May 3, 2002 | The simplicity of the storytelling and the eloquence of the imagery make Baran fascinating in ways that transcend any barriers of culture or language. Yes, this is a movie made in modern-day Iran, dealing with Afghan refugees, so English subtitles are required to translate the Farsi and Dari dialogue. But the movie itself is timeless and universal, at once artless and sophisticated in its ability to engross.

Just how accessible is Baran? Consider this: It's easy to imagine D.W. Griffith spinning much the same tale in a different setting eight decades ago, perhaps with Lillian Gish and Richard Barthelmess in starring roles. It's difficult to conceive that anyone, even someone who detests the task of reading subtitles, won't find something to appreciate in writer-director Majid Majidi's version of the familiar story. If only for its anthropological value - admit it, how much do you really know about the lives of Afghan workers in Iran? - Baran is a small treasure to savor.

The movie unfolds at a leisurely pace, as telling details are gradually revealed with a randomness that is more apparent than real. Latif (Hossein Abedini), a conniving young Iranian slacker, has lucked into a low-stress job at a building site not far from the Afghanistan border. While most of his fellow employees -- many of them undocumented Afghan workers - carry heavy sacks of concrete and perform similarly grueling tasks, Latif does little more than serve tea, shop for groceries and cigarettes, and prepare occasional meals.

We're given the impression that Latif serves lousy tea, and even worse meals. We're also given the impression that Latif doesn't give a damn.

But then comes the day when an Afghan worker injures himself on the job. Desperate to provide for his family, the incapacitated man sends Rahmat, his son, to work in his place. The foreman, who may not be as nasty as he seems, agrees to employ Rahmat, even though the young man is too slight to carry sacks of concrete.

Bad news for Latif: He's forced to do heavy lifting while Rahmat takes over his cushy job (and, not surprisingly, proves to be a much better cook and tea-brewer). Worse news for Rahmat: Latif is a hot-headed malcontent, a guy who's constantly threatening to push people's noses to the back of their heads. And he's determined to punish Rahmat.

Latif adjusts his attitude, however, when he inadvertently discovers that the son is a daughter - not Rahmat, but Baran (Zahra Bahrami). She's disguised as a man to work in a society where women aren't allowed to do the kind of work Rahmat can do. Latif falls in love. Given the circumstances, though, there isn't much he can do about it. And what he can do, or wants to do, likely won't be enough.

Through an introduction prepared for the movie's U.S. release, we're told that millions of Afghans fled into Iran during the Russian occupation of their country, and that most remained to work at low-paying and usually illegal jobs to provide for their families. (Baran was made long before 9/11 and the U.S. incursion into Afghanistan, events that give the movie even greater resonance.) Baran is one person who represents many. But she remains a specific individual, not a symbol. And even though Majidi keeps her tantalizingly enigmatic - we see her mostly through Latif's worshipful eyes - she remains so compelling that our last glimpse of her is positively heart-breaking.