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The universal theme of becoming a better person through love has
never been filmed more irresistibly than in Baran. This
beautifully photographed Iranian movie chronicles an unlikely hero¡¯s
efforts to help save the girl he secretly worships. While struggling
to overcome political and cultural obstacles blocking fulfillment of
his romantic obsession, a teenage construction worker emerges as one
of the most unselfish characters I¡¯ve ever seen on film.
Who knew that Lateef (Hossein
Abedini), a mischievous 17-year
old, could be capable of such deep feelings? Certainly not his boss
Memar (Mohammed Reza Naji), who holds onto most of Lateef¡¯s wages
"for the boy¡¯s own good." Nor the Afghani workers resented so
strongly by Lateef. When one of them, Najaf, hurts himself in a fall
from the construction site, his son Rahmat (Zahra Bahrami) appears
on the following day to take his place. Because Rahmat, tiny and a
bit frail, can¡¯t handle the heavy lifting, Memar assigns him
Lateef¡¯s lighter job as the "tea boy" ¨C someone who does the
shopping, cooks a little, and brings drinks to the men. Which means
Lateef must now do regular construction tasks, causing him to be
resentful about giving up his easier duties to an Afghani.
Consequently, he goes out of his way to harass Rahmat as much as
possible.
The change in Lateef¡¯s behavior begins when he peeks behind a
curtain and sees Rahmat combing his long black hair, then pinning it
beneath a cap. Lateef discovers Rahmat is really a young woman ¨C and
a beautiful one at that. Instead of resenting Rahmat, he now assumes
the role of her protector.
Although she never speaks to
Lateef, Rahmat (whose real name is Baran) can¡¯t help noticing the change in him. To show her
appreciation, she leaves a cup of tea and two sugar cubes at the
place where he takes his daily work break. Complications arise when
Rahmat/Baran must leave the construction site because she¡¯s an
Afghani refugee and not legally allowed to work there. After Baran
leaves, Lateef¡¯s desperate search for her takes on a humorous tone
in a few scenes, but everything about it seemed quite inspiring to
me. Making enormous personal sacrifices, Lateef learns about
tolerance as well as love.
Just as he did in The Color of Paradise,
filmmaker Majid
Majidi paints dazzling images here, some in the most unexpected
places. By mixing a gritty realism inside the work site ¨C such as
showing people carrying 50-pound sacks of cement up a series of
ramps ¨C with the beauty of simple acts like walking in the snow or
feeding pigeons on a rooftop, Majidi again demonstrates his poetic
cinematic eye. Exquisite details contribute to a feeling of watching
a painting come to life. The sad reflection of a gray hat placed on
the edge of a little pond hints at tears to come. Raindrops wash
away a footprint in the mud, as if to erase the memory of
someone who once walked there. And, when a slipper is returned
to its small owner, her big brown eyes project more meaning than a
thousand words.
Besides being impressed with
Baran¡¯s artistry, I gained
insight into the plight of refugees everywhere by watching this
humanistic film. Illegal immigrants must hide from authorities, work
for lower wages than citizens of the countries where they seek
shelter, and worrry about an uncertain future. Baran gives faces and feelings to this serious international problem.