A review
Fatma is a six-part show released on Netflix, with a promising premise and even better execution. The eponymous leading character is a cleaner with a troubled past, who goes down a dark path in search of closure and a missing husband. Over the course of the show, she is compelled to embark on a killing spree to cover her tracks.
If you haven’t watched the show yet and are looking to avoid spoilers, you might want to come back to this review post your binge.
What motivates an unlikely murderer?
The most fascinating aspect of this story (and there are quite a few), was what drove Fatma to uproot the thorns along her path. We are introduced to a poor cleaner who works multiple jobs, lives alone in a miserable house owned by her abusive brother-in-law and is reeling from the death of her autistic son Oğuz as well as her own childhood trauma of sexual abuse.
On the outside, Fatma resembles those many helpless women driven to a ‘demeaning’ job by their circumstances, yearning for the protection that their husbands or fathers can offer them against the big bad world. But the real trigger for her transformation is not any of these things; it is the fact that none of the people in Fatma’s life take her seriously, or even notice her — be it her husband Zafer who willingly abandons her, her employer Bayram who undermines her, or the policeman who does not acknowledge her. The world reminds her time and again that she is invisible, inconsequential, incapable. While Fatma’s life is full of emotional and financial problems, all of which would be considered ample ‘motive’ for a few casual murders, what drives her over the edge is this lack of respect and dehumanisation.
This unexpected motivation spurs many pivotal moments in the story. Fatma’s first victim, Şevket, is owed some money by Zafer and is an ex-associate of Bayram. When Fatma asks Bayram if she can go speak to Şevket, he scoffs at the idea that she would be capable of doing it. More than her concern for Zafer, or her frustration at Bayram, it is that seemingly innocuous insult that lights a fire in Fatma that spurs her to steal a gun from Bayram’s safe, find Şevket and confront him. The gunshot that follows may be impulsive, but it is a long-awaited atonement for Fatma’s ego, bruised and ignored and insulted repeatedly by a world that does not consider her worthy of acknowledgement.
There are only two characters over the course of the show that show Fatma any respect. The first is the author she works for, who notices Fatma’s keen observational skills and decides to make her the protagonist of his next fictional novel. As he unknowingly begins to pen Fatma’s biography as a cleaner-turned-killer, the author also guides Fatma to pick herself up at her darkest moments and re-write her own fate.
The second is Sidar, a lawyer working for the insurance company handling the case of Oğuz’s death, who gives Fatma a key piece of the puzzle of her missing husband — in the trial for Oğuz’s death, Zafer accepted compensation from the accused party after being released from prison, and absconded with the money. This is the final straw that leads to Fatma’s unraveling — her motivation from here on is not just to find Zafer, but to make him suffer for abandoning his family and accepting blood money in lieu of justice for his son.
An impeccable production
There is not an idle minute in the entire run of the show. Every shot is carefully framed to weave the story that the director wants to tell, right from the focus on Fatma’s body language, to the use of flashbacks to give the viewer glimpses into her motivations and past trauma. The script subtly conveys stark realities without embellishment, such as society’s disparate treatment of women of different classes. When Fatma, a poor village woman is called in by a police officer for questioning, the officer does not bother to offer her tea; several episodes later, when her rich, fashionable dressed sister Emine is in the same position, she is promptly asked if she would like some.
Burcu Biricik, stripped of the cosmetic aids of make-up and fashionable clothing, does a phenomenal job at conveying the essence of Fatma’s anguish as an invisible woman. She’s ably supported by a number of well-loved supporting actors who play varying degrees of foes in her story. The background score is top-notch and adds a perfect touch of whimsy and suspense to the gravitas of a scene.
Most of all, the episodes are tightly knit and free of any filler scenes or unresolved plots. As regular dizi-watchers will know, conventionally broadcasted Turkish television shows start off well, but often succumb to the limitations of tight shooting schedules, censorship and erratic ratings which can determine the fate of a show in an untimely manner, without regard for consistency of plot. The perks of being aired on a digital platform are on full display in Fatma — the pre-determined number and length of the episodes ensures a well-rounded and loaded narrative, and the powerful visuals of the frail cleaner who takes on men twice her size without batting an eyelid, are on full display.
A unique female voice
Fatma is certainly no professional assassin, but she is far from the naïve unknowing village woman she is perceived to be. She commits multiple murders, some of which are arguably avoidable, without apology or remorse. While we see her conscience prick at her repeatedly over the course of the show, Fatma’s reactions are more of shock at her own abilities, than of guilt for taking a life (or three). We learn of the true import of her past traumas only gradually over the course of the six episodes, because they are not intended to be justifications for her actions, but as context for her perception of the world. Even if none of her suffering redeems her chosen course of action, one cannot help feel sorry for this woman, who endured sexual abuse as a child, was abandoned by her sister and had to bury her son along with her guilt over his death.
The much-awaited scene where Fatma finally tracks down and confronts Zafer, initially felt a little underwhelming because Zafer, the catalyst of the entire story, was on screen for barely a few moments after considerable build-up. It took me a few moments to realise that I felt shortchanged only because I was waiting for an explanation that would justify Zafer’s conduct, when there couldn’t possibly be one. I caught myself wanting to have one ‘good’ character to hold onto, and subconsciously I chose to pin my hopes on the abusive man that abandoned his wife and accepted blood money as compensation for his dead son, rather than the woman who had lost everything and decided to act on her despair.
On the other hand, the same scene showcased the wicked genius of Fatma, who brazenly confronted the source of her problems, framed him for her crimes, adjusted her scarf and coolly went on her way, wreaking havoc in her path. I find it appreciable that television is gradually opening its doors to female characters that are flawed and ruthless and unapologetic, the way men have always been permitted to be presented on screen.
In conclusion, this is a near-perfect season of television that you cannot afford to miss. Watch it for the acting, the cinematography, the score, or the direction — but most of all, watch it for a phenomenal twist to the all-too familiar story of a woman scorned, ignored and undermined.
