No Music

(Nasrin won three national judo titles and stopped fighting at twenty-nine. Her first film as a producer comes out in March. We met in a café near her old club in Leytonstone.)

Interviewer: You were a champion at twenty-two. Now you're behind a camera. Which one is more you?

Nasrin: The camera, honestly. Judo was my identity for about fifteen years, and I don't miss it as much as people want me to.

Interviewer: People want you to miss it?

Nasrin: Everyone does. There's a story they expect: champion, injury, sadness, comeback. When I say I'm fine, they look disappointed. That's actually where the film started.

Interviewer: So what is the film?

Nasrin: Six athletes, and the year after they stop. Not the last fight. The year after the last fight.

Interviewer: Why is that the interesting part?

Nasrin: Because nobody films it. There's no authority you can complain to when the phone stops ringing, and there's no treatment for it either. Your whole life, other people have told you where to be at six in the morning. Then it's just… Tuesday.

Interviewer: And people relate to that?

Nasrin: More than they relate to medals. Everybody's had a Tuesday.

Interviewer: You've said you have a policy on set. What is it?

Nasrin: Three rules. Everyone gets paid, including the families. Nobody's worst day goes in the film. And no slow music.

Interviewer: No music at all?

Nasrin: Music tells you how to feel. If a scene needs a violin to make it sad, it wasn't sad.

Interviewer: Is that a comparison with sport?

Nasrin: Sort of. In judo, the result is the result. You can't put music on a loss.

Interviewer: What about the comeback? That's the shape people want.

Nasrin: The comeback is an invention. Real life doesn't have a third part; it just carries on. There's more substance in one ordinary Tuesday than in any final I ever fought.

Interviewer: Was there one occasion that started all this?

Nasrin: A friend of mine, a European medallist, spent the whole year after she retired doing paperwork at her kitchen table. Nobody made a film about that. It's the most honest thing I've ever watched.

Interviewer: What's the last shot of the film?

Nasrin: Her. Teaching a class of six-year-olds who have no idea who she is, laughing at something one of them said.

Interviewer: No music?

Nasrin: No music.