude is love, and his dominance is destiny.
Cinematographer Prince Francis captures Ponnani in shades of muted browns and gentle greys, making the walls of Fathima’s home feel both intimate and imprisoning.
Shiyad Kabeer’s background score weaves through the narrative softly, never dictating emotion but amplifying the silences. The sound design by Sachin Jose and team deserves special mention for how it uses everyday sounds — utensils clinking, whispers, the call to prayer- to evoke Fathima’s psychological confinement.
Fasil Muhammed deserves immense credit for writing a film that does not preach feminism but lives it, through detail, emotion, and humanity. He neither vilifies men nor victimises women; instead, he observes, listens, and lets the audience awaken naturally.
In a world where many believe that women have already achieved equality, Feminichi Fathima is a necessary reminder that there are still countless women living in unseen cages, unaware that the bars are not made of faith but of fear.
It speaks to the need for awareness, education, and, above all, financial independence — for money, in such worlds, is not just currency but freedom itself.
As the screen fades to black, you are left with a heavy heart, not because Fathima’s story is rare, but because it is so painfully familiar.
Timeline Verdict:
Feminichi Fathima is a soul-stirring portrait of womanhood and quiet resistance, a film that doesn’t preach feminism but lives it through honesty, empathy, and lived reality. Fasil Muhammed allows truth to unfold in its most human form.
